Free Egyptian Honeymoon by Elizabeth Ashton

her.
    Omar looked at her sympathetically and laid his hand over hers. She looked at it dully, but made no movement of withdrawal. She was surprised how upset she had been to learn Steve had been in danger. Could it be she cared for him more than he deserved?
    Omar said softly: 'Your husband neither appreciates you nor loves you, so perhaps it is a pity there was no crocodile to dispose of him.'
    'You mustn't suggest such an awful thing!' she flashed. 'I… I'd be inconsolable.' And she wondered if perhaps she would.
    'But I would console you,' Omar said eagerly. 'Oh, my white rose, if only you were free!'
    Noelle looked at him curiously, but her eyes dropped before the flame in his. He seemed to be an inflammable person. She did not believe his protestations, and she had no intention of embarking upon a liaison with him, which was what he wanted. But because her heart was sore because of Steve's treatment, she said provocatively:
    'If I were free… what then?'
    'I would take you away into the desert and make love to you as you should be loved.'
    The idea of the romantic Arab sheik is long outdated, but Noelle felt a very faint stir of excitement at the passion in his voice.
    'I… I've always found deserts fascinating,' she began, when the sound of voices caused her to pull away her hand, as Marcia and Steve burst into the lounge. She was scolding him vigorously and he was grinning like a naughty unrepentant schoolboy. His hair was wet and he was wrapped in a towelling robe.
    'Such a crazy thing to do; Owen said he'd been very rude, so he deserved a ducking, and his mates could have got him out. But you…' She stopped abruptly as she caught sight of Noelle. 'Good morning, Mrs Prescott,' she said stiffly. 'Pity you weren't up on deck to stop Steve making a fool of himself.'
    She had been sunbathing and wore a minute bikini, only a couple of straps, while dark glasses concealed her eyes. Steve's face froze, the boyish grin vanishing as he perceived who Noelle was with. No whit discomfited, Omar sprang to his feet.
    'Coffee?' he suggested. 'You must need something after your… er… swim. This little lady feared you'd been eaten by crocodiles.'
    'No, thanks, I've had a whisky,' Steve said shortly, with his eyes fixed on Noelle's face. 'Sorry to disappoint you, my love, but the crocs found me too tough. You'd have been a very rich widow.'
    Noelle went red and then white. 'If that's meant to be a joke, it's in very poor taste,' she forced herself to say lightly, though the barb and gone home. Since she had told him she did not love him, he must have guessed her real motive. 'And Omar says there aren't any crocs now.'
    Deliberately she used the Arab's first name, and saw Steve raise his brows.
    'No one is formal on a ship,' she added, and glanced pointedly at Marcia's near-nakedness. Steve seemed to become aware of it.
    'Hadn't you better put something on?' he said to her.
    Marcia smiled lazily. 'Don't you like me like this?'
    'In the right place,' Steve retorted, 'which isn't here. You'll give the old tabbies a fit.'
    Noelle saw to her dismay that the Bates had come in. Mrs Bates uttered a small disapproving sound, but the Colonel put his eyeglass in his eye.
    'I'm giving their husbands a treat,' Marcia announced shamelessly. She caught Omar's glance, which was more distasteful than admiring. 'Oh well, I'd better dress, I suppose, and you, darling,' she turned towards Steve, 'had better have a shower. I don't believe the Nile water is very healthy.'
    Noelle caught her breath, recalling several unpleasant diseases that could be contracted in tropical waters.
    'You shouldn't run such risks,' she said anxiously.
    'No risk at all, and I was glad of a dip, since there's -no pool on this ship. Get some clothes on, Marcia, British prestige abroad has sunk low enough without you bringing it down further.'
    Marcia looked startled, and pouted, but she went out of the lounge, and after hesitating for a moment, Steve followed her.
    Omar