Lord Of Zaracus. Anne Mather

them heralded the end of the forest.

      They emerged into comparatively open country, and now Carolyn could see the moderately large encampment of tents, several jeeps parked alongside, while a delicious smell of cooking made her realise suddenly that she was hungry.

      ‘Home, sweet home,’ said Bill, with some satisfaction, and Carolyn said:

      ‘I hope there’s plenty of water. I’m dying to rinse this awful dust off me!’

      Bill gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Well, there are showering facilities,’ he remarked, slowly. ‘But I think you might find it a little different from what you’re used to.’

      Carolyn spread wide her hands, stretching. ‘The way I feel at the moment, I could strip off and dive into the stream,’ she exclaimed. ‘But it will be nice to see Dad again. And I won’t make too many complaints, I promise.’

      Bill brought the Land-Rover bumping across the grassy stretch to where the encampment began. Now that they were closer, Carolyn could see a definite pattern in the layout of the site. Tents, obviously used for sleeping, were grouped at one side, while the cooking and kitchen departments were housed in open-sided marquee-type dwellings. Toilet facilities were not apparently visible, and Carolyn smiled to herself with some derision. Bill had certainly been right to warn her. But she was no defeatist, and she thrust her doubts aside, and as Bill sounded his horn loudly to herald their arrival, she smiled cheerfully, and slid out of the vehicle to greet her father, who came out of one of the tents at the far side of the site, carrying his spectacles, an eye-shield pushed up his forehead. A tall, broad man with greying hair, he looked dear and lovable, and Carolyn forgot all her misgivings and sped across the dusty grass to fling her arms round him exuberantly.

      Bill looked on tolerantly, while several other members of the group emerged to find out what was going on. They looked at Carolyn with some indulgence; most of them knew her, and as the majority of the party were in their forties and fifties, the sight of a pretty girl after three months in the bush was a welcome sight.

      Carolyn drew back from her father, and he smiled warmly. ‘Good to see you, my dear,’ he said, looking at her with evident satisfaction. ‘You are certainly a sight for sore eyes! Did you have a good journey?’

      ‘So-so! It was okay until we reached Veracruz. What a terrible road we had to negotiate to get here! I thought I was going to split in two!’

      Professor Madison laughed. ‘Not you. You’re not made of glass. You know I had my doubts earlier today, knowing what conditions are like here, but I really think it might be the best thing I’ve ever done for you. After all, you’ve been coddled long enough. It’s time you learned a little about the other side of the coin. Besides, you may find it interesting.’ He glanced around. ‘You remember Donald, don’t you?’ he went on, nodding to the men who were approaching; ‘and Lester, and Tom Revie.’

      Carolyn nodded, and greeted the other men. There were seven or eight more on the fringes of the group who she knew less well, but she expected she would soon be familiar with all of them. She wondered what she would do, how she would fill her days, and then decided she would not think ahead, but just take every day as it came.

      One of the men produced a tray of coffee, and Carolyn sat in a canvas chair, drank the coffee, smoked a cigarette, and thought things might not be so bad after all.

      Her father was really pleased to see her, and they had so much to say to one another. The pride with which he introduced her to all the members of his team banished all traitorous thoughts from her mind, and she determined to show him how easily she could adapt herself to her new surroundings. At least her experiences, whatever they might turn out to be, would provide her with endless topics of conversation when she eventually returned to London.

      As it was getting quite late, the men had finished their work for the day, and were quite prepared to sit around, drinking beers and smoking, and joining in the general conversation. Really, thought Carolyn, were it not for the shortage of women, they might be a group of people anywhere indulging in pre-dinner chatter.

      She looked curiously at the men. Of the younger ones, she liked Bill Anderson and David Laurence best. They were both in their late twenties and unmarried. Simon Dean was young too, but as he had a wife somewhere in the background Carolyn refused to take his advances seriously. She considered him weak and self-indulgent, and felt sorry for the unfortunate Mrs. Dean wherever she might be. The older men were easier to know and easier to get along with. Donald Graham and Tom Revie she had known for a long time, and usually accompanied the professor everywhere. Young and old alike they had something in common, she decided; a love of the outdoor life, discovering ancient relics, and brown, sunburnt complexions. Dressed in open-necked shirts and either cream denims or shorts, they looked cool and relaxed, and Carolyn wished she felt the same. That was the trouble with men, she thought, they didn’t seem to realise that what a woman wanted most after a journey like she had experienced was a cool shower, and a change of clothes.

      Eventually, her father rose to his feet. ‘Well, time’s getting on,’ he said, ‘and I expect you’d like a shower and a change of clothes before dinner, wouldn’t you, Carolyn?’

      Carolyn smiled. ‘I thought you’d never guess,’ she said.

      The professor put an arm across her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. But you’ve no idea how delightful it is, hearing news of England first hand. After all, the papers we get here are a week old before we read them.’

      Carolyn rose also, and said: ‘Where am I to sleep, then?’

      Professor Madison led her across the grassy stretch to where several tents were grouped. He lifted the flap of one and said: ‘This has been allotted to you, my dear, and I’m just next door. It looks spartan, but it’s quite comfortable really. These air-beds are remarkably comfortable.’

      Carolyn stepped inside. As her father had said, it did look spartan, the bare earth partly covered by a cotton rug beside a low camp bed. Near by was a rough wood table, and a chair, and a polythene erection served as a wardrobe. Electricity was supplied from their own generator, her father explained, which was an extension of the one owned by Don Carlos, the owner of the valley.

      ‘I expect Bill told you about Don Carlos, didn’t he?’ went on the professor, smiling and nodding as two Mexicans came in carrying Carolyn’s cases and boxes.

      ‘He did mention him,’ agreed Carolyn, sitting on the bed to test it. ‘Sounds quite a character, by all accounts. Tell me,’ she stood up, rubbing the seat of her pants, ‘who supplies all this equipment?’

      ‘We do. Lord, Carolyn, how many cases have you brought? You must have paid out a fortune in excess baggage!’

      Carolyn grimaced. ‘I did rather,’ she nodded. ‘But, darling, I couldn’t come all this way, into a climate like this, without having at least two changes of clothes for every day.’

      ‘Every day of the time you’ll be here, by the looks of things,’ remarked Professor Madison, dryly. ‘And what’s that? A record player?’

      ‘Of course. Heavens, I had to provide myself with some entertainment! Besides, it will be fun in the evenings, if we can dance or something—–’

      ‘Dance!’ Her father stared at her. ‘Now look here, Carolyn, let’s get one or two things straight first of all: to begin with, as you are the only woman in a camp of over twenty men, including the Indian helpers, of course, I want you to behave yourself. How on earth could you conduct a dance here, with every man on the site competing for your favours? No, Carolyn, that is definitely out. And another thing, I know you’re used to running wild back in London, but here, in Zaracus, things are very different, and I want you to act with some degree of decorum, and finally, I do not wish you to get involved in any way with any of the men on the site. No’—as Carolyn would have protested—‘nobody! Is that understood?’

      Carolyn’s cheeks were red. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘Heavens, you’re acting as though I was the original Mata Hari, or something! I’ve never