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felt sexuality was a little degrading.
    She looked at his unused bed beside her own. Should she rumple the covers so that it would look as though he had slept in it? No need to proclaim to the staff that they had spent their wedding night apart, but there was no need for subterfuge. The chambermaid would think that they had used only one because she had slept in Steve's arms. Again the quivering of her nerves, a flutter in her stomach. No, she was not frigid, and if he had been more patient, more considerate… but no, he had gone off to some other woman, and her pride lifted its head. She would not want him back after such an insult.
    Noelle went into the bathroom, aware of loneliness. It was very early and Steve would still be with his inamorata, whoever she was, either in the city or in the hotel; but only one thing was certain, he was not in their suite, for when she had bathed and dressed, she went into his dressing room and saw his black and gold robe hanging on the door. So he had gone out, and she knew a moment's panic as it occurred to her that he might not return. But of course he would; though their marriage had not been consummated she was still his wife, and he would not abandon her however piqued he might be.
    A maid brought her a tray of tea. The
effendi
had ordered it the night before, she said. There were two cups and saucers.
    'My husband had to go out early,' Noelle told her, 'but he'll be back at any moment,' and hoped she spoke the truth.
    The maid withdrew, and Noelle drank her tea seated by the window. She had dressed in tan-coloured slacks and a beige knitted shirt. It was low-necked and short-sleeved. She had no idea how the day was to be spent, but it seemed to be the sort of thing most girls were wearing. She did not intend to spend all morning in the hotel waiting for Steve to turn up, and if he didn't appear she would go out and explore after breakfast. She looked very young and girlish, the sunlight making her hair a gilt frame for her pensive face, her long legs curled under her as she watched the passing craft on the river. Feluccas with their tall distinctive sails mingling with modern yachts and motor launches. She was thinking she would go downstairs, when Steve came in. She heard the click of the sitting room door and his purposeful stride as he came to hers, and she caught her breath, aware her pulses had begun to race when he appeared in the entrance. He was wearing shorts, an open-necked silk shirt, and on his head an Arab headdress, the white draped cloth and braided band. She had yet to learn that they were on sale by every street vendor in the country, and she exclaimed:
    'What on earth have you got on your head?'
    'A bit of local colour, it's cool and protective. You can buy them for one dollar upwards. This model was two-fifty.' He spoke lightly, and he looked much younger than in his formal suits, seeming sleek and relaxed with no hint of the tensions of the night before. 'Did you sleep well?'
    'Very well, thank you,' she replied conventionally, deciding not to enquire where he had spent the night. 'You must have gone out very early.'
    'I wanted to watch the sunrise over the Eastern Desert.'
    Forgetting their estrangement, she cried, 'Oh, why didn't you wake me? I'd like to have come too.'
    'You were sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake you.'
    So he must have looked in at her while she slept, and she felt uneasy—suppose she had murmured Hugh's name in her dreams? Whoever Steve had been with, he had not lingered, the sunrise being a greater attraction. That gave her a momentary satisfaction.
    'If you're ready, shall we go down to breakfast, or would you prefer to have it sent up here?'
    Noelle chose the restaurant, not wanting to be alone with Steve. Though his manner was friendly and he did not seem to bear any rancour, there was a steely glint in his eyes. He had neither forgiven nor forgotten, and she wondered apprehensively what his next move would be.
    Over breakfast