The Sheikh
Anne Herries
BENEATH THE DESERT STARSThere was something tantalizingly mysterious about the man Chloe Randall had met on board the luxury cruise ship bound for exotic Morocco. With her head full of romantic images of her film idol Rudolph Valentino, she couldn't help but be aware of the pent-up passion that was close to breaking through this stranger's cool reserve.It was only when he rescued her from the merciless heat of the desert that he let his true self appear. He was a proud sheikh, and keenly dangerous. Because, having saved Chloe's life, he had no intention of ever letting her go….
“Let me stay with you a little longer.
“I do so want to know you better.”
“Do you, Chloe?” His dark eyes were intent, his mouth somehow softer than usual. His voice was making her feel odd. “That is good, for it is what I want also.”
Pasha gave her a hungry look that made her tremble. She remembered the magic of that dance on board ship, and for the first time began to understand what she had discovered in his arms. This was the passion she had seen portrayed on the movie screen—but for real! A feeling of intense excitement mixed with a hint of danger ran through her. This was real! She was beneath desert stars with her own sheikh and he was about to kiss her….
The Sheikh
Anne Herries
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANNE HERRIES
lives in Cambridge, but spends part of the winter in Spain, where she and her husband stay in a pretty resort nestled amid the hills that run from Malaga to Gibraltar. Gazing over a sparkling blue ocean, watching the sunbeams dance like silver confetti on the restless waves, Anne loves to dream up her stories of laughter, tears and romantic lovers. She is the author of over thirty published novels.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Afterword
Chapter One
‘S o that’s my news,’ Chloe said, trying hard not to show her excitement too much. ‘I’m off to Morocco next week, and I don’t know when I shall be back…’
‘You are so lucky!’ Justine cried as she stared enviously at her cousin. ‘All I’ve managed to find is a job at the local library—and that’s after years at college.’ She pouted her rouged mouth at Chloe and adopted what she fondly thought of as an artistic pose.
Chloe Randall tried to look suitably sympathetic as Justine bemoaned her lack of success in finding a really exciting job, but her mouth wouldn’t stop smiling.
She had a soft, pretty mouth, which was free of the lip rouge her cousin liked to wear, and her straight, fair, collar-length hair was worn brushed back from her face and held in place by a scarf. Justine’s hair had been cut recently into a style favoured by some of the stars of the silent screen, and was short at the back with longer sides. She was also very daringly wearing red lipstick!
They both looked what they were, young girls of good family emerging from the restrictions of their education and beginning to flex their wings in the sun of freedom like little butterflies. It was 1925, the terrible war that had blighted the lives of the generation before them seemed almost a distant memory, and life appeared made for having fun and enjoying oneself.
‘It was sheer luck,’ Chloe said for perhaps the tenth time that evening, and got up to wind the gramophone once more and play her favourite recording of Paul Robeson one last time. ‘I do love this. It was wonderful actually seeing him on stage when Daddy took me.’
‘Oh, don’t play it again yet,’ Justine begged. ‘I’ve got a new jazz record I want to put on in a minute. Sit down and talk to me. Tell me about what happened—how you came to meet this professor…’
‘As I was saying, it was luck.’ Chloe left the gramophone and sat cross-legged on the floor on a pile of ‘harem cushions’, which were another one of Justine’s fads and popular just at the moment with all the Bright Young Things. ‘I happened to be in the research department of the museum when he came in. He was carrying an umbrella, several parcels and a bag of oranges. The paper was wet because it had been raining hard, and his oranges went all over the floor.’
Justine giggled as she pictured the scene. Although she tried very hard to be sophisticated, she was still an innocent at heart, a little starstruck, which came of going to the cinema as much as she possibly could, and being thoroughly spoiled by her indulgent and wealthy parents.
In that she was luckier than Chloe, who had lost her mother to a painful illness while she was away at school, and whose father always seemed rather a cold man to Justine, though she would never have voiced her thoughts aloud out of loyalty to her cousin.
‘What did you say his name was—the professor?’
‘Hicks—Charles Hicks,’ Chloe said and flicked a stray wisp of hair from her eyes. ‘The thing is, I helped pick up his oranges and naturally we got talking—and it appears that he knew my father from way back. Apparently, he was at my christening but lost touch with Daddy when he went out to Egypt soon after that. Naturally, I invited him to dinner…’
‘And that’s when he asked you if you would like to accompany him on a trip to Morocco.’ Justine stared at her with a mixture of envy and disbelief.
‘To help with some research,’ Chloe agreed, her mouth refusing to stay in a straight line. ‘Just now, he’s working on a book about various nomadic tribes—particularly the Bedouin and Berber peoples. He has already done most of his research on the Bedouins, who inhabit much of northern Africa, and now he wants to do a study of the Berbers—so that he can compare them, apparently. He’s also interested in the religious customs and intends to visit a lot of places considered holy—if he can get permission, that is. It’s all very clever and beyond me, but interesting, don’t you think?’
She laughed as she saw Justine’s blank look. Obviously her cousin didn’t agree, but then Justine’s interests were mostly clothes, dancing, and going to the cinema, as were most young women’s these days.
‘When Daddy told him that I was interested in Arabic literature, he thought I would be the ideal person to help—especially as I took shorthand as one of my skills.’
‘You jumped at the chance, of course.’ Justine sighed. ‘I wish I could find someone to give me a free holiday abroad.’
‘I wish you could come with us,’ Chloe said regretfully. ‘But Professor Hicks is paying all my expenses so I can’t very well ask if my cousin can come too. I doubt if he really needs help with his research at all, but Daddy told him I’d just finished college and was looking for work while I did my own research. He was quite impressed with my ambition—that’s how he put it. Something about admiring a girl who wasn’t prepared to settle for marriage straight away.’
‘Well, I suppose that’s what most of us do—get married and have babies,’ Justine said with some regret. ‘You’re the exception, Chloe. I went to college because my father wanted me to, and you were already there so it was fun. But Mummy expects me to do the season, and I expect I’ll get engaged—if I can find someone who looks like him…’
Justine reached for a copy of the magazine she had discovered at the library that morning. It had a full-page picture of the actor Rudolph Valentino inside and was advertising his latest film.
‘We must see this before you go away,’ Justine said and sighed over the picture of the screen idol. ‘I’ve seen all his films over and over again, but I love The Sheikh the most. They say he’s planning to make a sequel to it soon.’
‘Oh, he’s just wonderful,’ Chloe agreed and crossed her legs. She was wearing a short skirt, which her grandmother, Lady Margaret Hatton, thought was shockingly indecent, and fine silk stockings.
‘Marvellous,’ Justine said and reached for the silver cigarette box on the table beside her, offering it to Chloe, who shook her head. ‘Oh, of course, you don’t. Mummy hates it if I smoke when she’s in the room, but Daddy doesn’t mind. He says there are worse things than a woman smoking, and he smokes too much himself. I take after him; at least, that’s what Mummy always says whenever she’s annoyed with me.’ Her laugh was tinkling and infectious.
Chloe smiled affectionately at her. Justine was bright and pretty, and always saying things she really didn’t mean, because she thought it was clever. It was fashionable to behave in the slightly outrageous way she did amongst her friends, and Chloe knew that her cousin wasn’t really wild at all underneath. She would fall in love, get married and live in a beautiful house in the country somewhere with occasional visits to town, and no doubt be very happy. Her parents spoiled her all the time, which was very nice. Chloe could have done with a little of that spoiling herself, but she knew she wasn’t likely to get it from her father.
He had always been a reserved man, but since her mother’s death he had withdrawn more and more into his own world, leaving Chloe to fend for herself. If it hadn’t been for Justine, of whom she was very fond, Chloe thought that she might have been rather lonely.
Her grandmother rarely left her home in the north of England these days, and her health was not good. She preferred not to have visitors, though she asked to see her granddaughter once a year, and remembered to send her a birthday card.
‘I expect you’ll like being married,’ she said to Justine. ‘When you find the right person.’
‘But don’t you want to marry?’ Justine looked at her curiously.
‘In time, I suppose—but not yet.’
Chloe wanted something more of life than her mother had had being Peter Randall’s wife. She knew that a life similar to that of her own or even Justine’s mother, who had a busy social schedule, would not suit her. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but an independent observer might have seen that she needed affection.
‘Smoking is all right if you like it,’ Chloe said as her cousin selected one from the box. ‘It makes me choke and I don’t enjoy the taste.’
‘Oh, well…the taste is something you get used to.’
Justine wasn’t going to admit that she only did it because her Bohemian friends said it was smart. She had to be a part of the crowd if she wanted to be invited to all the best parties. She looked at the magazine on her lap and sighed again.
‘Do you ever wonder what it would be like to meet a real Sheikh, Chloe? Would he be at all like Valentino, do you think?’
‘Lord, I shouldn’t think so for a moment,’ Chloe replied and giggled. She was giggling as much at her cousin, who was taking a delicate puff of smoke through her elegant cigarette holder, as at the suggestion, but she didn’t let Justine know that. ‘He would probably be fat, greasy and smell absolutely awful.’
‘Oh, don’t,’ Justine begged, tipping back her head in the manner of Gloria Swanson on screen. ‘Please don’t shatter my illusions. I’ll have you know I dream of meeting Valentino…I see him bending down to swoop me up in his arms and carry me off to his tent in the desert.’ She gave a delicious little shiver at the thought.
‘You and a million other women,’ Chloe said and smiled. She too had imagined herself in similar situations to those endured by the slave girl played by the actress Agnes Ayres, but in her heart she knew she wasn’t likely to meet someone who looked and behaved as the film star did on screen. ‘But I agree that it would be romantic to meet Rudolph Valentino… Just imagine if someone asked you to star with him in a film.’
‘Oh, I would die for the chance,’ Justine said and laughed. ‘I still think it would be romantic to be carried off by a Sheikh to his tent beneath the desert stars…’
‘You might not like it when you got there,’ Chloe said. ‘I think it would be better to stick to the film version—much safer.’
She had often thought how exciting it would be to act in a Hollywood film, and her mouth curved as she imagined being asked to play the slave girl in a film similar to The Sheikh. Of course it was just a silly dream, and she had never told anyone, even Justine, of her foolish thoughts.
‘Well, I shall have to be content with my library job until Prince Charming comes to sweep me off my feet,’ Justine said, shrugging her elegant shoulders. ‘At least you have an exciting holiday to look forward to.’
‘It isn’t just a holiday,’ Chloe said. ‘Professor Hicks is a dear, kind man, but I dare say he will expect me to work for my privileges.’
‘It’s a pity he’s so old,’ Justine said. She pulled a face of disappointment. ‘Older than your father. But you never know, you might meet someone exciting on your trip, Chloe. Perhaps he will be dark and handsome and carry you off to his casbah—’
‘I doubt that very much,’ Chloe said, but it didn’t stop her dreaming. In her heart she was as romantic as Justine, though she tried hard not to be. Her father had always told her to keep a clear mind on things and judge the situation before she made any decisions. Chloe knew that it was best not to dream or to expect too much, because that only led to disappointment.
‘Act on impulse and you may live to regret it,’ had been Mr Peter Randall’s maxim all his life. It was a very sensible, safe way to look at things, but could be a little dull, Chloe had discovered. Sometimes she thought it might be exciting to do something mad and totally irresponsible for once in her life.
‘Well, we can all dream,’ Justine said and got up to put on a new dance record she had bought. ‘Come on, Chloe—try this…’
Chloe jumped to her feet, laughing as Justine began to demonstrate one of the latest dance crazes. She was always trying something new, which was perhaps why Chloe found it fun to be with her.
‘Oh, I do wish you could come with us,’ she sighed. ‘But I suppose it’s no good wishing for the moon.’
‘Mummy would never agree anyway,’ Justine said. ‘She is determined to marry me off to someone very rich and very dull.’
Chloe shook her head. ‘Well, the very rich part wouldn’t be so bad, Justine. Poor Daddy has found it difficult to manage since the war. He invested in a company that failed and it reduced his income almost by half. That’s why I was so pleased to get a job almost straight away.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind the money,’ Justine agreed. ‘I can see myself in furs and jewels. Summer on the French Riviera and winter in Biarritz…’
‘Yes,’ Chloe agreed. ‘And if he has lots of it, Justine, perhaps he won’t be so very dull after all.’
It was all so exciting and glamorous, being seen off by her friends on board a luxury cruise ship. On deck the atmosphere was just like a big party, with champagne corks popping, people laughing and streamers flowing. Everyone seemed to have friends who had come to wish them ‘Bon Voyage’, and Chloe was pleased that her father and Justine had insisted on making the journey to Southampton with her.
She had noticed that most of the other guests on board seemed very wealthy, the women dressed in elegant clothes with furs draped over their shoulders, and the men quietly confident though often wearing sober suits. Perhaps that was why she noticed him almost immediately, because he stood out from the others. His suit was a light fawn colour and obviously expensive, and his shoes were handmade leather, his shirt the kind that came from Savile Row.
‘That’s the horn telling us it’s time to go ashore,’ Chloe’s father said and kissed her. ‘Take care of yourself, my dear. Have a good time and be as useful as you can to Charles. Above all, do as he tells you and behave yourself. I want to be proud of my daughter and it was very good of Charles to give you this job.’
‘Yes, of course, Daddy,’ Chloe said and hugged him. ‘Take care of yourself.’ He nodded and released himself firmly from her embrace.
‘I shall just go and say goodbye to Charles.’
‘Yes, you must.’
‘You girls must say your goodbyes quickly,’ Mr Randall warned as he went off, leaving them at the rails together.
‘Oh, damn,’ Justine said. ‘I suppose we shall have to go ashore.’ She pulled a face. ‘I do so wish I was coming with you.’ She kissed Chloe. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t—and don’t run off with a Sheikh!’ She threw out her arms dramatically as she spoke, accidentally striking a man standing just behind her.
‘Be careful, young woman!’
In her exuberance, Justine had knocked the man’s arm, causing him to jerk and spill champagne over his suit. It was the man Chloe had noticed earlier being seen off by a party of friends, all of whom were dressed as elegantly as he was, and one of them a rather beautiful young woman. He was glaring at Justine furiously, and she was clearly embarrassed, which made Chloe jump to her cousin’s defence.
‘It was rather foolish to bring your drink into a crowd like this, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘Justine didn’t mean any harm.’
‘No, of course not,’ Justine said and smiled at him winningly, her cheeks a fiery red. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I hope I haven’t done any real harm?’
‘The suit is probably ruined, but it is of no consequence,’ he said and turned away.
‘What a rude man!’ Chloe said as he moved further down the rail; the crowd was thinning out now as people began to leave. ‘It was his own fault for getting so close to you.’
‘I expected he wanted to wave to his friends on shore,’ Justine said. ‘Oh, lord, I must go or they will take me with you…’
They hugged and Justine ran off to join the last few stragglers going ashore. Chloe laughed as her friend held on to her hat and tried to wave all at the same time, then she turned to look for her travelling companions. Catching sight of Professor Hicks and his secretary, Miss Amelia Ramsbottom, she raised her arm to signal to them. As she did so, she heard a muffled exclamation and swung round to see that she had succeeded in tipping the remainder of that glass of champagne over the man Justine had upset earlier.
‘I see you are determined to ruin this suit,’ he said, and just for a moment she thought there was a glimmer of humour in his eyes. ‘Did I do something to annoy you?’
Chloe bit her lip. She was tempted to snap at him, but they were going to be on the same ship for a while and there was no point in creating an unpleasant atmosphere as they were bound to meet from time to time.
‘I am sorry,’ she said, trying for composure. ‘Can it be cleaned on board? I shall be happy to pay the bill.’
‘It is of no consequence,’ he repeated, but this time he smiled. Chloe realised that he was quite attractive when his features relaxed from the harshness they had assumed earlier. His hair was black, cut short and slicked back from his forehead, and his eyes were almost as dark as his hair. He spoke with a cultured English accent, but somehow she did not think he was entirely English. His features were too strong, too—would exotic be the right word? She wasn’t sure. He frowned at her. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Chloe realised that she had been staring and blushed. ‘No—forgive me. I must join my friends.’
She left him abruptly, her heart racing. There was something a little unnerving about him, something that made her uneasy. There was an arrogance about him, and something she couldn’t quite place—a feeling that beneath the surface this man was not quite what he seemed. He certainly wasn’t at all like most of the men she knew.
At college she’d met serious-minded professors, the brothers, cousins or fathers of her friends and fellow students. They were all much alike, gentlemen and sons of gentlemen. Some had been nicer than others, of course, but they had all behaved properly, treating her with the respect due to a young woman of good family.
At times Chloe had almost wished they wouldn’t be quite so respectful, but she knew she wasn’t the kind of girl that drove men wild with passion. She wasn’t pert and pretty like Justine, and she didn’t realise that her quiet, thoughtful manner was in itself very attractive—or that she was rather lovely in her own way.
‘Oh, there you are, my dear,’ Charles Hicks greeted her with a smile as she went up to him. ‘We were just wondering where you had got to, weren’t we, Amelia?’
The professor and his secretary, who was of a similar age to himself, had seen many such send-offs on board ship, and had chosen to stay well back from the crowd flooding the rails. They were both dressed in sober tweed suits, which seemed quite unsuitable for the occasion to Chloe.
‘Oh, Chloe was saying goodbye to her friend,’ Amelia Ramsbottom said. ‘You can’t expect her to spend all her time with us, Charles. She’s young and this is her first time on board ship. She ought to enjoy herself while she can.’ Chloe was aware of a slight hostility in the professor’s secretary, and suspected she might be a little jealous of her. Amelia had been travelling with him for years and must wonder why he had invited a young woman to accompany them this time. Chloe had wondered herself at first, but she suspected it was merely kindness on the part of her father’s old friend. He was a successful man, and could afford to indulge his whims, and no doubt he had been aware that money was a little tight in the Randall household.
‘It is certainly all very exciting,’ Chloe said. ‘But I want to help Professor Hicks as much as I can.’
‘I shan’t need you all the time,’ he said. ‘You must enjoy the voyage, my dear. I may ask you to take some dictation for me. Amelia types all my work beautifully, but I go too fast for her when I dictate. Your shorthand should be a big help to me.’
‘I’m going to my cabin,’ Amelia announced. ‘If I were you, Chloe, I should do the same. You may find yourself feeling a little unwell once we get properly underway.’
Charles Hicks watched her go. She was a small, thin woman with greying hair and a prim manner. ‘I fear Amelia is not a good traveller on board, Chloe. She has been a loyal companion for many years, but I really believe she would prefer to stay in England. I think this may also be my last adventure.’
‘Oh, that would be a shame, sir.’
‘Please don’t call me sir—Charles. You must call me Charles.’ His faded blue eyes twinkled at her. He was still a good-looking man though into his senior years. ‘I am sixty-nine, Chloe. I think I shall be content to settle once I have completed this trip. I spent many years in Egypt, as you know, and I have been into the desert on numerous occasions—but I am still looking for a lost city…’ He laughed as she looked at him. ‘Something as wonderful as Petra that would make my name…but I dare say I shall never find it.’
Chloe smiled her understanding. She knew about Petra—in Greek it meant ‘city of rock’ and was an ancient city of Arabia, situated between the Dead Sea and the Gulf of Aqabah, near the intersection of important caravan routes from Gaza to the Mediterranean. It had once been a flourishing city, but then it fell into decay and had been lost, rediscovered in the nineteenth century by a Swiss explorer.
‘I expect many people would like to discover something as wonderful as Petra,’ she said. ‘As you know, my own interest is in discovering beautiful poetry that has been ignored for a long time. Of course, I don’t read Arabic, though I can recognise certain words, but I have done some research and I have been fortunate enough to find some wonderful translations into French and English, which I am collecting together for a book I hope to publish one day.’
‘Yes, so your father told me. I find that interesting. You must show me your work another day, Chloe—but now I think we should follow Amelia’s lead and find our cabins.’
Chloe had been given an inside cabin, which was disappointing in a way, because it would have been pleasant to look out at the sea and the sky. However, she knew that they were more expensive, and she didn’t intend to spend much time in her cabin anyway.
She had wondered how long it would take her to find her sea legs, but soon discovered that she was unaffected by the slight swell of the sea. It might be different if they hit rough weather, but for the moment she was feeling fine and enjoying herself.
Amelia did not join them for dinner that evening, which Chloe thought a shame since there was a festive air as everyone was greeted by the captain when they entered the dining room. Chloe and the professor hadn’t been invited to the most important table that evening, but the other passengers at their own table seemed very friendly and she enjoyed being introduced and talking to all of them.
‘Is this your first voyage?’ a rather plump lady called Mrs Vermont asked. ‘I am a seasoned traveller, of course, but my niece Jane is with me for the first time. You two girls will be company for each other. Now, isn’t it lucky that you are both here?’
Jane Vermont seemed rather a silly girl to Chloe, but they were of a similar age so she smiled and agreed. It would be impossible to avoid the Vermonts and she would need someone to talk to. Most of the other passengers seemed to be much older, which was a little disappointing.
‘What are you going to do after dinner?’ Jane asked her. ‘There’s masses of entertainment—a dance, the live show and they are running a film this evening. I would like to see it, but Aunt Vera doesn’t want to go.’
‘It depends,’ Chloe said cautiously. ‘What are they showing?’
‘I’m not sure—shall we ask the captain later?’
Chloe thought the captain would have more important things to occupy his time, and surely there were enough stewards to ask anyway. Jane was looking towards the top table, smiling and waving, obviously wanting to be noticed.
Chloe glanced that way herself and saw that one of the favoured guests was the man she had bumped into earlier. He was wearing a very elegant black dinner suit and a pristine white shirt with a black bow tie. As she looked at him, he seemed to become aware of her and lifted his glass to her in a salute.
‘Who is that perfectly divine man?’ Jane asked immediately. ‘He’s so handsome—just like Rudolph Valentino, dark and mysterious and sort of threatening.’ She gave an artificial shiver. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No—we met briefly on deck earlier, but we weren’t introduced,’ Chloe said and looked down. The smoked salmon she was eating had suddenly become very interesting and she kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate. Her heart was behaving very stupidly, and she was afraid that her cheeks might be flushed.
‘Well, he seems very interested in you,’ Jane said and giggled. ‘I wish he would look at me like that…smouldering, that’s the word.’ She smiled at him, but to her discomfiture got nothing but a blank stare. ‘Did you know that there is a film crew on board? They are American, I hear.’
‘A film crew?’ Chloe looked at her, her attention caught. ‘I had no idea—are there any famous actors or actresses with them?’
‘No—I think they probably flew to wherever they’re going. The director is with the crew, though. I think he wants to take some shots on board for some reason. They say he’s looking for a star for his new picture.’ She preened her fluffy dark hair. ‘Do you think I look a bit like Mary Pickford, Chloe?’
Chloe didn’t think she looked at all like the famous star everyone called the ‘World’s Sweetheart’, but she was embarrassed to say so straight out.
‘Well, perhaps a little bit,’ she said. ‘Your hair is the same as hers was in her last film.’
She saw that Jane was pleased, and it was obvious that she had chosen to wear her hair that way in order to look as much like the star as possible.
She really was a bit silly, Chloe thought, and wished her cousin had been on the ship with them, but it was no use sighing over something she couldn’t have. She glanced briefly towards the table, and saw that he was lighting a cigarette for a woman sitting to his left. She was a very beautiful woman, expensively dressed and very sure of herself as she smiled into his eyes.
Chloe looked away again quickly. She wasn’t in that sort of league, and couldn’t compete with a woman like that—not that she wanted to, of course.
‘Do say you will come and watch the picture with me,’ Jane said as people began to make a move from their tables a little later. ‘I just asked one of the stewards and he said it was Valentino’s latest picture. I am longing to see it.’
‘I saw that before I came away,’ Chloe said, but then as Jane’s face fell. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.’
‘You two young things get off,’ Mrs Vermont said indulgently. ‘I’ll sit here and keep the professor company for a while.’
Chloe caught the look of dismay in his eyes before he managed to hide it and smiled inwardly.
‘Do you mind?’ she asked him. ‘Or is there some work you would like me to do for you this evening?’
He looked tempted, but shook his head. ‘I am not such an ogre as to make you work on your first evening, Chloe. No, my dear, you run along and enjoy yourself.’
Jane was full of the film as they left the small theatre afterwards. She went on and on about the star of the film being so handsome and exciting, until Chloe thought she would scream.
‘I really ought to go now,’ she said. ‘I must see if Miss Ramsbottom needs anything before I go to my own cabin.’
In her haste to escape her chattering companion, Chloe took the next turning, which she imagined to be the corridor leading to her own and Miss Ramsbottom’s cabins. However, when she got to the end and found that it led into yet another corridor leading in a different direction, she realised that she had come the wrong way.
As she turned to retrace her steps, she saw someone coming towards her and hesitated, wondering if there was some way to avoid another meeting. It would look foolish if she went back the way she knew led only to the staterooms, so she really had no choice but to stand her ground.
‘Ah, so we meet again,’ he said and looked amused. ‘I really think we should introduce ourselves, Miss…?’
Chloe hesitated, then took a deep breath. This was ridiculous!
‘Chloe Randall,’ she said and offered her hand. ‘I am travelling with Miss Amelia Ramsbottom and Professor Charles Hicks—and I seem to have taken a wrong turning.’
‘Very easy to do,’ he said, and took her hand, holding it for a moment before releasing it. ‘I am Armand…Philip Armand…and if you would care to tell me the number of the cabin you seek, I should be delighted to help you find your way, Miss Randall.’
Chloe was trying to make up her mind what nationality he was. His surname sounded a bit French, but she didn’t think he looked French—and he had hesitated for a moment, almost as if the name he had given her was not his own. But surely he wouldn’t lie—why should he?
‘I—it is nice to meet you,’ Chloe replied formally and then felt silly. ‘My cabin is number fifty-two and Miss Ramsbottom’s is fifty-nine. I was going to call on her and see how she was feeling before I went to bed. She wasn’t well earlier.’
‘Bed so early?’ His brows rose, a curl of amusement on his lips. He was very much the sophisticated man of the world, and made Chloe aware of how young and naïve she must seem. She knew that her clothes were too young for her, and nowhere near as elegant as the other women on board were wearing. ‘You shouldn’t think of such a thing while on board ship, Miss Randall. A young girl like you should be dancing the night away with a handsome partner.’
Chloe knew he was mocking her. She hadn’t seen any handsome young men on board—and the few older ones who fitted his description would be dancing with someone more interesting than little Chloe Randall.
‘I assure you that I have no intention of dancing with anyone, Mr Armand,’ she said. ‘It has been a long day and I am tired. If you could please direct me to my cabin, I shall not trouble you longer. Especially if there is someone waiting for you…’
Now why had she said that? It sounded as if she were interested—and she wasn’t! Not in the least.
‘Unfortunately there is no one I care to dance with either,’ he replied, smiling oddly. ‘My fiancée was forced to remain in London. However, I should be happy to have you as a partner if you do feel tempted to dance another evening—when you are not so tired.’
To her annoyance, Chloe found herself blushing again. How was it that he was able to make her feel like a stupid schoolgirl? She was about to ask him for directions again when she saw a steward come out of one of the cabins, and turned to him quickly.
‘Certainly, I can show you the way, miss,’ he replied to her hasty question. ‘I am going that way now. Please follow me. Goodnight, Mr Armand.’
So he had not been lying about the name after all, Chloe thought as she nodded to him and followed the steward. Philip Armand shot her an amused glance and walked on down the corridor to where Chloe knew the staterooms were situated. They were much larger than her cabin, and had an opening so that the fortunate guest could step outside in privacy and take the air. She had been told that there was also a sitting room and two large bedrooms, and felt a little envious of the passengers who could afford such luxury.
But she was lucky to be here at all! Chloe reminded herself. She would never even have had the chance to travel abroad like this if it had not been for the generosity of Charles Hicks.
She knocked at Amelia’s door and was asked to enter. When she went in, she saw that the poor woman was lying flat on her back and looked most unwell.
‘Can I do anything for you?’ she asked, and Amelia shook her head. ‘Would you like me to call the doctor to you?’
‘Thank you, no,’ Amelia replied. ‘The steward has already given me something to help settle me. It was good of you to ask, Chloe—but all I want is to be left in peace. I shall be all right in a day or so.’
‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you,’ Chloe said and closed the door quietly as she left.
She was thoughtful as she went into her own cabin. Who was Mr Armand, and why had she had the distinct impression he was lying when he gave her his name?
There was really no reason why he should lie to her—or none that she knew of. Perhaps he was travelling under a false name? Yet why should he be? Was he a spy or something underhand like that—a gangster, perhaps?
Chloe didn’t visit the cinema regularly for nothing! And yet he didn’t look anything like the pictures she’d seen of gangsters in the movies.
She considered what he did look like, and decided he was rather like a picture she had seen in a newspaper of a foreign prince a few weeks earlier. No, not a prince…but she was sure it was something of the sort. She couldn’t quite place the article, but she thought it had something to do with politics…or was it big business? She wasn’t certain, and gave it up.
It surely didn’t matter, because she wasn’t likely to have much to do with him. He would probably avoid her like the plague in future, especially if he happened to have a glass in his hand.
Chloe smiled as she remembered his face when Justine had tipped half that champagne over him. He had been rather put out at the time, but on the second occasion he had seemed as if he had begun to see the funny side of it—and he had been perfectly pleasant this evening, even if she did suspect that he had enjoyed mocking her.
She yawned as she began to undress. She really was sleepy, and she had become irritated by Jane Vermont’s meaningless chatter. It would be too bad if she was forced to put up with that for the whole of the voyage, and once again she regretted that her cousin had not been able to come on the trip with them.
Sighing, she went to bed and fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of the film she had just seen, but at some time during her dream the face of the Sheikh changed, becoming that of someone she had just met.
‘You are a beautiful, dangerous woman,’ he told her as he looked deeply into her eyes. ‘I shall have to take you to my casbah and lock you away.’
Waking briefly, Chloe remembered where she had seen that article, then went back to sleep and forgot all about it again…
Chapter Two
H e stood watching the dancers for a moment, his features as hard as the Atlas Mountains, which banded the plains where his ancestors had roamed for centuries, moving relentlessly through deserts and fertile regions on the caravan routes from Gaza to the Barbary Coast. Pasha Ibn Hasim, otherwise known as Philip Armand—or even on occasions Philippe—watched as the girl danced with her elderly employer, a frown on his face that was generally considered strong rather than handsome.
At first he had thought she must be the professor’s niece or his mistress, for he had watched her saying goodbye to her father and friend that day in Southampton. Pasha was not certain why she had aroused his interest, except that she had something in her manner that brought back memories of another girl—his half-sister Lysette.
Lysette’s mother was a woman of French–Algerian extraction, and had married Sheikh Hasim Ibn Ali after they met when the Sheikh was in Paris following the death of his first wife.
Pasha’s own mother had been the favourite daughter of an English gentleman, but she had a French grandmother. It was his great-grandmother’s maiden name that Pasha sometimes took when he wished to travel to countries and cities where his relationship to a certain prince might cause his life to be threatened. It was easier when he did not wish to make his visit official to use the English passport he had obtained in that name.
His uncle, Prince Hassan, had arranged for him to be given an English education at Harrow and Cambridge after Pasha’s father was assassinated. Lysette had gone to America with her mother—and it was there that she had died in a car accident only a few months previously.
Once again Pasha’s features hardened as he thought of the beautiful sister he had adored. Although they had met infrequently after their father’s violent death, Lysette had been a warm, loving friend. Her needless death had shocked and then angered him as he began to suspect that it might not have been the accident that it was supposed to have been.
The doctors who examined her at the time of her death had told Pasha that she was carrying a child. That alone would have been enough to make Pasha vow to punish the man who had ruined her—but the suspicion that she had been killed because she was carrying a child filled him with a bitter anger.
Pasha would not spare the man who had destroyed Lysette if he could be certain of where the guilt lay, but as yet the agents he had set to work for him in America had come up with little in the way of proof. No matter! He was wealthy enough to pursue his enemy to the bitter end, which for Pasha meant a fitting punishment—but for the moment he had equally important concerns.
His visit to Morocco was dual purpose in that he intended to mix business with pleasure. He had family he had not seen in years, whom he intended to visit—but there were other secret reasons for his journey.
The whole region of the Middle East had become volatile of late. Oil was becoming an increasingly valuable commodity, and the Sheikhs of the various small states were jostling for power and territory. Land that had once been merely poor grazing ground could now be worth millions of dollars. His uncle, Prince Hassan, was the ruler of one such state and a powerful man, but he had equally powerful enemies. If he were not to die at the hands of an assassin, too, his family and friends must be vigilant.
A recent plot had been foiled thanks to something Pasha had learned in London from someone at the Foreign Office. The British were keen to support Prince Hassan, who had always been very pro-British and was a valuable ally in the shifting sands of a difficult political situation. And it was another such hint that had brought Philip Armand to this ship.
After the attempt to murder his uncle had been foiled, two men had been captured and persuaded to talk—but a third had escaped. Forbes, his contact at the Foreign Office, had told Pasha that according to his sources the culprit might be found in Marrakesh.
‘We can’t touch him, because the French wouldn’t stand for British interference—besides, he’s sheltering with a man of some political influence out there,’ Forbes had said.
‘But I may be able to achieve what you cannot?’ Pasha’s mouth had curved in a wry smile, which hid his true feelings. Clearly Forbes imagined that he would take a thing like political assassination in his stride. Pasha believed that there were certain circumstances that might lead him to kill, for the way of his people was an eye for an eye and a part of him responded to that. And yet there was another side that found what was, after all, little better than cold-blooded murder abhorrent. But he knew that his uncle’s life must be protected, not just because of the family tie, but for stability in the region. ‘Tell me, my friend—what is the British position in all this?’
‘Officially, we cannot meddle in the politics of the Arab world—but between you and me, Abdullah Ibn Hassan has been a thorn in our side for too long. We suspect him of sabotage as well as murder.’
‘Then you would be happy if someone arranged for him to be eliminated?’ He raised his brows as the icy trickle started at the nape of his neck. This thing that was being asked of him gave him a nasty taste in the mouth, and yet he knew that he might be forced to comply—unless there was another way? He would have to give the matter a great deal of thought.
‘Unofficially, we should be delighted—but this conversation never took place.’
‘Of course not.’ Pasha smiled. ‘I am merely taking a little trip for business and family reasons.’
‘Family out there too, have you?’ Forbes asked. ‘I thought your family were more from Algeria…or Syria?’
‘My father’s people were the true Bedouin,’ Pasha replied, pride tempered with amusement in his eyes. ‘That means they never settled in one place for more than a few months. I have uncles and cousins all over Morocco, Algeria—and, yes, one of my own homes is in Syria. The Bedouin knew no boundary—we simply wandered where we chose along the caravan routes.’
Forbes nodded. ‘You’re so damned English most of the time it’s hard to remember you were born out there.’
‘In my father’s casbah,’ Pasha said. ‘I believe I was conceived in a tent under desert stars, but my mother wanted a Western doctor to attend the birth.’
Forbes nodded. ‘Helen Rendlesham was a beauty by all accounts—and brave. The Sheikh must have been devastated when she died so suddenly.’
‘Blood poisoning,’ Pasha said. ‘She was helping one of her women assemble a sewing machine she had imported to help them learn new skills—and she cut her hand on the rusty underside of a metal plate. No one imagined it would kill her.’
‘Septicaemia,’ Forbes said. ‘It killed an awful lot of men in the last war. We’re only just beginning to make the medical advances we need here. It must have been hopeless in the desert—your father couldn’t have got her to a hospital in time.’
‘It was a tragedy and nearly broke his heart.’ Pasha frowned. ‘I was but a child then and I cried for a long time after she died…’
He had wept a few bitter tears for Lysette too, but he was a man now and this new grief had settled into a hard anger that lived with him night and day. For weeks he had retired into himself, hardly noticing what happened around him…but a young girl had startled him out of the black mood that had possessed him.
He saw her dancing again, and thought of asking her to be his partner when the next dance began—and then a man walked into the ballroom: a man that aroused distrust and hatred in Pasha’s heart. He turned and left abruptly as the bitterness mounted in his throat like gall—the dance would keep until another time.
Chloe caught glimpses of Philip Armand over the next few days. She had thought he might ask her to dance one evening, but he hadn’t and for some reason they didn’t meet anywhere else. It crossed her mind that he might have been avoiding her, but she didn’t let it bother her. There was so much to do on board that she was always busy, and she found herself dividing her time between taking dictation from Professor Hicks and attending all the various functions with Jane Vermont.
Chloe much preferred the time she spent working for the professor to the hours she was obliged to be with Jane Vermont. He really was a clever man and he knew an awful lot about the history of the region they were going to visit over a period of several weeks.
‘It may even run into a few months,’ the professor told her. ‘We shall disembark at Cetua, Chloe, and make our way to Fez and to Marrakesh, as well as other places of interest I want to visit. I hope you are prepared for a long stay—though, if at any time you want to leave us, I shall make arrangements to get you on a ship going home.’
‘Thank you,’ Chloe said. She was grateful for his kindness, but felt sure it was unnecessary. ‘But I’m really looking forward to this trip. I am confident I shan’t want to leave until you and Amelia are ready to come too, but I know you would look after me if I had to return for any reason.’
Chloe was learning a lot about the nomadic peoples of the Middle East as she took dictation and then transcribed her own notes in a fair hand so that Amelia could type them up into manuscript form on the battered portable typewriter that accompanied her everywhere.
Amelia had recovered her health and her spirits after a couple of days at sea, and seemed friendlier towards Chloe as the cruise progressed. She encouraged her to go on the shore trips at the various ports the ship called during the leisurely voyage, telling her that she ought to make the most of her chances to see a little bit of France and Spain while she could.
‘I’ve been on most of these trips over the years,’ she told Chloe. ‘I was in Egypt with Charles for several years, and we have been all over that whole region. All the regions bordering the Sahara—apart from those to the west. That is why Charles wants to visit Morocco again. He has been there before, of course, but not right to the Western Desert. He is most meticulous, you know, and will collate far more information than he could ever actually put into his books.’ She smiled in a self-congratulatory way. ‘Of course I am the one who does the cutting when the publisher demands at least fifty thousand less words.’
‘You must be of invaluable help to Professor Hicks.’
‘Yes, I believe I am—though what he will do when this last book is finished…if it is his last book, of course.’ Her expression showed that she thought it unlikely.
Chloe listened but offered few comments. She found it all fascinating, including the trips she made ashore to Spanish and Portuguese ports, then to Gibraltar. They were nearing the end of their voyage now, for Cetua was a Spanish port at the edge of Morocco and only just across the water from Gibraltar.
‘Oh, are you leaving us at Cetua?’ Mrs Vermont asked. ‘Jane will be so disappointed. You must keep in touch, Chloe dear, and perhaps come to stay with us when you return to England.’
‘That is very kind of you,’ Chloe said. ‘But I am not sure when we shall be returning. It may not be until next year.’
She had gone up on deck to escape Jane’s chattering on the morning of her last day on board the ship, when she was approached by a man who she knew to be the one Jane believed to be a film director. She had previously only nodded to him in passing—probably because he had seemed to prefer to keep his distance.
‘Good morning, Miss Randall—it is Miss Randall, isn’t it?’
‘Yes…’ Chloe caught the faint twang of an American accent. ‘Someone told me you were Brent Harwood, but somehow we haven’t been introduced.’
He nodded and smiled. ‘You’ve been told I am a Hollywood director and you are wondering if it’s true?’ Chloe nodded herself. ‘Well, I can assure you it is. I do not enjoy being hounded by starstruck young women, Miss Randall—that is why I keep a distance. But I have noticed you. You have a certain poise—a way of holding your head that is most attractive. Have you ever considered becoming an actress?’
Chloe’s heart missed a beat. How many times had she dreamed of something like this? But somehow, now that it was happening, she didn’t quite believe it, and imagined that he was merely flattering her. Though she couldn’t see why he should.
‘Oh, I don’t suppose I could do it,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I have any talent.’
‘Talent is something that is not always required,’ he said. ‘A star is made on the cutting-room floor, Miss Randall.’ He smiled at her a little wolfishly, and she thought he might be a vain man—but perhaps he was entitled to be if he was good at what he did. He could obviously be charming when he chose, but he had acquired a reputation on board for being off-hand with anyone who approached him. What she’d heard had put Chloe off him, but now she responded to his smile. ‘What I had in mind was in the nature of—’
Chloe wasn’t destined to discover what he was about to say, because Jane came bounding up to them like an eager puppy.
‘Oh, good, I’ve found you at last,’ she cried, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously at Brent Harwood. She gave him a coy look. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Mr Harwood. It’s amazing how we do keep bumping into each other.’
Her giggle made Chloe cringe, especially as she saw the way Brent Harwood reacted. His face took on an expression of extreme annoyance, which was quickly covered by what Chloe realised was a false smile.
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ he agreed and inclined his head to Chloe. ‘Another time, perhaps?’
Chloe sighed as he walked away. She doubted very much that she would get a second chance to talk to him. Whatever he had to say could not have been important or he would have asked her to meet him in private somewhere. Not that it mattered, she supposed. Jane thought him terribly attractive with his dark blond hair and blue eyes, but Chloe wasn’t sure she either liked or trusted him. That smile he had turned on for Jane had been completely false.
‘Isn’t he just too divine?’ Jane asked. ‘You must tell me—what was he saying to you just now?’
‘Oh, he was only passing the time of day,’ Chloe said, refusing to be drawn. ‘Nothing interesting.’
‘We’ve spoken several times,’ Jane said and preened herself. ‘He told me that I should take acting lessons and that he thought I would be perfect as a slave girl in one of his films.’
‘And what did Mrs Vermont think of that?’
‘Oh, I haven’t told her,’ Jane replied and giggled. ‘Daddy would never let me do it anyway. He wants me to get married. There’s an awfully boring man at home who asked me, and I’ve come away to think it over.’ Her face brightened. ‘We’re losing several passengers at Cetua and taking some more on. Who knows what will happen before I get home?’
‘I hope you find someone you like,’ Chloe said.
‘Oh, I suppose I like Henry well enough,’ Jane replied. ‘He just isn’t very exciting—not in the way he is, for instance.’ She touched Chloe’s arm and gestured with excitement at a man who was coming towards them.
Chloe saw that it was Philip Armand. She had noticed before that he seemed to take his stroll at about this time each morning, seldom speaking to the other passengers. He was clearly a man who preferred his own company, and she expected him to walk straight past her, but to her surprise he stopped.
‘It is a pleasant morning, Miss Randall.’
‘Yes, Mr Armand. Very pleasant.’
Jane fluttered her eyelashes at him, but received only a nod as a curt acknowledgement. She blushed and looked uncomfortable, making Chloe annoyed on her behalf. Jane might be tiresome sometimes, but there was no need to be rude to her!
‘Oh, I must speak to Mrs Bond,’ Jane said catching sight of a passenger she knew well. ‘Excuse me…’
Chloe glared at Philip Armand. ‘You’ve frightened her away. Would it have hurt to smile at her?’
‘I have no time for foolish girls, or for false smiles. Besides, had I encouraged her she would have made a nuisance of herself.’
‘Then I wonder you have time to speak to me?’ Chloe tipped her head defiantly.
‘I did not imagine you were foolish, Miss Randall—though you do seem to keep company with some remarkably silly young ladies.’
‘Justine isn’t silly! That was an accident,’ Chloe cried and then realised she had betrayed herself. ‘Yes, I admit that Jane is a little silly at times—but there was no need to hurt her feelings.’
‘You are perfectly right. I was thinking of something else and did not realise I was giving offence.’
‘Well, you did.’ Chloe was determined not to spare him.
‘Then I must make some recompense. Do you both attend the dance this evening?’ Chloe nodded. ‘Then I shall ask both you and Miss Vermont for a dance—will that suffice?’
‘I dare say Jane will think so if you smile at her.’
He laughed, his face easing into softer lines that brought out the charm she had suspected might be there, hidden away behind his frowns.
‘So, I must smile as I go as a lamb to the slaughter? Very well, Miss Randall—I shall obey your command.’
Chloe shook her head, but her annoyance had faded. ‘You should do so because it pleases you.’
‘Ah—but I find little to please me,’ he said. ‘Except when I am in company I enjoy—as now.’
‘You have not chosen to seek my company before this,’ Chloe blurted out and then wished she hadn’t when she saw the gleam in his eyes. Now he was laughing at her again! And she had asked for it, she thought ruefully. He seemed to bring out the worst in her.
‘I was not sure you would wish for it,’ he replied. ‘You seem to make friends easily, Miss Randall. But I learned from Professor Hicks that you are leaving the ship at Cetua, and as I also leave tomorrow I wanted to offer my services. If I can be of any help to you and your companions with travelling arrangements or accommodation, I should be delighted to do so.’
‘You are kind to think of us,’ Chloe said, feeling surprised that he had bothered. ‘The professor is an experienced traveller and I expect he has already decided on his itinerary, but it was good of you to ask.’
Philip Armand inclined his head. ‘I am sure you are right, Miss Randall—but should you need assistance I would be happy to oblige.’ He looked at her oddly. ‘Now, I shall allow you to rejoin your friends—until this evening.’
Chloe watched as he walked away. What an extraordinary man he was—sure of himself, almost arrogant and yet undoubtedly attractive. She found herself torn two ways and was not sure whether she liked or disliked him.
She still could not make up her mind that evening, even though he was completely charming as he danced with both Jane and her aunt. He might have been a different man, Chloe thought, watching him, and wondered at the change.
She had danced with several men that evening, most of them staid, older men, pleasant but a little dull, when he finally approached her.
‘Am I forgiven now?’ he asked as he led her into the throng of dancers. It was a tango, and in Chloe’s opinion one of the most thrilling of the newer dances. And it took skill to execute the exciting steps, especially when the gentleman bent his partner backwards.
‘You should be asking Jane, not me,’ she said and looked at him a little naughtily. ‘Did you know that the Kaiser forbade his troops to dance the tango, because it might affect their moral fibre?’
‘Undoubtedly that was why they lost the war,’ he replied promptly and made her laugh. It was usually only Justine who responded to her humour so swiftly. ‘Ah, so I am forgiven after all…’
‘Only if you can dance this as beautifully as I hope.’ She gave him a bewitching smile. Something flashed in Mr Armand’s eyes and as his hand reached out for hers she felt a tingle rather like an electric shock. For one moment she felt mesmerised as she gazed into his eyes, her lips parting in a little gasp of surprise as she glimpsed the passion beneath the mask he habitually wore. This man was very different from the cool, polite stranger she had encountered from time to time on the ship and she sensed something slightly dangerous. Her heart began to race wildly, and as he placed his hand at her waist she felt close to swooning. Her teasing had somehow roused a tiger!
‘Oh, I shall certainly be on my mettle now,’ he said, and swept her into the dance with a flourish.
Chloe had never danced like this in her life. He was in control, in tune with the melody and with her, guiding her effortlessly through the intricate steps. It felt as if her feet hardly touched the floor, and she was floating with the music and the power and magnetism of her partner. Her whole body seemed to throb with a strange new feeling—a recklessness that she did not recognise but dimly realised might be desire.
What was she thinking? Had she lost her senses completely? It must be the evocative rhythm of the music that was making her feel this way—and yet as his hand slid against the satin softness of her bare arm she knew it was far more to do with the man himself.
‘Oh…’ she breathed as the music finally died and after a brief moment, when his eyes seemed to burn into her soul, he released her. ‘What a pity. I should have liked to go on dancing forever.’
‘Then I shall consider myself forgiven,’ he said. His gaze strayed across the room to where Jane Vermont was talking at Brent Harwood, and the warmth died from his eyes. ‘I see your foolish friend is making up to that American. If I were you I should warn her to be careful. Apart from the fact that he makes ridiculous films, I know that he is not to be trusted.’
Chloe felt the withdrawal in him and was hurt. How could he change so suddenly after that magical dance? For that brief time they had seemed almost indivisible and now he was miles away from her again—but perhaps it had only been her who had felt the magic. She immediately threw up a screen to hide her foolish sensitivity.
‘Why don’t you like his films?’
‘I believe he intends to make something rather similar to the picture that Valentino caused such a stir with three, or perhaps it was four, years back—The Sheikh. I imagine you may have seen it?’
‘Yes—seven times,’ Chloe said, half-defensive, half-angry. ‘I loved it!’
A wry smile touched Philip Armand’s mouth. ‘Valentino is a remarkable actor. He made what was a very foolish plot seem almost believable. Unfortunately, it has provoked a rash of copycat films, which are an insult to the Bedouin way of life. You should know that, Miss Randall. Professor Hicks certainly agrees.’
‘Yes…well, of course I know it isn’t really the way things are. But surely that doesn’t matter? As a film it was romantic and fun…and surely its purpose was to entertain?’
‘As you say.’ He inclined his head as he escorted her to near where her friends were standing. A tiny nerve was flicking in his cheek and she sensed that she must have upset him. But why should it bother him that an American film director was intent on making a copy of the kind of picture that had made Rudolph Valentino famous?
Chloe found that she couldn’t get Philip Armand out of her mind as she prepared for bed that last evening on board ship. He was certainly the kind of man Justine would consider romantic and her foolish heart had been led astray during their dance. For a moment she had thought that there was something special between them, something rare and intense, something that if lost might never be found again…but of course that was ridiculous. They were merely strangers meeting briefly, their lives soon to diverge, never to meet again.
She would be ridiculous to imagine otherwise, of course she would. After all, he had mentioned a fiancée, hadn’t he? Feeling the sharp sting of jealousy at the thought of the unknown fiancée, Chloe tried to dismiss him from her mind. She was being so silly to imagine that he had anything but a passing interest in her. She really must stop letting her imagination run wild. The truth was that she had found him intriguing from the start—but what was it about him that made her think she ought to know more of him than she did?
She was sure that she had seen his picture in the paper, had almost captured the article the other night. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to recall whatever it was that hovered at the back of her mind, then all at once she went cold as she remembered. Of course! He had been with another man…a man wearing the flowing robes and headdress of a Sheikh! Of course…it had been an article about an assassination attempt. She could almost remember it now. There had been an attempt on the life of an important ruler of one of the oil-producing countries on the Arabian Peninsula. And Philip Armand was a cousin or something of the man pictured with him in the paper. Yet she didn’t think he had called himself by that name. It was more like Hassan…or Pasha. Or had that been the ruler’s name?
Chloe couldn’t be certain, and he had looked very different in the picture because he too had been wearing the robes of a Sheikh. Surely she must be mistaken? Yet if she was right, it would explain why he was so annoyed to find himself travelling with an American film director who made films that he clearly believed misrepresented the Bedouin way of life.
Even so, that didn’t quite explain his attitude towards Brent Harwood. There had been real anger in him as he spoke of the man…an underlying menace that she sensed must have a cause. It had seemed almost a personal thing…
Chloe dismissed her thoughts—she shouldn’t worry about something that was of no real concern to her. She wanted a good night’s sleep so as to be ready for the following day.
‘Oh, do please keep in touch,’ Jane begged as she said goodbye the next morning. ‘It has been so nice having you as a friend, Chloe. I wish you were staying for the whole of the cruise. But I suppose you can’t wait to get off to wherever it is you’re going.’
Chloe promised she would write and tell Jane where they went and what they saw.
‘It may be ages before I can post a letter,’ she said. ‘We are going to be travelling to the more remote villages as soon as the professor can arrange transport. We are on a research trip, not a holiday. I have to take dictation and help the professor find what he is looking for—which could mean lots of reading and walking.’
‘You poor thing,’ Jane said, looking at her in horror. She had never worked in her life and hoped she never would. ‘I hope it won’t be too terrible for you. Aunt Vera says that some of these places can be very primitive. Do be careful what you eat, Chloe. My aunt was awfully ill once when she stayed in Morocco.’
‘Miss Ramsbottom carries a lot of emergency kit,’ Chloe assured her. ‘My friends know all about travelling in the region so we should be safe enough.’
‘Well, goodbye—and do keep in touch.’
There were several people leaving the ship that morning. Chloe saw Brent Harwood with the other members of the film crew, all of whom she knew only by sight. None of them had been particularly talkative, though apparently they had taken a few shots of the captain and his crew.
She noticed Philip Armand—or whatever his name really was—being met by a man who saluted him and took the briefcase he was carrying off to what looked like an expensive French car. He glanced back at the ship just before he got into the back seat, inclining his head to her but not smiling. She thought he looked angry again, and wondered what had upset him this time.
What a very odd man he was! He could be so charming and friendly when he chose, and the next withdrawn, as cold as ice. She wondered what made a man like that, and decided that he must have an awful lot on his mind.
‘Well, here we are then,’ Professor Hicks said to her. ‘All your goodbyes finished, Chloe?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m looking forward to our adventure.’
‘Adventure?’ He nodded and looked pleased. ‘Yes, I suppose it is a kind of adventure. Some of my research can seem dull, especially to a young woman like yourself, I dare say—but meeting people and seeing new places is always exciting.’
Chloe and Amelia Ramsbottom sat at the back of the rather crowded bus that was to take them to their hotel. It was quite new and provided by one of the Spanish-built hotels that had begun to appear in the last few years.
‘When we first came here there were no buses and hardly any cars,’ Amelia confided to her as the bus reached its capacity load and lurched off down the bumpy road. ‘I remember we hired a kind of dogcart pulled by one tired old horse—and in Morocco we had to ride on donkeys. Camels when we went into the desert, of course.’
‘How brave you were to accompany the professor on his early trips,’ Chloe said. ‘Of course things have changed a lot since the war, haven’t they?’
‘Oh, yes, a great deal, everyone is beginning to catch on to the idea of foreign travel. I dare say it will be as popular for ordinary people to holiday in places like Spain and Portugal as it has been for the rich on the French Riviera one day.’
‘Do you think we shall travel by camel this time?’
‘I certainly hope not,’ Amelia said. ‘Charles will have a vehicle of some sort. Do you drive at all, Chloe?’
‘Yes, though I haven’t had much experience. I couldn’t afford a car, but Daddy did arrange for me to learn. He thought it might come in useful.’
‘I dare say it might. The professor drives, but I’m afraid I don’t.’
Chloe was excited by what she saw as they drove along a very bumpy, dusty road. The sky was a clear, cloudless blue, which seemed to make the brilliant white of the houses seem even brighter, and the flowers spilling out from gardens, pots and hanging boxes were a riot of colour. There was a definite style to the arches and domes, giving it the flavour of the East that she had expected, for even though it was a Spanish protectorate Cetua still had that Moorish feel.
Now and then she caught sight of beautiful villas and gardens behind high walls and wondered about the people who lived there, but there were also small houses that seemed to be made of either stone or mud bricks and some looked to be in danger of tumbling down. They passed children standing by the roadside, many of whom were barefooted and dressed in little better than rags. There were also beggars with sores or missing limbs, traders who held up their wares as the bus passed, and men leading a string of camels into town.
The bus made slow progress through the town itself, which was crowded with carts, donkeys, people and motor vehicles. Chloe hadn’t been sure what to expect, but the modern ways of the West seemed to have begun to influence this ancient world and the hotel they were taken to had been built since the war.
From the hot, dirty street they entered a cool courtyard, which was paved with a beautiful mosaic of jewel-coloured tiles, and had a fountain playing in its centre. Terracotta pots held a variety of fleshy green plants with spiky leaves or trailing fronds, and two large palm trees stood at either side of the lobby entrance.
Inside it was a mixture of Moorish taste with some Art Deco influences in the furnishings. They were greeted politely by the hotel manager himself, but the language Chloe thought was being used most often was not Spanish, as she had expected, but French. She was glad that she had taken it to a higher level at school. However, it was not long before she became aware of a heated argument, taking place in English between a rather pretty young woman and one of the desk clerks.
‘But it is absolutely impossible for me to manage in that perfectly dreadful little room!’ the woman cried in a sharp voice. ‘Brent promised me a suite and I really must have it.’
‘But, Angela darling, they don’t have a suite available,’ a man dressed in a crumpled white suit was telling her. He looked hot and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. Clearly he was at a loss what to do in the circumstances. ‘Brent has the only one and he—’
‘Then he must give it to me,’ she said and pulled a face. ‘I only came to this awful country because he promised me it would all be lovely and that I could have everything I wanted.’
Chloe was unable to hear any more of the argument, because a smiling, white-robed porter was picking up her bags and beckoning her to follow. She did so, though she was curious about the woman, whose face seemed familiar. She was almost certain she was a film star. Oh, why couldn’t she think of her name? He had called her Angela… Yes, of course, that was it! Angela Russell. She had been in several silent films, most of them supposedly set in exotic locations.
‘What on earth was that fuss about just now?’ Amelia asked as they paused at the end of the landing.
‘Oh, I think that was Angela Russell, the film star,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ve seen some of her films, though I don’t think she has made one for a while—at least I haven’t seen it. She seemed to be upset about the room they have given her. I think she wanted a suite or something.’
Amelia gave a snort of disgust.
‘This hotel is a palace compared to some we’ve stayed in. A woman like that has no business travelling at all if she is going to make a fuss over every little thing. One has to expect some discomfort when one leaves home.’
Chloe smiled, but thought that everyone couldn’t be as confident as the intrepid Miss Ramsbottom. She had thought the filmstar rather lovely and had sympathised if she didn’t like her room.
Her own room seemed perfectly comfortable when she was shown into it a moment or so later. Although the furniture was basic, with just a narrow single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe, it was clean and adequate for her needs, and the bathroom was only just down the hall.
‘Mine is just the same as yours,’ Amelia said when she popped in to collect Chloe on her way downstairs. ‘Nice and cosy, all perfectly comfortable.’
‘Yes, it is fine,’ Chloe said as they went out and walked down the stairs towards the dining room. ‘But we are not staying here long, are we?’
‘We shall make this hotel our base,’ Professor Hicks answered her question as he caught up to them. ‘Most of our luggage will remain here, but we shall drive out to the various towns and villages, Chloe. And we may need to stay over sometimes so we always keep an overnight bag in the vehicle.’
As they were shown to their table, Chloe noticed that the actress was complaining again. She was with the man who had been trying to pacify her earlier, and now Brent Harwood was also with them. Chloe couldn’t help overhearing what the actress was saying, because her voice was so loud and shrill.
‘It’s perfectly ghastly,’ she said. ‘If I eat this stuff I shall be ill again—and goodness knows when we shall be able to start shooting…’
‘Send it back and order something else,’ Brent replied, looking faintly annoyed but obviously trying not to show it. ‘Nothing is too good for you, Angela.’
Chloe had ordered a dish of lamb cooked with vegetables and rice, which she found delicious. She wondered if anything would ever satisfy the actress, who was clearly pampered and used to getting her own way.
Chloe had finished her main course and was pondering whether to have a pudding when she saw a man being conducted to a table behind a potted palm; it was secluded and hidden from view from most of the dining area, and had remained empty until now.
So Philip Armand was staying here too, she thought, and blushed as he looked at her across the room, giving her a curt nod. She had been staring again—but she knew that there was a new hotel on the other side of town that was far more luxurious than this one, so why wasn’t he staying there? There must be nicer places to eat! She couldn’t imagine why he had chosen to stay here—unless he was trying to avoid someone? It would, she supposed, be easier to lose himself amongst the latest influx of tourists here than in more exotic restaurants.
Was she letting her imagination run wild again? He had always seemed a mysterious character and her active mind began once again to weave all kinds of impossible plots, which she hastened to dismiss as he frowned in her direction. He had noticed her interest and would think her as bad as Jane Vermont, and imagine she had been trying to catch his attention. And she wasn’t! Her cheeks felt warm as she recalled her foolish thoughts after that dance. It had just been the magic of the dance, of course. He wasn’t interested in her and she wasn’t sure she even liked him…well, not really. She certainly wasn’t in love with him. Being in love was fun and feeling happy all the time, or that’s how she’d always thought it would be—all that this man made her feel was agitated, on edge! Bother him!
‘Do you want a pudding?’ Professor Hicks asked, causing her to look at him and forget the irritating Mr Armand. ‘Only I thought you might want to make the most of this afternoon. Get out and have a look round—do a little shopping in the bazaar, perhaps? I shall want to leave early tomorrow.’
‘Yes, I think I shall,’ she said, putting down her napkin. ‘If you are sure you don’t need me this afternoon?’
‘I am going to be arranging transport,’ he replied. ‘No, my dear, you get off and enjoy yourself.’
‘Would you like to come, Amelia?’ Chloe asked.
‘No, thank you, Chloe,’ the older woman replied. ‘I shall have a little rest in the hotel gardens. Enjoy yourself—but wear something on your arms, and keep your head covered—and don’t go too far from the main streets. We don’t want you disappearing on your first day—do we, my dear? I dare say your father would never forgive us.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Chloe was astonished. ‘Why should I disappear?’
‘She means that you are a very pretty girl,’ the professor explained with a smile. ‘And I assure you, it wouldn’t be unknown out here for a pretty girl walking alone to be snatched by unscrupulous men. But as long as you stick to the busy main streets you should be all right.’
‘White slavery?’ Chloe asked. ‘I thought that was something out of Hollywood films.’
‘Not at all,’ Amelia said. ‘I can assure you it does happen. Some years ago when we were in Egypt, a man tried to buy me for six camels from the professor. Now would you believe that?’ She looked a little coy and laughed oddly.
‘Yes, and I had a devil of a job shaking him off,’ Charles said with a rueful look. ‘I had almost forgotten that, Amelia. You were an exceptionally handsome woman in those days, my dear. One tends to forget with the passing of the years…’
Chloe noticed the swiftly hidden look of pain in Angela’s eyes and realised that she was in love with him—had probably been in love with him all her life. But of course he had never noticed. He had been wrapped up in his work and it had probably never occurred to him that his secretary had that kind of feeling towards him.
That brief but revealing look made Chloe feel sympathy towards the older woman, and she determined not to mind if Amelia was grumpy sometimes.
‘I promise I won’t do anything silly,’ she said. ‘Besides, this is a Spanish protectorate. We aren’t in Morocco yet. I’m sure I shall be perfectly safe…’
Chapter Three
I t was the first time Chloe had been out alone in a foreign city. Jane and Mrs Vermont had always been with her on the excursions planned and guided by one of the ship’s crew, but now she was completely alone and it felt a little odd.
Chloe was glad she had taken Amelia’s advice to cover her arms and her hair. After being stared at by both men and women as if she were some sort of curiosity, Chloe was almost ready to return to the hotel within a few minutes of leaving it. However, she was determined not to let an attack of nerves betray her, and she forced herself to walk as far as the bazaar she had noticed on their way to the hotel.
Once she had conquered her initial feeling of uncertainty, she began to relax and enjoy herself. It was all so very different and exotic—the people with their dark skins and flowing robes, and the children who clamoured for coins as she passed. She had been warned not to give them money, and resisted the temptation, even though their little faces were very appealing. She was fascinated by the Moorish architecture, and the glimpses of paved courtyards behind high gates was intriguing, the colours brilliant.
The bazaar was crowded with people, the merchants at the doors of their shops calling out to entice passers-by to enter. Chloe took her time, lingering over a profusion of beautifully worked soft leather goods, long silky scarves, sandals, beaten brass and little wooden tables that had either brass or silver inlaid into their surfaces. Sensibly, she had brought only a little money with her, for the professor had advised against large sums in case of theft. She did have enough to buy a leather bag she liked, and was able to conduct a bargaining session with the merchant in French.
Satisfied that she had secured a good deal for herself Chloe handed over a few coins, then, as she left the shop, found herself besieged by other shopkeepers extolling their own wares as she made her way back to the bazaar entrance.
‘No, thank you,’ she said as they clawed at her arm and chattered away in a language that was strange to her. ‘I have no money to buy anything else.’
Discovering that they would not take no for an answer, Chloe broke away and started to run. She turned to her right as she left the bazaar, realising only after her panic had begun to ease that she had mistaken her way and left by the wrong entrance.
She was not in the main street she knew but a narrow alleyway between houses built close together. It seemed darker all of a sudden, and she looked up at a sky that was leaden with clouds, thinking that it might rain at any moment. She realised that she had spent longer in the bazaar than she had intended, and that the evening had pulled in much more quickly than she had anticipated.
Anxious to return to the hotel before the rain came, Chloe turned to retrace her steps. She must find the main street so that she could get her bearings, but she wasn’t sure which way to turn.
It was only after a few minutes of wandering that she sensed she was being followed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw two men dressed in long white tunics walking towards her; they appeared to be looking at her excitedly and she was suddenly afraid. Supposing Amelia’s warning had not been as ridiculous as it had sounded back at the hotel? Supposing the men were intent on kidnapping her?
Her heart began to pound rapidly, and, seeing the main street at the end of the alley she had just turned into, she began to run. Fear took over as she heard one of the men call out to her and knew that they had begun to pursue her.
Oh, why hadn’t she returned to the hotel at the beginning? She had been aware of intense interest almost immediately, but pride had forbidden her to give in to her anxiety. Wild thoughts of being sold into a harem filled her mind, but she was nearly at the main street now and surely she would be safe then?
They were catching up to her! She redoubled her efforts and catapulted out into the street, colliding with a man walking past.
‘Oh, I am so…Mr Armand!’ Chloe cried as the relief swept over her. ‘Those men are chasing me. I think they are trying to kidnap me.’
‘I doubt it,’ he replied, turning to fire rapid questions at the two men in a language Chloe had never heard before. Some sort of argument seemed to ensue before the men looked at her and made what was clearly an apology. Philip Armand’s expression was definitely amused as he looked at her. ‘It seems to be a case of mistaken identity, Miss Randall. They had heard that a beautiful American actress was staying at a hotel near here—and since you are beautiful and looked as if you might be American, they wanted your autograph.’
‘My autograph?’ Chloe stared at him in disbelief, and then at the men, who were shuffling their feet and looking shamefaced. ‘But why did they chase me? I was frightened.’
‘I have explained and they are very sorry, but they had seen films where fans pursue their idols in America and they did not think it was wrong.’ He spoke to the men, and they mumbled another apology before turning and walking off in a dejected manner. ‘They were excited by the thought of meeting an American actress—they would probably have asked you to take them to America, for they have heard it is a rich country. It isn’t often someone famous comes their way. They are simple people, Miss Randall. I told them you had forgiven them—I hope that was right? You did not wish to press charges?’
‘Of course not!’ Chloe was feeling foolish by this time. ‘I—I suppose I let my imagination run away with me.’
‘Perhaps you have seen too many Hollywood films?’ he suggested and she blushed as she caught the mockery in his look. ‘I do assure you that my people do not often abduct young women these days.’
‘Your people?’ She stared at him. ‘So I was right. I thought Armand wasn’t your real name. I saw a picture of you in the paper once…’
‘Yes, that was a mistake,’ he said and frowned. ‘I should never have allowed it. If you recognised me, others might—’
‘Oh, I didn’t—not at once. It was only when you spoke of the Bedouin way of life…’ She blushed again as his eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t suppose most people would have taken much notice of the article. It was only because I was interested…’ She faltered as he frowned again. ‘Not in politics. I have an interest in Arabic literature…poems, to be exact. You quoted something from Umar Ibn Abi Rabia, whose work was disapproved of by more pious scholars. That was what caught my eye.’
‘Ah, yes, the love poems.’ His brows lifted. ‘I would hardly have thought you a scholar of Arabic, Miss Randall?’
‘I am not, of course. I wish I could claim to be that clever. I can recognise a few words here and there—but there are some wonderful poems and other forms of literature that have been translated into English and French. I am making a collection. One day, I may inquire if anyone would like to publish them as a book. You see, I think other people might like them if they were readily available—especially some of the love poems. They are so beautiful…’
Her cheeks were on fire as she finished. He looked amused but also approving, and something about him at that moment was making her stomach tie itself in knots. She was finding it a little difficult to breathe—foolish girl!
‘Yes, they are,’ he agreed. ‘And it is a shame that so much of merit languishes unread for want of interest. Some of the most beautiful prose and poetry were originally written in Arabic—there is a sensuality about the language that flows from the tongue.’
And about his mouth! How attractive he was when he looked at her like that.
Chloe checked her unruly thoughts. What on earth was going through her mind? She was an incurable romantic!
‘I have often wished that I could read the original but, as I said before, I am not clever enough.’
‘That is because no one has taught you,’ he said, and there was a look in his eyes that sent an odd little tingle down her spine. ‘Perhaps you will tell me more of what you have discovered as we walk back to the hotel, Miss Randall?’ His dark eyes met hers in a challenge.
‘You know of the Rubaiyat, of course.’
‘Oh, yes, I know some of it by heart…’ She faltered as his brows quirked, and then closed her eyes. ‘It begins… “Wake! For the sun, who scattered into flight…”’
“‘The Stars before him from the Field of Night,
Drive Night along with them from Heav’n and strikes
The Sultan’s turret with a Shaft of Light.’”
‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed as he stopped and arched his brows at her. ‘I thought I must be the only one who had learned that verse. Most people only seem to know the bit about the cup of wine and thou.’
‘But you are different,’ he suggested. ‘You intrigue me, Miss Randall. Tell me more.’
Chloe looked shyly at him. ‘I’ve never talked about my work before. Daddy calls it my little hobby, and my friends don’t understand why I find the study of Arabic literature interesting. Justine says there are already too many English poets to bother with something in an impossible language that no one can understand.’
‘Justine is your exuberant friend from the ship?’
‘Yes. I am sorry that she ruined your suit—and that I made it worse.’
‘I am not sure that once something is ruined you can make it worse.’
‘You’re laughing at me!’ Chloe accused.
‘Yes, and it is very unkind of me,’ he replied with a twist of his mouth—a mouth she again realised was very attractive. ‘But it is good to laugh sometimes. Believe me, I have not wanted to laugh for a long time.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Someone I cared for died.’
‘Oh, I see—I am very sorry. I know that hurts. I was devastated when my mother died.’
He nodded, but did not elaborate. Clearly his grief was private, and still too raw to be discussed.
‘May I ask your real name?’
‘You could not remember—even though you saw the newspaper article?’
‘No. I thought it might be Hassan—or Pasha?’
‘It is Pasha,’ he said. ‘Pasha Ibn Hasim—can you be trusted to keep that to yourself, Miss Randall? I would prefer that it did not become common knowledge at the hotel—or anywhere.’
‘Yes, of course—if you wish,’ she said and frowned. ‘I expect you have a good reason for using a false name.’
‘Armand is my maternal great-grandmother’s name. She was French—and her father was called Philippe. I have a British passport in that name so it is not entirely false.’
‘Oh…’ Chloe felt her cheeks getting warm again. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything.’
‘You did, of course, but no matter. I do have very good reasons for travelling under an assumed name. My father was assassinated in Algeria when I was a child of nine years. My uncle sent me to England to be educated because he believed I would be safer in a foreign country—and, as my mother was English, I had relations there.’
‘Your father was… I am so sorry! I had no idea.’ Chloe was appalled. She had never heard anything so dreadful and it had completely shocked her. ‘That’s why…I mean, I shan’t say a word about what you’ve told me to anyone. Are you an important Sheikh or something?’
Pasha laughed. ‘Not important in the way you mean, merely wealthy. However, someone in my family is very important.’
‘Please don’t tell me any more,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I ought to know. In case I inadvertently say something I shouldn’t.’
‘I had no intention of telling you anything that might compromise his safety—or your own.’
Chloe’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘You really are important, aren’t you? You must be if your…friend might be in danger through something I might accidentally learn from you.’
Pasha didn’t answer and she felt that he had withdrawn from her once more, but she no longer wondered at it or that he should look so stern at times. He had a great deal on his shoulders, and his life could not be easy. She saw that they had almost reached the hotel, and turned to him.
‘Thank you for helping me. I can manage now.’ She hesitated. ‘In case we don’t meet again—good luck.’ And then without knowing why she did it, she leaned towards him and softly kissed his cheek. ‘Stay alive, Pasha Ibn Hasim. Goodbye.’
Chloe turned quickly away before he could answer, running into the hotel without looking back. She had acted impulsively and was already regretting what he must see as very forward behaviour.
She had no idea why she had done it, except that the little he had told her made her feel he might be in danger himself, and for some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, she couldn’t bear for him to be assassinated like his father.
Chloe looked for Pasha at dinner that evening, but he wasn’t in the hotel dining room. Nor was the film crew, and Amelia told them that she had earlier seen the actress and Brent Harwood being called for in a large, expensive car.
‘I think they have been invited to dine with some local bigwig,’ she said. ‘There’s quite a buzz going round over this film they are making. Apparently, it’s going to be shot mainly in Morocco, but they are doing some of the scenes here at the hotel—and they think it will make them famous.’
‘The manager hopes it will bring new visitors to his hotel,’ the professor said. ‘Can’t see it myself—never been to one of those films in my life and don’t care to. Give me a good German-made film—or the French make some decent artistic stuff.’
‘Daddy won’t go to a German film on principle,’ Chloe said. ‘Because of the war. But Justine and I went to one—it was rather macabre and frightening. We didn’t like it.’
‘I dare say you young things would prefer an Elinor Glyn script,’ Amelia said. ‘Personally, I don’t think you can beat Charlie Chaplin. He is the master of comedy.’
‘Now I don’t mind watching that fellow,’ the professor said. ‘He is quite amusing…’ He beamed at them. ‘Do you feel up to taking a little dictation this evening, Chloe? Or would you like to get an early night before we start in the morning?’
‘Oh, of course I don’t mind taking some dictation,’ Chloe assured him. ‘That is why I am here.’
‘Then we’ll find a quiet corner in the gardens,’ he said. ‘I spotted a little shelter where we can sit and be undisturbed. I’ll go up and fetch my notebook and meet you in a few minutes.’
‘I’ll be in the garden,’ Chloe agreed. ‘I think I know where you mean—I’m sure I do, near the palm trees in the corner…’
‘Yes, that’s right, my dear.’ He nodded to her and went off.
‘I think I shall have some coffee in the lounge and settle with a book,’ Amelia said. ‘You don’t need me for anything, Chloe?’
‘No, thank you,’ Chloe said and left her, wandering out through the hotel to the back gardens, which were rather attractive and quite large for a hotel. She stopped to sniff at a pretty yellow rose, and then became aware of raised voices coming from behind a large flowering bush. It sounded as though two men were arguing, but she was unable to understand because they spoke in a language she did not recognise.
And then one of them mentioned a name she had heard for the first time that afternoon…Pasha Ibn Hasim! Chloe strained to catch more of what was being said and she thought she heard the word Hassan…and then again Pasha’s name. Oh, how she wished she knew what they were saying! It was so frustrating to know that they were talking about someone she knew but not to be able to understand, and then one of them said something in French, and she knew they were talking about an attempt at murder.
Chloe’s blood ran cold. Surely she must have heard wrongly? She wished they would continue to speak in French, but they had returned to the first language, which she found unintelligible.
‘Ah, there you are, my dear! I am sorry to keep you waiting.’
The professor’s words startled her, and she swung round to see him approaching. The men had abruptly stopped speaking, and as her employer joined Chloe, they came from behind the bushes, glancing at her as they began to stroll off in the direction of the hotel.
Chloe felt her mouth go dry as she saw the expression of menace in one of the men’s eyes. He said something in a low voice to his companion, but he shook his head and frowned. Obviously the second man was of the opinion that they were in no danger, as a foreign woman wouldn’t have understood what they were saying.
And she hadn’t, of course—except for the names and that one sentence in French. She probably had it all wrong, of course she did! And yet Pasha had told her that his father had been assassinated…
Chloe’s thoughts were confused, but had to be dismissed as the professor found his little shelter and asked her to sit down so that they could begin. Chloe took the notebook she always carried from her bag and smiled at him, indicating that she was ready to begin.
Even if those men had been plotting something, there was nothing she could do for the moment. Pasha had not been at dinner, and she did not know how to contact him—though she would leave a note for him at the desk before she went up to her room.
Chloe asked for an envelope at the foyer, and was given one by an obliging desk clerk. She slipped her note inside, and wrote Philip Armand on the envelope, handing it in with a request that it be given to Mr Armand when he returned.
‘Certainly, Miss Randall. Is there anything else I may do for you?’
‘No, thank you—just make sure that Mr Armand gets the envelope.’
Alone in her room, Chloe thought over what she had heard earlier. She couldn’t be sure that it was significant—and she had made that clear in her letter. Pasha would probably think she was letting her imagination work overtime again, but at least she had done what she could.
She found it difficult to sleep at first, and lay tossing from one side to the other as her mind went over and over the events of the day, but eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep. She dreamed of a tent in the desert and a handsome, slightly dangerous Sheikh.
The professor wanted an early start, and there was hardly anyone in the dining room when they had their breakfast. Chloe inquired at the desk and was told that Mr Armand had been given her letter when he came in the previous evening, but that there was no reply.
She felt a little disappointed, but decided that it would be foolish to have looked for a reply. As she had half-expected, he probably thought that she had imagined the whole incident.
‘Are you ready, Chloe my dear?’
The professor was calling to her, and she hurried to his side. They were beginning their trip in truth now, for they were to enter Morocco and would make their way to various villages. The first important destination on the professor’s itinerary was Fez, and after that Marrakesh.
The car he had hired for their use was quite a large tourer, and more comfortable than Chloe had imagined, with a soft top that came down so that they could enjoy a breeze as they drove on fine days.
Looking back at the hotel as the professor drove away, Chloe saw Pasha come out of the main entrance, but she didn’t wave to him, even though she knew he had seen her. It would probably be the last time she would see him and that thought left her feeling a little low, though she didn’t know why it should.
‘Marrakesh was founded in 1062,’ the professor told Chloe as they looked out of the window of the house they had taken just outside the city for a few days. Situated on a hillside, it had a good view over the city itself. ‘It was a centre of the caravan trade for centuries, and is just as important commercially today.’
‘It looks exciting,’ Chloe said. ‘Amelia was telling me that it was the capital of the sultans, and there are many old buildings and mosques that are interesting to see.’
‘Yes—though, unfortunately, neither of you will be allowed inside,’ the professor said. ‘I was disappointed in Fez not to be able to even approach the mosque of Mula Idris, but the shrine is considered so sacred that non-Muslims may not approach its entrance. However, I dare say there are many fine buildings here that you will be allowed to look at, at least from the outside.’
They had been travelling for three weeks now, and Chloe had discovered that the professor was indefatigable when it came to visiting places he wished to see. She was glad that they were going to stay put for a few days, because she wanted to catch up on some correspondence.
‘Did you need me for dictation this afternoon?’ she asked. ‘I thought I might stay here and wash my hair.’
Charles seemed to realise that he was asking a lot, and looked contrite. ‘You must forgive me, Chloe. I have worked you both hard these past few weeks,’ he said. ‘That’s why I thought we would take the house for a few days rather than stay in hotels. You should be comfortable here, Chloe. And, no, I don’t need you this afternoon. I shall go into the city myself, but you may stay here and relax for a few hours.’
‘Yes, I should enjoy that,’ she said. ‘I saw a pleasant garden just down the road from us, and I think I might take a walk there once I’ve washed my hair—let it dry in the sun.’
‘And I shall stay here and prepare a meal for us all,’ Amelia said. ‘It will make a pleasant change to the bread, cheese and fruit we’ve lived on for the last few days.’
They had preferred to live on food they bought in the local markets rather than eating at the various small inns they passed on their travels. The roads were long and dusty, and they carried a supply of boiled water with them, because Amelia said one couldn’t be too careful about these things.
Chloe had found the travelling interesting, but hard going at times and she marvelled at the resilience of her companions, who seemed to take it all in their stride. Of course they were used to it, but she had not liked some of the rooms she had been forced to sleep in, and had thought longingly once or twice of the comfortable bedroom she had left behind in Cetua.
They had brought sufficient clothing with them to manage, though it meant washing out undies and blouses at night, and they often could not be ironed.
Chloe walked down the hillside to the garden she had seen as the professor drove to their house. It opened out on to the road and, since there were no notices saying that it was private and no fences, she assumed that it was open to the public.
The house they had hired had only a back yard, which was not particularly nice to sit in. Chloe thought that she would enjoy relaxing in this pretty garden with its palm trees, flowers and—yes, to her delight she saw that there were fountains and a little ornamental stream.
She wandered by the stream, which wended its way in and out of delightful shrubs and flower beds, until she came to a wooden seat and decided to sit there for a while with the book she had brought with her. Her hair was almost dry, and she could feel it blowing in the slight breeze that had sprung up.
However, the seat was hard and she found it uncomfortable, so she sat down on the dry grass, and, after reading for a while, lay down and closed her eyes. It was so peaceful here in this beautiful place and she had not been able to relax like this for ages…
‘It would be unwise to fall asleep in the hot sun.’
The man’s voice startled her and she opened her eyes, sitting up in alarm as she saw someone standing there. She shaded her eyes against the sun, and then gasped as she realised that she knew him.
‘Pasha…or should I say Mr Armand?’ she said, wondering for a moment if she was dreaming again. He had featured in her dreams rather too often of late. ‘Forgive me, I’m not sure…’
He came to her and squatted down on the grass beside her. ‘My name is Pasha,’ he said. ‘In the hotel I wished to be known as someone else—but we are quite safe here. This is the home of my cousin, Ahmad Al-Hadra.’
‘Your cousin’s home?’ Chloe stared at him, her cheeks growing warm as she realised what that meant. ‘Then I am trespassing. I’m sorry. I saw the garden and thought it was for public use…there were no fences or notices.’
‘My cousin prefers it that way. He says that the traveller is always welcome to his home—providing, of course, that he comes in peace.’
‘Oh, I come in peace,’ Chloe said and laughed. ‘What a wonderful man your cousin must be—to allow others the beauty of a garden like this is so unselfish.’
‘It is his culture—his tradition, if you like,’ Pasha said. ‘When our people were travellers, we always made strangers welcome at the oasis—food and water were given freely to those who came as friends.’
‘And those who did not?’
‘Ah—that is another story, and not one to be told on such a lovely afternoon.’ He offered her his hand, helping her to rise. ‘Would you care to meet my cousin, Miss Randall?’
‘Oh…yes, if that’s all right,’ Chloe said. ‘I mean—do I look respectable? We’ve been travelling for ages, and I washed my hair this afternoon. It probably looks a fright, and my clothes are creased.’
‘Sashimi will be delighted to lend you a comb if you need one,’ he said. ‘She is my cousin’s wife and much your age, I imagine—how old are you, Miss Randall? Nineteen…twenty?’
‘I’m twenty-two,’ Chloe replied. ‘Everyone says I look younger—which means I am naïve, I suppose.’
‘Not at all,’ he replied with a smile that set her heart racing. ‘Innocent would probably be a better word to describe you. You have a funny little lost look in your eyes sometimes, Miss Randall…which is actually quite charming.’
‘Oh…’ She arched her brows at him. ‘I am not sure whether I ought to take that as a compliment or not.’
‘I assure you it was meant as one.’
Chloe did not reply, because he had led her a little further through the bushes and now the house was in view. It was a long, low building with arched doorways and windows, and there were mosaics of vibrant hues on parts of the courtyard walls, though the rest of it was painted a brilliant white. Terracotta pots spilled over with flowers, and there was a cane table and chairs set out beneath a yellow umbrella.
Chloe could see that a man and woman were near the table, and as they approached they stood up and looked inquiringly towards them.
‘Now what have you found?’ the woman asked in French. ‘Who have you brought to see us, Pasha?’
‘Miss Randall—this is my very dear Sashimi,’ Pasha said. ‘She is of French–Algerian birth and a cousin to my stepmother Mariam—who lives in America. Sashimi, I should like you to meet Miss Chloe Randall. I discovered her sleeping in your garden, but I have had the honour of meeting her before. We travelled out from England together on the ship.’
‘Ah—then it is fate,’ Sashimi said in English and inclined her head. ‘It was written that you should come to our garden, Miss Randall—or may I call you Chloe?’
‘I should be delighted if you would call me Chloe. And I am happy to be here—though I must apologise for trespassing in your wonderful garden.’
‘It was written as Sashimi said.’ Ahmad spoke for the first time and smiled. ‘Such things do not happen unless Allah wills it—and so you bring a blessing to our home, Chloe. We are happy that you are here. You will stay and have tea with us?’ He clapped his hands and a man in simple white robes came out, inclining his head as the order was given.
Chloe looked at Sashimi. ‘I think I must look very untidy…’
‘You would like to freshen yourself before we have tea?’ She smiled and nodded. ‘Please come with me, Chloe.’
Chloe followed her into the house, which was tiled with cool mosaics and furnished very simply with dark wood furniture in the hallway through which they passed. But it was very different in Sashimi’s private rooms, which were light and airy, the furniture of French design and very elegant, the drapes white and filmy, blowing slightly in the breeze from the open windows.
‘Here are combs…perfume…’ Sashimi indicated the dressing table. ‘Through there the bathroom…please use whatever you need. I shall be outside when you are ready to rejoin us…unless there is more you need?’
‘Nothing more, thank you.’ Chloe went through into the bathroom, which was styled in what was obviously an Art Deco design and very modern. The bath and basins were green, and the floor was black and white, with a geometrical pattern that was echoed in the tiles on the wall. Everything had a French style, but combined with a vaguely Moorish flavour that gave it a unique charm.
It was the first time Chloe had been in a private home in Morocco, and it was clearly the home of people who were if not wealthy at least well off. She ran a little water into the basin and splashed her face, which had caught the sun a little when she had lain on the grass, then she used a brush she found on the shelf to tame her hair into something resembling its usual style. She noticed that it had grown longer than she usually wore it, and the sun had lightened the ends a little. Brushing it back behind her ears, she decided that she looked reasonably tidy and decided to go back outside.
She heard Sashimi’s laughter as she approached the door leading to the patio. ‘You are a terrible liar, Pasha,’ she cried. ‘But I shall not tease you. Your little English miss is delightful…delightful…’
Sashimi turned as Chloe emerged from the cool of the interior into the heat of the late afternoon sun.
‘Ah, there you are—you were quick,’ she said, her eyes noting that Chloe had not taken advantage of her invitation to use the various cosmetics that had been on offer. ‘But you need no artifice to make you beautiful.’
‘You make her blush, Sashimi,’ Ahmad said and Chloe noticed that her face dimmed for a moment, as though she resented something. Chloe wasn’t sure what. ‘Do not tease our guest. Please sit here by me, Chloe. Tell me how it is that you find yourself here in this place today.’
‘Thank you,’ Chloe said as he pulled out a chair for her next to him. ‘Perhaps Pasha has told you that I am travelling with Professor Hicks and Miss Amelia Ramsbottom?’ She paused and he nodded his head in agreement. ‘We have been travelling almost non-stop since we left Cetua three weeks ago. We had planned to return to our hotel, but the professor was caught up in his work and we just kept on driving from place to place. It has been difficult to wash or iron clothes—which is why I look so crumpled today.’
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