The Sheikh Read online

  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 as
k 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.