The Sheikh. Anne Herries

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