The Sheikh. Anne Herries

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