The Sheikh

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.’