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
