The moist tip of Lisa's tongue flicked anxiously across her lips and she studied his face for a moment from the concealment of her lashes before she replied. 'You
wouldn't dare/ she ventured, but she knew even as she said it that Yusuf ben Dacra was a man who would dare anything if he felt himself to be in the right. And for the first time she actually felt afraid of what he might do. 'If anything happens to me '
Her voice trailed off, and she saw the way his lip curled and the glitter of contempt in his eyes, as if he suspected just how new she was to her role of militant. 'I shall do nothing to you that you cannot have anticipated before you set out on this mission/ he promised. 'But I will not have my privacy constantly threatened by silly young women who have nothing better to do than issue futile warnings. Take my advice, Miss Pelham, and find yourself something less dangerously silly to amuse you in future. Take a lover, he will perhaps teach you that women are made for other things than waving banners/
'You f
That is not so much to your liking?' He interrupted her impatiently, and once more his eyes travelled over her slender form with such explicit interest that she felt herself colouring furiously. 'I am quite sure you would have no difficulty in finding yourself a lover. But in case you came here with the idea of using your not inconsiderable charms to try and persuade me, please do not waste your time or mine. Having been forewarned, I am unlikely to be very easily persuaded!'
It was an unexpected line of attack and Lisa stared at him for a moment, trying to take a firmer grip on her emotions. He must have seen how taken aback she was too, for satisfaction gleamed for a moment in his dark eyes and she hastily avoided them. 'Nothing was further from my mind/ she insisted huskily. 'I can assure you of that!'
'So?' He shrugged carelessly and glanced at his watch. 'I have no more time to waste on you, mademoiselle,
there are more pressing matters that need my attention.'
'You'll put back to Casablanca so that I can go ashore?'
Until that moment Lisa had had no doubt that was what he would do, but one look at his face was sufficient to tell her how wrong she had been, and she felt her pulse more rapid and urgent suddenly. 'I have no intention of turning back, Miss Pelham, simply to accommodate you. You chose to come aboard without my invitation and you will go ashore when I decide it is convenient for me to put you ashore.'
'But you can't keep me here!'
Her plaintive cry followed him to the door of the salon, and he turned slowly to look at her, though it was impossible to read anything into those dark fathomless eyes. His features might have been chiselled from teak, they looked so stern and unrelenting, and Lisa knew there was no hope of persuading him, no matter what means she employed.
'You will find that I can,' he said, and his mouth was set in a firm straight line. 'Not against your will, because you came on board of your own free will and by stealth. I have no doubt that you could contrive to leave again by similar methods, but I would not advise you to try and swim back to Casablanca.'
Then—what will you do with me?'
It was perhaps tempting fate to have asked him that, and she saw the way he arched his black brows over it. 'Since you have chosen to inflict yourself upon me,' he said, 'you may well be of use eventually. My cook has unfortunately suffered a broken arm and was unable to sail with us this time, so if you prefer the galley to the brig, or a long swim back to Casablanca, you may take his place.'
Lisa stared at him in disbelief. 'You mean you expect me to '
'I intend to make use of you one way or another/ he interrupted shortly. 'However, I have no time to decide now. I will come back to you when I have attended to other matters.'
He turned swiftly and was gone, closing the door behind him, and leaving Lisa staring dazedly after him. Then, realising how neatly the tables had been turned on her, she pounded angrily on the fat embroidered cushions that furnished the bench seat she sat on. Try as she would, she could see no immediate chance of rescue or escape while they were at sea, and she eventually subsided, curling up among the cushions to gaze disconsolately out of the window.
She had no idea how long she stayed there, looking out at the dazzingly blue sea and at distant passing ships without really seeing them at all, but she realised suddenly that the thudding rhythm of the yacht's engines had changed. Her heart skipped as she sat up straight and listened, catching her breath when the sound stopped altogether. The Djenoun, she realised, was no longer moving.
Running to the door, she peered out. The steep com-panionway was a direct route to the deck, and if the gangway was down and they had not simply come alongside to take on stores, or whatever else Yusuf ben Dacra needed for this trip, she might stand a chance.
Someone walked across the deck, passing across the top of the companionway and she ducked quickly back into the salon. Obviously it was taking a chance going up on deck, and she tried to think of an alternative. The galley, she recalled, was on the other side of the passage, and therefore nearest the shore, and she opened the door of the big kitchen cautiously, heaving a sigh of relief to find it empty.
A window stood half open above a scrubbed work-top and she eyed it eagerly. It could not be a very long drop
to the deck from there and she was agile enough to manage it if she was careful not to be seen. She climbed on to the work-top and out through the window with very little trouble, and she crouched below the concealing shadow of the upper deck for a moment or two before venturing a look around to see exactly where she was.
The gods were certainly smiling on her, for she saw that the gangway was only a few metres away and that no one was anywhere near it at the moment. Holding her breath and with her teeth gritted tight, she scuttled along towards it; still crouching low, she made her way down it and scarcely believed her luck when she found herself on a rough stone quay where crates and bundles of skins were stacked high and offered ideal shelter.
She did not stop to wonder where Yusuf ben Dacra might be, but accepted his absence thankfully, only pausing to notice that the crew were occupied with taking aboard what appeared to be a mechanical digger or something similar, its massive bulk carefully protected with sacking to prevent damage to the yacht's beautifully polished deck planking. Lisa doubted very much if she would have remained undetected otherwise.
As it was she was able to slip between the piled crates and decide what her next move should be. She had no idea what the place was, but from the time it had taken them to sail from Casablanca, it could not be too far along the coast, and wherever it was there would almost certainly be a telephone she could use. Her main aim at the moment, however, was to remain unseen until the Djenoun departed, and with that in mind, she aimed at getting a little further away from the dock area.
Making her cautious way inland, however, proved less encouraging then she had hoped, and Lisa found to her dismay that the only buildings appeared to be a collection of rather ramshackle warehouses and storage sheds.
built in a maze of narrow alleys. She saw no other woman either, as she moved along, only swarthy-faced Moroccans who viewed her arrival in their midst with covert curiosity.
She heard nothing but the throaty sound of Arabic either, and it gave her a curiously lost and alien feeling as she made her way hastily past groups of men who stood haggling together over the piles of cargo. She felt vulnerable too, knowing how she stood out among all those dark faces, with her light hair and fair complexion, and her slim figure quite boldly revealed in slacks and a thin shirt.
It was becoming increasingly evident that every building she saw housed goods rather than people, and it dawned on her gradually that the place, wherever it was, was not a village or a small town as she had first supposed, but purely and simply a remote small port that was used only for commercial transactions. And seldom if ever by Europeans, she guessed.
Not yet actually alarmed by her situation, she wandered about in the various narrow alleys, and they looked so much alike that it was increasingl
y difficult to recognise whether or not she had been along the same one more than once. Whichever way she turned she seemed to find herself between rows of decrepit warehouses and sheds, until at last she admitted to herself that she was lost.
To make matters worse, the alley she now found herself in appeared to come to a dead end, blocked off by a huge stone shed whose gaping doors tumbled sacking bales out into the alley itself. It smelled between these high walls too, of fish and raw skins, and it buzzed with the inevitable flies, so that she felt her stomach crawl suddenly and put a hand to her mouth as she turned quickly, back the way she had come.
Mouth tightly closed to combat her queasy stomach,
she pulled up short suddenly, her heart thudding hard, when she noticed a man coming along the otherwise deserted alley towards her. He wore the customary long white djellaba with the hood drawn up over his head, and the full flowing garment did nothing to impede his stride.
He was a normal enough sight in any Moroccan town or village, yet something about this particular man made her skin prickle warningly, and Lisa watched him uneasily as she took the only way open to her. There was an air of purpose about the tall, striding figure that aroused in her the instinct to run as fast as she could out of his way, and the moment she spotted a narrow opening between two of the buildings she ducked into it, uncaring for the moment where it might take her.
But a swift glance over her shoulder showed that the man was following, turning down the same narrow passageway and hard on her heels, and she took to her heels and ran. Racing breathlessly along the confined space with panic lending speed to her trembling legs, all she could think of was that he had definitely been following her, and she was alarmed in a way she had never been in her life before.
But once again her way was blocked and while she stood breathing hard and shaking like a leaf, with perspiration glistening on her forehead, the man came on purposefully. She dived for the shelter of a half-open doorway, but bales and crates of skins soared before her in an insurmountable pile and she gazed upward hopelessly.
'Oh no!'
Her whispered moan of despair was barely audible even to herself, but she could hear the sound of approaching footsteps above the wild, panicky thudding of her heart. Then, as she spun round defensively, a hand reached out from the snowy folds of the djellaba and
hard fingers closed around her arm.
Instinctively she struggled, alarmed by the shadowy face so close to her own, but as yet no more than an impression of glittering dark eyes and a mouth set determinedly, and the long brown hands that sought to subdue her. She attempted to hit out, but immediately her arm was released and her hands captured instead and held down in front of her, giving her little option but to look into the face of the man who held her.
That is enough I' The quiet voice was at once soothing and compelling, and Lisa gazed at Yusuf ben Dacra's face for a moment in disbelief. 'Why are you so frightened? What has happened to you?'
With the glow of panic still in her eyes, Lisa shook her head slowly. In those initial few seconds she had been almost relieved to see him, but now that the panic she had felt was diminishing, it was anger that took over, and she pulled her hands free, shivering with reaction.
Tou frightened me half to death/ she accused. Her voice was shaky, and she wondered how her legs were managing to support her when they trembled so. 'I thought you were '
The accusation trailed off into an uneasy silence under the gaze of those dark eyes. He looked so much at home in the djellaba that it was difficult to believe he was other than purely Moroccan, though a quick glance was enough to confirm that he still wore European clothes under it.
It startled her too to realise that in the shadow of the hood his features had a stunningly sensual look that was somehow unexpected, and much too disturbing in the present circumstances. It was inevitable, she thought as she hastily avoided his eyes, that her attempt at escape had been destined to failure from the beginning.
Tou were afraid of me?' He asked the question as if the idea of it being true pleased him in some way.
'How could I be expected to recognise you in that?' Lisa demanded, indicating the djellaba. 'You've never worn one before/
'Indeed I have/ Yusuf argued, 'although not on the occasions when you have seen me/ He stood regarding her for a moment with both hands on his hips, speculating on her reaction before he spoke. Tou must realise now what risks you run by walking around a place like this alone/ he said. 'I do not want to have to force you to come back on board the Djenoun, mademoiselle, but it can be accomplished if you refuse to go with me quietly/
Lisa was between two stools. This place, wherever it was, seemed to offer little chance of escape back to Casablanca, but on the other hand by returning to the Djenoun with Yusuf ben Dacra she was faced with the prospect of becoming ship's cook. At the moment she saw herself with little option, for at least she knew she would have a certain security aboard the yacht. Though she had no intention of giving in without protest.
'You can't make me go back with you/ she told him, and tilted her chin in a gesture of defiance that he eyed dubiously.
'Do you imagine I would leave you here, looking as you do?' His eyes raked over her slim shape in slacks and shirt and she remembered how many dark eyes had followed her as she made her way back from the quay. He slid a hand under her arm and curled his strong fingers into her flesh as he urged her forward, out of the shadow of the huge stone shed. 'Come!'
Bitterly disappointed at the failure of her bid to escape him, Lisa felt rather like a captured runaway as they made their way back past the groups of men who still haggled over the goods on the quay. She was aware of the many glances they drew too. Yusuf ben Dacra's tall commanding figure in a flowing white djellaba, and
herself, small and slender in white slacks and a blue shirt, a captive of the long hard fingers about her arm.
She would have appealed for help, but somehow she knew it would have been useless. Her captor was too impressive, and he was known to them; she was a stranger and a European—an unknown quantity and a potential source of trouble should they interfere. She almost wept with frustration as he ushered her up the gangway once more, and she kept her eyes lowered rather than see the way the crew watched her.
She noticed the window of the galley, now closed after her escape, and the gangway was hauled up almost as soon as they stepped on deck. He let go her arm and sent her ahead of him down the steps, and Lisa tossed back her hair in a final gesture of defiance.
'You'll be sorry for this/ she warned, as he took her back to the big, lushly exotic salon, and Yusuf ben Dacra frowned at her impatiently.
'More threats, Miss Pelham? Do you have no other mood but this most unfeminine one of aggression?' She was thrust down unceremoniously on to one of the seats, and she glared at him defiantly while he pushed back the hood of the djellaba and ran his fingers through his black hair. He noticed the flush in her cheeks and the way her hair clung damply to her hot brow, and nodded slowly. 'I will have something cool sent in to you/ he told her, 'You look very hot/
'I don't want anything, thank you!' Yusuf said nothing for a moment, although his eyes showed such contempt for her churlishness that Lisa felt a curl of embarrassment and hastily lowered her eyes. 'You refuse something cool to drink, simply to make a point?' His voice was as scathing as the look in his eyes. That is very foolish of you, mademoiselle, but the choice is yours/ His lips tightened and he was already half-turned to go. 'You will remain here until we are
safely out of port 1 and then you may go wherever you wish, as long as you do not hinder the crew/
Sitting disconsolately on one of the bench seats along under the window, Lisa felt suddenly very small and lost as she watched his tall angry figure go striding across the room, and she swallowed her pride and called after him rather than let him simply abandon her to her own devices.
'Mr ben Dacra!' He turned, his head back and looking at her down the length of his arrogant nose
. Politeness was inbred in him too deeply for him to ignore an obvious plea, but he was grudging in his courtesy, and Lisa used her hands in a fluttering gesture of apology and pleading. Tm sorry—I would appreciate a drink, thank you.'
At least he did not show even a hint of satisfaction that she had climbed down, but merely raised one brow a fraction. 'Have you a preference?'
Lisa shook her head. 'No. No, just anything will do— thank you/
He inclined his head briefly. 'I will see to it/
He turned and was gone, leaving Lisa staring at the firmly closed door and wondering if she could possibly be dreaming all this. It was obviously not going to be easy getting away from him, and yet she could not bring herself to abandon the idea of trying.
She had delivered the message she had been entrusted with and there was no more she could do in that direction, but she felt the need to get away from Yusuf ben Dacra as soon as she possibly could. Much as she hated to admit it, she found him much too attractive to make it wise to stay in too close contact with him. Knowing how he felt about her made it impossible to think along those lines.
Lisa felt cool and refreshed, and she was once more
prowling about the salon, restless and uneasy, yet uncertain what she could do about her present predicament. From now on it was certain that her movements would be much more closely watched, and she wondered, not entirely without a sense of anticipation, just how long Yusuf ben Dacra meant to keep her aboard.
If she did not arrive home before morning, Madame Raymond, their housekeeper, would be alarmed, and if she told Geoffrey, as she most likely would in the first place, he would know at once where Lisa was. Inevitably, if Geoffrey believed her to be trapped aboard the Djenoun, he would alert her father, and at this stage she did not want her father involved. It was all so very much in the air at the moment, but she almost wished for nightfall so that the ball would start rolling that would free her; for she felt sure he would not detain her overnight.
Close to the Heart Page 6