certain deference and bowed courteously to Melissa.
She wished she could understand the language as the stranger spoke quickly and the tall Moroccan led them indoors to a spacious room furnished with many cushions and silken hangings. Beginning to feel a little bemused, she seated herself on the broad bench seat that was placed down the length of one wall. A servant came almost instantly, and the Moroccan indicated the stranger, who spoke to the boy in crisp, fluent command. Meanwhile a second soft footed boy had entered bearing a large chased brass tray which he placed on a low table in the centre of the room. The Moroccan busied himself at it, measuring tea from a small silver container into a tall, slender necked teapot. A kettle was steaming gently on a little charcoal brazier and sprigs of fresh mint were laid in readiness on the tray. The delicate fragrance rose to Melissa's nostrils as her host gravely infused the brew, then proceeded to add several pieces of loaf sugar from another silver box which stood on the tray Finally he poured the green liquid in small glasses and with a smile offered one to Melissa.
The stranger had come to sit near Melissa. He said softly, 'When you have sipped that you must accept at least two more glasses or you will break the custom.'
'It is most refreshing. I'm very thirsty.' She smiled at the tall Moroccan and said, 'You are very kind.'
'It is my pleasure, mademoiselle,' he said in English. 'You are enjoying your visit to our country?'
'Very much,' she said politely, delighted that she was able to converse in her own language.
He smiled. 'That is good. You must not allow those rascals you so unfortunately encountered to colour a
bad impression of your visit.' He took her glass to refill it and brought a dish filled with almonds and small plum shaped sweets.
They proved to be delicious, but Melissa was becoming concerned about the passing of time. The shadow of worry would not be subdued for very long and there was also the matter of the donkey. She could not leave it to its fate. She stole a glance at her watch, only to realise that it was no longer on her wrist, and could not repress a small murmur of dismay. The Moroccan glanced enquiringly at her, but the stranger had not missed that first small gesture towards the slender wrist. He stood up.
'I'm afraid we cannot promise to restore your property, but perhaps we can assure you regarding the object for which you apparently bartered it. Come.'
Once again she was expected to follow this stranger who seemed as at home within this domain as though it were his own, and she found herself guided along a stonewalled passage and into another courtyard, not so ornate as the one she had first entered, and thence through an archway into what was unmistakably a stable. There, munching placidly at a heap of fodder, stood the donkey. The panniers had been removed and nearby a trough was filled with water.
'You see,' the stranger sounded mocking, 'he has made a remarkable recovery.'
In the silence which followed she stared at the now contented creature, aware that some comment seemed expected of her but unsure of the form it should take. She should be grateful, but there was something about her rescuer that rubbed hit. the wrong way . . . At last she said doubtfully : 'Yes, but he's still dreadfully
emaciated, and there's that great sore on his ribs.' 'Agreed, but no doubt you will be planning to remedy that,' he said smoothly.
For a moment she did not respond, aware of that mocking humour in the dark eyes. His mouth tilted at the comers as he gestured towards the donkey. 'Well, wasn't that your motive in acquiring the creature? Tell me, what are you proposing to do next? Take him home with you to England? You will have to check up on how your quarantine laws apply to the importing of donkeys from Morocco.'
'But I can't ...!' Dismay sharpened her expression and she gave a desperate gesture. can't possibly take a donkey back to England! I wouldn't know what to Heavens, I never meant to-to actually buy the creature and—and— I just didn't want him to suffer,' she ended hopelessly.
'Quixotic gestures have a habit of involving one to a greater extent than bargained for—as I suspect I am about to discover. But it is getting late. Come, I will take you back to your hotel.'
'Yes, but ...'
He cut short her worried protest and gestured impatiently. 'For the moment the animal can remain here in Si Abrim's care, and we can discuss the matter on the journey.'
He turned away, and the arrogant assumption that she would meekly follow nettled Melissa. She said coldly : 'There is no need for you to inconvenience yourself any further. I can make my own way back to the hotel. As for the donkey, I realise it's my responsibility now and I'll think of some solution to the—'
He swung round so abruptly that she was quelled.
He said. 'You have been sufficiently foolish and impulsive for one day, have you not? Please endeavour to refrain from further irrationality. Or is it misplaced pride?' His glance flickered ironically over her set features. 'Are you so infernally proud that you scorn endeavours to help you?'
Phrased that way, his question precluded anything except a hasty denial, and he nodded slightly, appearing anything but mollified, and said coldly : 'Then let us take our leave of Si Abrim, before I begin heartily to wish that I'd left you to the mercy of those insolent jackals.'
Temporarily chastened by this scolding, Melissa took her farewell of the grave faced Si Abrim and allowed herself to be escorted across the little square and through a bewildering maze of tiny streets to where an opulent white saloon was parked, almost blocking the narrow road. A dark-skinned chauffeur in immaculate white was waiting at the wheel, and he got out instantly, opening the rear door for Melissa as he responded to rapid directions from the stranger.
Melissa vaguely noticed a kind of crest on the car door, but there was no time for more than a blurred glimpse as she climbed into the luxurious pale blue leather interior. Her self-appointed guardian got in and closed the door, and Melissa was gratefully aware of the instant coolness within the car. It must be air-conditioning, she decided, glancing through the tinted glass of the windows and knowing a moment of idle speculation as to her whereabouts at the moment. They seemed to be travelling quite a distance, and the first doubtful little thought about whether the intended destination was her hotel had just occurred to
her when her companion spoke for the first time since they had entered the car.
'You see,' he turned his head, 'you had strayed some considerable distance from your headquarters.'
The car was slowing at an intersection as he spoke and Melissa recognised the line of shops and the ornamental gardens a little farther along which fronted the hotel where she was staying. She felt a stir of guilty contrition for the moment of distrust and turned impulsively.
'I'm sorry, monsieur. I hadn't realised how far. Thank you for bringing me back, and—and rescuing me from those men.'
He raised one hand. 'It is nothing. Actually I am delighted to affirm something I have always felt to be true of English girls.'
'And what might that be?' she asked unwarily.
'That they are headstrong, wilful, erratic and impulsive in everything but the matter of love.'
Melissa's head came up sharply. After a startled stare at him she said sharply : `No, monsieur. If you are using my reactions as a yardstick by which to judge us you're going to be way out in your reckoning on the last point. For that is something you can't know.'
No?' He got lithely out of the car and held out one strong, well shaped hand to assist her. 'You sound very certain.'
am.' Melissa tried to appear cool and haughty and found it a difficult pose while blinking in the brilliance of the sun after the dimness of the car.
He was reaching back into the car for the hat she had forgotten and when he straightened he was smil
ing. 'Certain that I am mistaken in assuming English girls to be cool in love; or mistaken in my personal impressions of yourself?'
'Both,' she said firmly, refusing to be defeated, and saw the sardonic mouth twitch again. 'You should never judge by app
earances—or hearsay, monsieur. Both can be very misleading. And now, goodbye and thank you.'
He inclined his head in a courteous salute as he took the stiff, formal little hand she offered. quite agree, but how dull life would be if they were not.'
He stepped back a pace. 'And who knows, perhaps one day Kismet may prove us both wrong.'
It was not until some hours later that Melissa became aware of a certain omission in that afternoon interlude : that at no time had he given any indication of his identity. The thought did not seem of any importance, he had not offered his name, nor had it occurred to her to offer her own, and it was extremely unlikely that fate would cross two strangers' paths again.
Kismet . . .
How could Melissa know that Kismet had already taken a hand?
CHAPTER II
THE hours before chimer that evening seemed to drag inordinately slowly. Melissa had showered and changed, applied a leisurely. makeup and groomed herself to the final spray of cooling cologne, and found that it was still barely seven. Too soon to go down to the restaurant, even if she was hungry, which she wasn't, and too late to go out anywhere unless she made a night of it, which somehow didn't appeal, not on her own.
She sighed, knowing she was only putting off the task she was not looking forward to; that of writing the letter her mother would be scanning every post for after tomorrow.
She sorted out the packet of airmail paper she had bought earlier that afternoon and sat down on the bed to spell out her second day of failure.
Ten minutes later she was still staring at the blank sheet and reflecting, not for the first time, on the unfairness of having a sister who had always been a law unto her own wilful self and a mother who, dear as she was, seemed to have no idea of the difficulties of locating an elusive girl in a strange land.
'Of course you'll probably have to make a few enquiries, but I know you'll persist,' Mrs Blair had declared, the evening before Melissa departed. Once it had been decided that Melissa should make the journey her mother had veered to a mood of optimism. The ghastly things one read about in newspapers
didn't happen to one's own daughter. It had probably been the fault of the post; Avril's letter had got lost—and she'd never been a terribly good letter writer—or she might be in some place miles away from a post office. It could be a mix-up that was nobody's fault, but all the same . . . there was the possibility that Avril was ill and couldn't write, and she'd never have a wink of sleep until she knew for certain. After all, there was that time when Avril had been stranded in Greece, lost all her money, and the political situation so uncertain, and the Consul had had to advance her the fare home, and they didn't like having to do that sort of thing ... and while lightning never struck twice in the same place, or so they said, Avril might be stuck in some dreadful plight somewhere .. . only the other week there'd been that business at the airport. They'd tried to kidnap that poor girl, and but for that American businessman's quick thinking they'd have got away with it ... then they said it was all a joke ... students, or something. No, Melissa must go, and be sure to write the minute she got there, and the minute she found Avril
Melissa heaved another sigh and thought over her lack of success, seeking vainly for a note of hope she could express. But all that she could remember was a donkey, and a tall arrogant man who seemed to have a very poor opinion of English girls. What on earth was she going to do about that animal? She couldn't leave it with Si Abrim; despite his courteous hospitality he wouldn't want to be lumbered with a donkey. This was one worry she could have done without. But what else could she have done? And what about her precious wristwatch?
Melissa forced herself back to the task in hand and wrote : 'Dear Mum,' and stopped again. Should she wait until tomorrow lunch time? Perhaps by then she might .
The bedside phone rang and she reached for it, frowning. They'd probably got the wrong room; no one here knew her. Unless by some miracle it was Avril .
But it was reception, to inform her that a Monsieur St Clair wished to see her.
Surprise gave way to a flare of wild hope. He'd heard something, remembered something, found . . .
He was waiting for her in the cocktail lounge. His attractive smile flashed, crinkling his eyes as they lit with appreciation of the picture she made in her jade voile dress with its full, crystal pleated sleeves and slender clinging lines. The appreciative glance took in the sleek shining coil of red gold hair caught in a rhinestone band and then met her eager gaze.
'You look charming, mademoiselle . His hand retained hers a fraction longer than necessary. wonder, will you do me the honour of dining with me tonight ?'
Now . ..' She hesitated, and he said quickly : 'Forgive me, for thinking first of my own pleasure. You are hoping, of course, that I bring news of your missing sister.'
'Yes, I was.' She smiled. 'But I'd like to dine with you, monsieur. I was feeling a bit .
'Alone in a strange land? We must remedy that. But first, let us have an aperitif , and then I will tell you I have remembered something which may—I will not promise—be of help to you. But ...' he shook his
head warningly, 'please try not to be disappointed. I should hate to be the bringer of a shadow to your eyes.'
He took her arm, then paused. 'You would prefer to dine elsewhere, perhaps? I have my car outside. Or shall we remain here?'
'Here, I think '
He gave the charming inclination of his head that might have been practised—indeed, Melissa suspected that it was—but nevertheless this Gallic charm was both pleasant and easy to bask in, provided one kept two feet firmly on the ground! He escorted her to a table in a secluded, softly lit alcove and procured their drinks, then leaned forward confidingly.
'About a month ago your sister mentioned that she was going to spend a weekend with this American woman, this Sonia, at her villa. I doubt if she would have mentioned it if I had not invited her to drive out with me along the coast and she told me of this prior engagement.' Philippe paused, his dark eyes rueful. 'How I wish I had queried further, that I could tell you the name of this Sonia. But your sister was rather a mysterious girl. She would not accept my invitations to show her something of the fascinating haunts of this country. She used to smile and say she did not believe in forming personal relationships with her boss, and look at me with that prim little English girl look of hers.'
Melissa suppressed a wry smile; she knew Avril's 'mysterious' act very well, and also that Avril was very well aware of its calculated effect on men. Avril must have found someone extremely attractive to have been diverted from a conquest of Philippe St Clair. How
ever, she made no comment except to nod and waited for him to continue.
'Naturally, I could not persist, but when she returned on the Monday I asked her if she had had an enjoyable weekend, and she announced that she had been caught trespassing. When I asked her what she meant, and jokingly asked her if I would have to come and bail her out, she giggled and said it wasn't like that at all. She looked extremely—how do you say it? —extremely smug and said she had met a mystery man and fallen under his spell. That if it hadn't been for Sonia she was sure he would have captured her and held her prisoner in the house of the amulet.'
'Prisoner? In the house of the ...?' Melissa turned pale. 'Where was this? And who was this man?'
'I'm afraid I can't tell you,' he said sympathetically.
wish I could. I asked her; what was this prison like, with the amulets, and she said it was a most beautiful house with a fairytale garden, with almond trees and an aviary of singing chaffinches, but over every entrance there was an amulet, one of those horseshoe things. She laughed then and said she was looking forward to her next visit to Sonia's villa. She didn't refer to the matter again, but I could tell she was intrigued and weaving some imaginary tale round this house. Then a couple of weeks later she told me she was leaving, and the rest you know.'
Melissa didn't know what to make of it. Avril could be featherbrained at times, but
her fantasies did not usually revolve round fairytale gardens and almond blossom—or strange houses guarded by talismans.
Philippe broke into her reverie and asked if she would like to go in to dinner Over it, reflecting that
she mustn't be too doleful a companion, she tried to divorce the matter of Avril from her thoughts and let the conversation drift into a lighter sociable vein. For a moment she was tempted to recount the incident of the afternoon, then changed her mind; somehow it was a story from which she did not emerge very brightly, she decided ruefully, afraid of evoking Philippe's amusement.
They had reached the coffee stage when Philippe said suddenly : 'You are still deeply worried, are you not? And more so since I told you of this house and Avril's man of mystery.'
'Yes.' She sighed and the mask of assumed gaiety fell from her, leaving a vulnerable, secretly frightened young girl.
'I have been thinking,' he reached across the table and touched her hand. 'It should not be too difficult to locate this mysterious house of the amulets. We know that the villa lies just outside Rabat, on the coast, and I think that the house can not be so far away if Avril walked there. I'll admit that we may be looking for a needle in a haystack, as you would say, but I know the area quite well and I think it is worth while making the effort.'
`I—I'd give anything to find her, but it seems a great deal to expect. I mean,' she shook her head, 'it would take so much of your time and you have your business ... It's very kind of you, but I don't want to impose.'
, 'It would be a pleasure, if you would let me help in your search,' he said quickly. 'After all, to some extent I am responsible. Oh yes,' he interjected as she started to protest, 'I should have made sure where, and with
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