The Sheikh

by Anne Herries

  And she hadn’t, of course—except for the names and that one sentence in French. She probably had it all wrong, of course she did! And yet Pasha had told her that his father had been assassinated…

  Chloe’s thoughts were confused, but had to be dismissed as the professor found his little shelter and asked her to sit down so that they could begin. Chloe took the notebook she always carried from her bag and smiled at him, indicating that she was ready to begin.

  Even if those men had been plotting something, there was nothing she could do for the moment. Pasha had not been at dinner, and she did not know how to contact him—though she would leave a note for him at the desk before she went up to her room.

  Chloe asked for an envelope at the foyer, and was given one by an obliging desk clerk. She slipped her note inside, and wrote Philip Armand on the envelope, handing it in with a request that it be given to Mr Armand when he returned.

  ‘Certainly, Miss Randall. Is there anything else I may do for you?’

  ‘No, thank you—just make sure that Mr Armand gets the envelope.’

  Alone in her room, Chloe thought over what she had heard earlier. She couldn’t be sure that it was significant—and she had made that clear in her letter. Pasha would probably think she was letting her imagination work overtime again, but at least she had done what she could.

  She found it difficult to sleep at first, and lay tossing from one side to the other as her mind went over and over the events of the day, but eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep. She dreamed of a tent in the desert and a handsome, slightly dangerous Sheikh.

  The professor wanted an early start, and there was hardly anyone in the dining room when they had their breakfast. Chloe inquired at the desk and was told that Mr Armand had been given her letter when he came in the previous evening, but that there was no reply.

  She felt a little disappointed, but decided that it would be foolish to have looked for a reply. As she had half-expected, he probably thought that she had imagined the whole incident.

  ‘Are you ready, Chloe my dear?’

  The professor was calling to her, and she hurried to his side. They were beginning their trip in truth now, for they were to enter Morocco and would make their way to various villages. The first important destination on the professor’s itinerary was Fez, and after that Marrakesh.

  The car he had hired for their use was quite a large tourer, and more comfortable than Chloe had imagined, with a soft top that came down so that they could enjoy a breeze as they drove on fine days.

  Looking back at the hotel as the professor drove away, Chloe saw Pasha come out of the main entrance, but she didn’t wave to him, even though she knew he had seen her. It would probably be the last time she would see him and that thought left her feeling a little low, though she didn’t know why it should.

  ‘Marrakesh was founded in 1062,’ the professor told Chloe as they looked out of the window of the house they had taken just outside the city for a few days. Situated on a hillside, it had a good view over the city itself. ‘It was a centre of the caravan trade for centuries, and is just as important commercially today.’

  ‘It looks exciting,’ Chloe said. ‘Amelia was telling me that it was the capital of the sultans, and there are many old buildings and mosques that are interesting to see.’

  ‘Yes—though, unfortunately, neither of you will be allowed inside,’ the professor said. ‘I was disappointed in Fez not to be able to even approach the mosque of Mula Idris, but the shrine is considered so sacred that non-Muslims may not approach its entrance. However, I dare say there are many fine buildings here that you will be allowed to look at, at least from the outside.’

  They had been travelling for three weeks now, and Chloe had discovered that the professor was indefatigable when it came to visiting places he wished to see. She was glad that they were going to stay put for a few days, because she wanted to catch up on some correspondence.

  ‘Did you need me for dictation this afternoon?’ she asked. ‘I thought I might stay here and wash my hair.’

  Charles seemed to realise that he was asking a lot, and looked contrite. ‘You must forgive me, Chloe. I have worked you both hard these past few weeks,’ he said. ‘That’s why I thought we would take the house for a few days rather than stay in hotels. You should be comfortable here, Chloe. And, no, I don’t need you this afternoon. I shall go into the city myself, but you may stay here and relax for a few hours.’

  ‘Yes, I should enjoy that,’ she said. ‘I saw a pleasant garden just down the road from us, and I think I might take a walk there once I’ve washed my hair—let it dry in the sun.’

  ‘And I shall stay here and prepare a meal for us all,’ Amelia said. ‘It will make a pleasant change to the bread, cheese and fruit we’ve lived on for the last few days.’

  They had preferred to live on food they bought in the local markets rather than eating at the various small inns they passed on their travels. The roads were long and dusty, and they carried a supply of boiled water with them, because Amelia said one couldn’t be too careful about these things.

  Chloe had found the travelling interesting, but hard going at times and she marvelled at the resilience of her companions, who seemed to take it all in their stride. Of course they were used to it, but she had not liked some of the rooms she had been forced to sleep in, and had thought longingly once or twice of 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 free
ly 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 for a moment, as though she resented something. Chloe wasn’t sure what. ‘Do not tease our guest. Please sit here by me, Chloe. Tell me how it is that you find yourself here in this place today.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Chloe said as he pulled out a chair for her next to him. ‘Perhaps Pasha has told you that I am travelling with Professor Hicks and Miss Amelia Ramsbottom?’ She paused and he nodded his head in agreement. ‘We have been travelling almost non-stop since we left Cetua three weeks ago. We had planned to return to our hotel, but the professor was caught up in his work and we just kept on driving from place to place. It has been difficult to wash or iron clothes—which is why I look so crumpled today.’

  He inclined his head but made no remark. ‘I have heard of Professor Hicks’s work. I believe he is a remarkable man. Do you think he would give us the pleasure of his company at dinner one evening—yourself and Miss Ramsbottom included, of course?’

  ‘I am sure he would enjoy that very much,’ Chloe replied. ‘We are staying just up the hill—in those houses at the very top, number five, I think it is.’

  ‘Then I shall call tomorrow and make the arrangements,’ Ahmad said. He glanced at Pasha. ‘Unless you would care to do so, cousin?’

  ‘I am a guest in your house,’ Pasha replied and his cousin nodded. ‘Where do you plan to go next, Miss Randall?’

  ‘The professor often doesn’t make up his mind until the morning he is ready to leave,’ Chloe said. ‘We have been working our way along the coast, and have visited Fez and Rabat as well as many other places of interest, and when we leave Marrakesh I think we are going to visit Agadir—and we should end up at a village near the Western Sahara, I believe. The professor intends to take a trip into the desert as a highlight to our visit to Morocco—and after that we shall make our way home.’

  ‘Have you been to the mountains?’ Pasha asked. ‘I think you would enjoy that, Chloe.’

  She smiled as he said her name. Always before it had been Miss Randall, but Sashimi had done away with formality.

  ‘You must see something of the city while you are here,’ Sashimi said. ‘And I don’t mean just the buildings. Let me take you to the homes of some of my friends, Chloe—and you would like to see where I buy my clothes, I am sure.’

  ‘Well, yes…’ Chloe had taken to the friendly dark-haired girl. Sashimi was very lovely and her outfit was beautiful. She was dressed in what looked like French clothes, and although her skirts were longer than were worn in the West at the moment, they were very feminine and modern and not at all what Chloe would have expected of a Muslim wife. ‘If the professor can spare me for a while, I should love to.’

  Sashimi looked pleased. ‘I am sure he will spare you to me for at least one day,’ she said and it was clear that she was accustomed to getting her own way—at least most of the time. ‘I shall ask him when he dines with us, and I am sure he cannot refuse.’

  ‘Y
ou think no one can refuse you, Sashimi,’ her husband said with an amused smile, and again Chloe noticed some change in his wife’s expression. It was just a flicker in her eyes, nothing more, but it made Chloe wonder. ‘As you see, Chloe, my wife is much indulged. It is the way with us, I am afraid. We tend to spoil our women.’

  ‘Chloe has seen too many Hollywood films,’ Pasha said, teasing her. ‘She thinks we keep our women in harems and never let them out.’

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ Chloe said. ‘But I have noticed that many of the ordinary women wear heavy veils when they go to the markets. You don’t do that, Sashimi?’

  Sashimi went into a peal of delighted laughter. ‘I wear a scarf over my head when I go out in the streets—but I would never wear the veil.’

  ‘You see how I spoil her?’ Ahmad said and smiled at his wife. ‘But she observes the customs when necessary. However, we are often in Paris and London—or New York. I do not see any reason for my wife to be any different from the other beautiful women you see in those cities.’

  ‘But Ahmad is enlightened,’ Pasha said with a frown. ‘There are many amongst our people who still believe a woman should go veiled in public. Particularly amongst those who have not received the benefit of education as have Sashimi and my cousin.’

  ‘Yes, I see,’ Chloe said, enjoying the easy camaraderie she had found here. ‘I usually cover my arms and wear a scarf over my hair as a mark of respect, especially when we are visiting sites of interest that take us anywhere near a mosque. Today, I thought no one would see me.’

  ‘It was written that you should find us,’ Sashimi said. ‘And now we shall have our tea…or would you prefer sherbet as the women often do, Chloe?’

  Since she had already seen that the tea was served in tall glasses with ice and mint, Chloe asked for tea. She knew that it was a delicious drink and very refreshing taken this way, as were the little almond cakes offered with it. Before she knew where she was, she noticed that an hour had slipped away.