Then you will no doubt wish to have it repaired if it is at all possible/ he said, and quite unexpectedly she detected sympathy for her sentimental attachment. 'If you approach Omar el Idris, who is to be found just off the Rue Tarik, it is possible he can help you. If he says that there is nothing to be done then you may be certain there is nothing to be done; he is the best mechanic in Casablanca/
Startled into silence for a moment or two by his ready offer of assistance, Lisa felt the steady, urgent beat of her heart as they gathered speed along the coast road. The last thing she expected from him, on any matter at all, was co-operation, and she found it curiously affecting.
Then I'll certainly try him/ she said after a moment or two, and glanced once more at the strong dark profile of the man beside her. Thank you/
Dark eyes turned briefly in her direction and she felt the hard thudding beat her heart gave. 'Pas de quoi, mademoiselle, 9 he said, and it did not yet strike Lisa as odd that when he resorted to another language suddenly it was French rather than his native Arabic.
It was pure chance that took Lisa to the Bab restaurant, for she had meant only to do a little shopping and then return home for lunch. Instead she had taken a lot longer over her shopping than she planned and then found herself feeling too tired to go in search of a taxi. Her head was pounding like a drum and reminding her that only
the day before yesterday she had been involved in an accident, and would probably have been wiser to take longer over her recovery.
It did not really matter that she chose to have lunch in the nearest restaurant instead of going home to the solitary lunch left for her. For her father was away on one of his frequent business trips, and Madame Raymond, their French-Moroccan housekeeper, was visiting her sister-in-law for the day. Her time was her own.
The Bab was a restaurant she knew only by reputation because it was one she normally considered outside her pocket, but today would have to be the exception. It was large and fairly new, but thoroughly traditional in its decor, and Lisa hoped as she settled at her table that she had enough money left to pay the bill when it came.
Beautiful Moorish arches divided the huge room into sections and these again were sub-divided by tall palms planted in ornate stone urns and making private and intriguing little corners everywhere. The walls were lined with a type of cubicle formed by filigree screens of Moorish design, and she had one of these to herself, as it was early yet by Moroccan standards.
The food was excellent, and she was sipping a final cup of thick black coffee when she became aware that someone was taking the table next to hers, on the other side of the screen. She heard the shuffling of feet as they were seated, and the murmured pleasantries of the waiter and then an English voice, unmistakably North-Country but with the broad vowels smoothed over and flattened.
It was when his companion replied to a question of choice from the menu, however, that Lisa's attention was caught, and she listened without being fully aware that she was doing so. She identified the second voice without hesitation as Yusuf ben Dacra's, deep and attractive and unmistakable, and she wondered why she felt
so suddenly alert and self-conscious. The Englishman seemed to be dominating the conversation so far, but something he said made Lisa catch her breath and listen unashamedly for the answer.
'What's this I hear about an hotel at Zobi?'
The confident voice left her in no doubt that she had heard the question correctly, and she waited with bated breath to hear what Yusuf ben Dacra said in reply. In his quiet, faultless English he gave his companion a brief outline of his scheme to build the biggest and most luxurious hotel along the Atlantic coast of Morocco, and Lisa heard every word above the thuddingly heavy beat of her heart.
'I shall be sailing down there tomorrow or the following day to oversee the initial stages/ he concluded, and satisfaction was evident in his voice, 'after that I shall leave it in the hands of my manager, Abdullah.'
'You're taking that yacht of yours, I suppose?' the Englishman guessed with undisguised envy. 'The Djenoun, isn't it? You lucky devil, I really envy you that craft; Yusuf. I'd give my right arm for something like her.'
'She is beautiful,' Yusuf agreed, 'but like a beautiful woman, she is sometimes difficult to handle.' Although she had never actually seen him smile, Lisa could imagine it. It would be a wide, dazzling smile, she thought; a slash of white in that teak-brown face. 'I am fortunate to be able to make use of her in this instance/ he went on, blandly unaware of an eavesdropper. 'I have the time to sail down to Zobi instead of driving, which would be much quicker but much less enjoyable. I like to combine business with pleasure whenever possible/
He sounded so cool and confident, so certain that nothing and no one could prevent him from doing exactly as he wanted that Lisa was very tempted to walk around the concealing screen that divided the two tables and
confront him. She longed to tell him what the group had in store for him if he went ahead with his precious plans, but instead she simply finished her coffee, then called over the waiter with her bill.
It appalled her to realise that she was trembling when she got to her feet, and there was no way of leaving the restaurant without him seeing her, for he was seated facing outwards into the room. A swift elevation of his black brows signalled his recognition of her and Lisa was unsure how to react, so she quickly lowered her eyes after that first glance and hoped he would let it go at that.
But he apparently had no intention of ignoring her, and he rose to his feet as she drew level with his table, and inclined his head slightly, his eyes narrowed against the smoke from a long black K6bir. 'Mademoiselle.' His hint of a bow was impeccably polite. 'I hope you are recovered from your accident?'
When he got to his feet, his companion followed suit and was eyeing her with undisguised curiosity. The injury was concealed by a swathe of sun-bleached hair, but she automatically put a hand to her forehead and exposed the place, grimacing in a way that gave lie to her answer. 'Yes, perfectly recovered, thank you, Mr ben Dacra.'
He could quite clearly see the evidence for himself and he noted the still visible swelling above her right eye and the dark smudge of bruise with a slight frown. 'Not yet perfectly, I think/ he said, and Lisa guessed that insistence on absolute accuracy was part and parcel of his character. 'It is obvious that you still have bruises and there is some swelling still—you must have some discomfort from it, surely?'
'A headache, that's all.' She realised how oddly breathless she sounded, but she found his unexpected concern very disconcerting and she was not quite sure how to
react to it. 'It's very kind of you to be so concerned, but I'm really quite recovered, thank you.'
Her almost meekly polite reply surprised her, but in the circumstances there was little else she could have said, and she was beginning to find the unconcealed interest of the man with him rather embarrassing. Once or twice he had cleared his throat, as if to draw attention to himself, but it took Lisa a moment or two to realise that, even had the informality of the occasion warranted an introduction, Yusuf ben Dacra did not know her name.
She clasped her parcels a little more firmly and summoned a smile that was just as uncertain as her voice, and prepared to leave. 'If you'll excuse me/ she said, 'I have to go and find a taxi to take me home.'
That would have been an end of ft, and she could have simply walked off, leaving the two of them to their lunch, but it was obvious that the Englishman had every intention of discovering who she was before she left. He beamed her a broad, confident smile and caught her unwilling eye as she started to leave.
'You're very obviously a countrywoman of mine/ he said, and thrust out a hand it was difficult to ignore. Tm from Bradford, but you come from somewhere further south, I'd guess, eh?' Lisa nodded without specifying a particular place. 'My name's Sam Martin, and it doesn't look as if my friend here is going to introduce me, so I'd better do it myself. How'd you do?'
Lisa had no option but to take the proffered hand,
and to give him her name, but she did so reluctantly. She had no real wish for Yusuf ben Dacra to be too well informed about her. 'Lisa Pelham/ she said. 'How do you do, Mr Martin?'
The large hand retained its hold and Lisa felt the sudden intensity of Yusuf's interest. 'Pelham?' The loud hearty voice repeated her name and bright curious ^yes
quizzed her shrewdly. 'You wouldn't be John Pelham's daughter, by any chance, would you?'
Lisa nodded, convinced of Yusuf ben Dacra's growing interest. 'Yes, I am/ she said. 'My father's over here as an industrial adviser to the Moroccan government/
'So I heard/ Her hand was released at last and there was no concealing the fact that the jovially hearty voice was less friendly suddenly. 'He's been luckier than some of us, damned if he hasn't. I knew him before he attained such dizzying heights/
'Mr Pelham holds a very important position/ Yusuf ben Dacra's voice confirmed it, but there was something about his manner suddenly that made Lisa uneasy, though she could not explain why. 'Our government values him highly/
Lisa could just see a waiter from the corner of her eye, and she thought he was coming in their direction. She hoped he was, for she felt an urgent desire to get away from there, and his arrival was as good an opportunity as any. 'If you'll excuse me/ she said, and this time no one delayed her longer than it took Sam Martin to grasp her hand once more and shake it briefly.
'I hope we can meet again soon, Miss Pelham/ He glanced at Yusuf, tall and dark and very much at home against the exotic Moroccan background, and his eyes sparkled with a hint of malice. 'Maybe you'll be at the Sheik's next party?' he suggested. 'Or maybe Yusuf means to keep you out of reach of that handsome younger brother of his, eh ?'
Lisa had seldom felt more embarrassed in her life, and she dared not look at Yusuf ben Dacra again. Instead she hastily took her leave of both men, her smile a little forced but outwardly cool, she hoped. 'Goodbye, Mr Martin, I'll tell my father I've met you. Goodbye, Mr ben Dacra/
She merely glimpsed at the brief bow he gave as she
turned swiftly and made her way through the other tables to the door, but she heard the Englishman laugh loud and heartily when she was nearly half way across the room. Heaven knew what misconception he had about her relationship with Yusuf ben Dacra, and it was even more interesting to speculate on what Yusuf might say by way of an explanation.
He must know that she had overheard at least some of his conversation, but she doubted if that would trouble him much, for his plan to demolish Zobi was fairly common knowledge by now. What she did wonder was whether or not he would realise that his plans were what she had tried to warn him about. In any event, she thought she knew a way of getting to him now, and she stopped outside for a moment to mull it over briefly in her mind.
The idea had come to her when she heard Yusuf ben Dacra say that he intended sailing down the coast to Zobi in his own yacht, and it had taken firmer root even while she was talking to him and his friend. But she was not yet sure enough of it to grasp it unhesitatingly, and she was still unsure when she had dinner with Geoffrey that evening, although her conviction was growing.
At the moment she was still explaining how she came to have a bump on her forehead and a quite noticeable bruise, and she had got as far as admitting to having an accident with her car and to being rescued by Yusuf ben Dacra. His reaction was rather more dramatic than she expected, and she wished in a way she need not have told him.
'But why on earth wasn't I told about it?' Geoffrey demanded, and a certain suggestion of possessiveness in his tone made her frown.
'I didn't see the need/ she told him, deliberately offhand. 'I simply had a minor mishap and Yusuf bqn Dacra brought me home, that's all.'
That's all, she says!' Geoffrey raised his eyes appeal-ingly to heaven. 'You ought to take more care in that old jalopy of yours, Lisa, it's lethal.'
'Not any more,' Lisa told him with genuine regret. 'I tried the man that Yusuf ben Dacra said was the best mechanic in Casa, and he's told me that poor old Lizzie is a write-off—not even worth anything as scrap.'
'Well, it's just as well in my opinion,' Geoffrey said unfeelingly. 'It was a menace to life and limb and I never had a moment's peace while I knew you were riding around in it. What puzzles me is how ben Dacra got involved in it. Did you collide with him?'
'No, I didn't!' Lisa used her fork to seek out a particular morsel of chicken from the delicious concoction on her plate, and chose not to meet his eyes at that moment. 'I don't exactly know how he got involved,' she confessed. 'I gathered he was passing by and saw the other men there, but I don't really know because I was unconscious at the time. It goes without saying that the two country-type men who were apparently first on the scene took a back seat once Yusuf ben Dacra arrived, and he took charge.'
Geoffrey was once more shaking his head in despair. 'Oh, Lisa, my dear child, the chances you take!'
Geoffrey was nearly thirty and Lisa seven years his junior, but she disliked his rather patronising way of addressing her and let him know it. 'I don't take any more chances than anyone else,' she insisted firmly, 'and I object to being addressed as your dear child, Geoffrey. You're not old enough to be my father, and it makes you sound very pompous!'
'I'm sorry.'
His expression made her realise how sharp she had been, and she was immediately contrite. Reaching over, she pressed his hand and looked up into his face appeal-ingly. 'No, Vm sorry, Geoffrey. That was very bitchy
of me, and you don't deserve it/
He said nothing for a moment, then he looked across at her and smiled ruefully, his grey eyes sober as always. 'Maybe I did deserve it/ he allowed, then shook his head and hastily changed the subject. 'I suppose you didn't take advantage of his driving you home to tell him what we have in store for him if he goes ahead with his scheme at Zobi, did you ?'
Lisa frowned. 'How could I?' she asked. 'You don't accept someone's help and then turn around and threaten him with the disruption of his plans if he doesn't do as you tell him to.' She kept her eyes on the food in front of her rather than look at him still. 'Anyway, he said that if I as much as mentioned whatever it was I tried to warn him about the other night, he'd stop the car and throw me out. And remembering the way he flung me bodily into the street without a second thought the last time we met, I wasn't prepared to take the chance. I was in no state to walk home to Casa at the time/
'Good heavens!' Geoffrey stared at her with his fork held inches from his open mouth. 'You don't honestly believe he meant it?'
'I'm quite sure he did!' Lisa declared unhesitatingly.
4 I know he's reputed to be a hard man/ Geoffrey objected, 'but honestly, Lisa, I can't see him doing anything as uncouth as that/
'He certainly convinced me/ Lisa insisted, although at the same time she found it hard to forget how he had come to her aid instead of simply driving on when he discovered who she was. 'I wouldn't even try to make head or tail of a man like him, quite honestly/
'Incidentally/ Geoffrey remarked casually, 'I've discovered a bit more about his mysterious background. According to one of our chaps who's better informed than I am, he is part European. His father was French,
though ben Dacra himself was born here and he's a Moroccan national.'
Lisa was interested, and she made no secret of the fact. Pushing aside her empty plate, she folded her arms on the table in front of her. 'I'd never have known it,' she mused, recalling almost black eyes, and the teak-brown skin through the thinness of a cream shirt. 'Was he '
She raised a delicate brow rather than ask the question outright, and Geoffrey shrugged. 'All quite above board, apparently,' he told her. 'At least he has the Arabic version of his father's name. He was Joseph d'Acra, so I've been told, though as far as anyone knows the son is named Yusuf, not Joseph. The mother's influence, probably.' He seemed to notice the vaguely absent look in Lisa's eye then, and frowned at her curiously. 'Lisa, what's going on in that devious mind of yours?'
She did not take
exception, but smiled instead, convinced in her own mind at last. 'I think I might have found a way of getting to him, Geoffrey, a way of getting our message over to him. Always providing I have the necessary nerve, of course/ Geoffrey was regarding her suspiciously. 'Did you know that he owns a yacht?' she asked. 'It's a very beautiful yacht, apparently, called the Djenoun. Did you know that?'
'Yes, I know it.' He looked uneasy suddenly and admitted his knowledge cautiously. 'But I don't see what that has to do with anything.'
'Don't you?' Her heart was hammering wildly and the more she considered the plan she had in mind, the more convinced she was of its perfection. 'Where does he keeps it?' she asked, ignoring his frown for the moment. 'In the harbour here, at Casa?'
Obviously not at all happy about her enthusiasm, Geoffrey shrugged, his eyes narrowed and mistrustful. 'Yes, of course he keeps it here,' he said. 'But what are
you leading up to, Lisa? Why should you be so interested in ben Dacra's yacht and where he keeps it?'
When Lisa giggled as she did it was from sheer nervous excitement, and her eyes were a bright sparkling blue between their thick lashes. 'Because I'm going to stow away on it!' she told him. 'I've thought about it for hours, and I'm sure I could do it.'
'Good grief!' Geoffrey stared at her in blank-eyed astonishment.
'Well, why not?' Lisa demanded, piqued because he was not showing more enthusiasm for the idea. 'I can catch him before he sails and make him listen to me. I can tell him exactly what he can expect if he goes ahead with his plans to destroy Zobi; before he sets sail to start the scheme.'
Tor heaven's sake, Lisa!' Geoffrey leaned across the table, his grey eyes anxiously holding her evasive gaze, determined to impress her with the madness of what she planned to do. Tou can't go on board the man's yacht, Lisa. It isn't like going to Sheik Abahn's place where there were other people about. Suppose there's only him there and maybe a couple of tough crew members? Good grief, anything could happen to you. No, my dear, definitely not—I forbid it!'
Close to the Heart Page 4
