She was kneeling on the bench below one of the windows, watching the azure sky, cloudless and hazed with gold, when the door opened and Yusuf returned. Lisa watched him anxiously, then realised that he must recognise her anxiety, and immediately took steps to change the impression.
Brushing back her hair, she sat with one leg curled up under her, long lashes concealing what was in her eyes. •Well?' she said with as much aplomb as she could summon. 'When do I go home?'
He had dispensed with the djellaba and looked rather less over-aweing in European clothes; though only a little less so. He had probably been on deck, she guessed, watching him from below her lashes, because he had a warm, fresh, sea smell about him, and his dark face glowed with the heat of the sun.
The cream shirt clung even more tightly to his body with the dampness of physical exertion, and he brushed a careless hand through the hair at his brow as he came
JO CLOSE TO THE HEART
across the salon towards her. He was a very disturbing man, but she hated herself for admitting it, and took the trouble to avoid his eyes.
'If you will come with me, Miss Pelham.'
It was more of a command than a request and Lisa's chin automatically thrust out in defiance. She did hot get up, but sat looking at him, her reaction in no doubt. 'Where to?' she demanded.
'First to the cabin you have been allocated and then to see the galley where you will be taking over from Hassan.'
Lisa's eyes gleaming defiance. 'I have no intention of signing on as your cook,' she told him, clinging with both hands to the edge of the seat. 'I demand to be put ashore!'
'You demand?* He came closer and Lisa shivered quite involuntarily. From the shadow of thick black lashes his eyes surveyed her steadily. 'You are in no position to demand, Miss Pelham. I am giving you the choice of helping in the galley or of being locked in your cabin; the choice is yours.'
'You have no right ' Lisa began, but was cut short
with harsh impatience.
'I have every right to put you under lock and key, mademoiselle/ he informed her with chilling confidence. 'You came aboard my vessel uninvited and by stealth, and you have threatened me with violence if I do not meet your demands concerning a scheme to improve the amenities of my country. I have every right to treat you as a felon, and to hand you over to the authorities the moment we touch land again! Do not presume to tell me my rights, mademoiselle, I am well aware of them, and you would find the authorities much less lenient ^han I am, should you force my hand!'
Lisa stopped to consider what would happen if he did hand her over to the police, as he was entitled to, she
knew. She could imagine how her father would feel; how embarrassed he would be by her arrest as a militant protester, but she could not find it in her heart to abandon the group or the project at this late stage. Instead she would have to tread more carefully, think before she took another step, and she shifted uneasily on the seat, looking down at her hands rather than at Yusuf.
'How do you know I can cook?' she asked, and he laughed shortly,
'If you cannot/ he said, 'it will be no more than I expect of you, for you seem to be singularly lacking in the normal feminine virtues!'
Lisa flushed angrily and got up from the seat, her eyes gleaming angrily at him. Never before had a man been so determinedly unaffected by her as a woman, and she found the experience not only bad for her morale, but challenging too. Though she did not yet recognise the danger of that situation.
'No one else has ever complained about me being un-feminine,' she informed him, and her voice shivered resentfully. 'Perhaps you're not a very good judge, Mr ben Dacra!'
Yusuf eyed her slowly and with great deliberation, from head to toe, his dark gaze lingering appraisingly on every soft curve, until Lisa felt that the pale blue shirt and white slacks had been stripped from her. 'No doubt if I had a taste for sun-bleached hair and pink cheeks I would find you attractive enough,' he observed dispassionately. 'In any event I have no time to pander to your ego, Miss Pelham. Will you help willingly, or must I lock you in your cabin until we land, then hand you over to the police to deal with V
It was blackmail, pure and simple, Lisa recognised, but there was little she could do against it. She had done quite enough to make a charge of stowing away and offering a threat stick in any court of law, and she had to
think of her father, however belatedly. For the moment she could do nothing but go along with it, and she shrugged resignedly.
Til help/ she said.
He nodded, but when she saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, Lisa clenched her hands tightly, itching to hit out at him. He had it far too much his own way at the moment, but her time would come. 'First I will show you to your cabin/ he told her; just as if she was an invited guest, Lisa thought a little wildly as she followed him along the passageway.
She noticed how his broad shoulders almost filled the width of the passage, and the fact that his head almost brushed the low ceiling, so that he walked with it slightly bowed. His footsteps whispered softly over the glossy linoleum, and she saw that he had exchanged his ordinary shoes for a pair of babouches in light-coloured leather.
About halfway along the passage he stopped and opened a door, indicating with a brief inclination of his head that she should enter the cabin he had allotted her. When he followed her in he had to duck his head slightly, she noted, through the low doorway, and once inside he dominated the small cabin.
Lisa looked around, hoping to criticise, but she could find no fault with it. Shiny wood panels in some pale shade similar to pine covered the walls, and the single bed was covered with a richly embroidered coverlet. The one window looked out over the open sea, and air-conditioning kept the atmosphere pleasantly cool, while carpet deadened their footsteps as they walked in.
She liked it, though she was not prepared to admit it, and she also felt a stirring of excitement that she could not quite account for. It was not as if she was there to enjoy herself; until Yusuf ben Dacra allowed her ashore.
she was virtually a prisoner, and expected to work as well.
There's a key to this door?'
She asked the question impulsively, and his black brows arched swiftly as, thumbs hooked in the waist of his slacks, he stood watching her. There is a key/ he agreed, and Lisa's brain worked swiftly, though not along the lines he suspected, evidently. 'But you have no need to fear an invasion of your privacy, mademoiselle; none of my men will come near you, I give you my word on it.' Briefly he managed to hold her evasive gaze, and she saw the deep gleaming challenge in their depths before she looked away. 'And you have my word that you are safe from my attentions.'
The colour high in her cheeks, Lisa looked up at him. 'I'm quite aware of your opinion of me, Mr ben Dacra/ she said, as coolly as she was able in the circumstances, 'but I'll lock my door just the same!'
'As you wish!' He turned and was already in the doorway when something else seemed to come to him and he about-turned to face her once more. His eyes, she noticed, were narrowed and vaguely suspicious. 'If you should have any idea of locking yourself in your cabin as a way of avoiding your kitchen duties, Miss Pelham/ he told her, 'I would not advise it/
Lisa blinked at him, piqued because he had apparently found her so easy to comprehend. 'If I did, at least I shouldn't have to work in your wretched galley/ she said peevishly, and Yusuf regarded her for a second or two in silence, as if he seriously considered the possibility of her doing it.
That might be true/ he allowed in a quiet matter-of-fact voice after a moment or two, 'but then neither would you eat. So think carefully before you do anything rash, Miss Pelham/
Lisa stared at him, much too uncertain that she knew
him well enough to risk it. 'You can't do this to me/ she insisted, though with no degree of confidence, and Yusuf ben Dacra eyed her with his steady dark eyes for a moment.
'Do not doubt that I can, mademoiselle, 9 he assured her confidently, and Lisa watched the door close
firmly behind him, almost expecting to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock; breathing deeply in relief when it did not happen.
Yusuf ben Dacra was every bit as ruthless and unpredictable as she had feared, and she wished she knew just how many chances she could take without incurring some terrible vengeance. He was very much an unknown quantity, especially as far as his private life was concerned, and she saw him not only as a disturbingly attractive man, but a potentially dangerous one as well. In the circumstances she could not understand her own behaviour at all, and she sighed inwardly in despair as she opened the door and went in search of the galley.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lisa had done quite a bit of cooking at various times, and Madame Raymond had even initiated her into some of the mysteries of the Moroccan menu, which the crew of the Djenoun would be sure to expect. But she was far from expert, and she approached her first attempt at feeding a crew of hungrey men with mingled alarm and defiance.
Fortunately the yacht boasted a freezer, well stocked with chickens, mutton and beef, and there were plenty of vegetables. But she would have been happier cooking a roast and two vegetables, the kind of meal an English crew would have enjoyed. Eventually she settled for making a tajin, which was the Moroccan equivalent of a stew, but much more exotic.
The ingredients, she knew, included chickens and vegetables and spices, but she was completely in the dark about such things as quantities and cooking times, so she had to trust her own judgment. In the event she put in a lavish amount of everything, since Madame Raymond had assured her that that was an important factor in Moroccan cooking, and hoped for the best.
If her efforts were successful and the crew enjoyed what she cooked, then well and good, but if not, then the idea lurked at the back of her mind that a disastrous first attempt could mean that Yusuf ben Dacra might have second thoughts. She had little hope of pleasing his personal tastes, she told herself. She even toyed with the idea of deliberately making it a disaster, but decided against it eventually.
The finished result looked fairly edible when she sent
it out in two big terracotta dishes, but she did not venture to sample it herself. Having cooked it she had no appetite left and instead of eating she went up on deck in the air. It was hot outside, but at least the air was fresh and not heavy with the odours of cooking, and she breathed it in thankfully.
Apart from herself, the only other person around as far as she could see, was a young man at the wheel, and from the brief, almost sly look he gave her Lisa guessed Yusuf ben Dacra had been telling the truth when he guaranteed that none of his men would trouble her. In a way she was sorry, for since she came aboard the Djenoun that morning she had spoken with no one but her determined jailer, and conversation with someone else would have done a lot to relieve her feelings.
But whatever she felt, it was impossible not to experience something of the pleasure and excitement that being on the water always gave her. The sky was a clear cobalt blue hazed with gold, and the sea itself shimmered darkly like the sinuous softness of silk as it rippled away from the Djenoun's leisurely progress.
The yacht itself was beautiful too, just as Yusuf had claimed, and Lisa could well understand his pride and pleasure in her. His yacht, she thought ruefully, was probably the only thing he truly loved, and he had declared that even she was hard to handle at times. Even from those he loved, he expected obedience.
She spotted a couple of other boats, sketched in shadowy outline against the sky and sea, and thought that they were probably making for Casablanca. Watching them she felt restless with frustration, for both were too far away for her to make any attempt to attract attention, and she guessed Yusuf ben Dacra had taken that fact into account too.
Moving around to the landward side of the yacht the prospect was no more encouraging at the moment. Rag-
ged cliffs tumbled down to the sea like granite waterfalls, and looked so grimly forbidding that Lisa turned from them, frowning. She dared not dwell on how long she was likely to be aboard, but the longer she was there, the more desperate she became. And when she returned to her own cabin a short time later, she flung herself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling in angry frustration.
It was possible, she supposed, that some women would find it exciting being the virtual prisoner of a man like Yusuf ben Dacra, but to Lisa the fact was becoming more and more worrying. He must surely let her go before nightfall, if they touched land again. He might be planning to put her ashore and then continue down to Zobi, thinking he had damped her enthusiasm for the group and their cause.
A light tap on her door made her sit up suddenly and catch her breath, and she was appalled to realise that the thudding beat of her heart was because she expected Yusuf ben Dacra to be out there. Apparently her lack of response called for more demanding measures, for another knock, louder and more insistent, followed almost immediately and she slid off the bed to answer it.
Lisa had been expecting to see Yusuf and when it turned out not to be him, but a young man in a white cotton jacket who eyed her curiously, she blinked in surprise. Then he smiled, a quick appreciative gleam in his dark eyes that suggested that either he had not been informed of Yusuf s ruling concerning her, or that he chose to ignore it. Two rows of crooked but stunningly white teeth showed in his handsome brown face and he leaned slightly towards her eagerly.
'Mademoiselle; Monsieur ben Dacra requests that you join him if you please.'
His English was good but very strongly accented, and for a second or two Lisa gazed at him uncomprehend-
ingly. It was natural for her to suspect Yusuf ben Dacra's motives, whatever he did, and this summons was so completely unexpected that she looked for an ulterior motive as a matter of course.
'Mademoiselle? 9
She was prodded gently back to realisation, and she attempted a smile, still standing in the door of her cabin. 'Why does Mr ben Dacra want to see me?' she asked, and the young man looked briefly puzzled.
But seemingly he had been entrusted with the task of taking her to his employer, and he was anxious to carry it out. 'Please will you come, mademoiselle V he coaxed, his crooked smile beaming persuasively. 'Monsieur ben Dacra is waiting/
'Not until I know why he wants to see me/ Lisa insisted, not moving an inch.
•Why, to eat luncheon in la salle d manger, of course, mademoiselle. 9 From his expression she thought he found her rather slow for not realising it. 'You will come now V
But to Lisa enlightenment merely brought a new dilemma. She had never expected anything as civilised as an invitation to lunch, and she still looked for an ulterior motive. 'You mean he expects—he wants me to have lunch with him?'
The young man nodded, plainly puzzled by her reticence, and it was in Lisa's mind to refuse out of hand to sit down to a meal with her tyrannical host. But by now she was beginning to feel hungry and the invitation was far more tempting than it would have been an hour earlier. Her empty stomach clamoured for food and Yusuf ben Dacra was offering her lunch, even if it was her own tajin. There was only one way she could reply, though she did so with obvious reluctance.
•Very well/ she said, 'I'll come. Though I look as bedraggled as a gypsy, after hours in that wretched kitchen/
'Mademoiselle?'
In no mood to explain, Lisa dismissed his encouraging smile with a shake of her head, then followed him out into the passageway and as far as a door at the far end, next to the galley. Heaven knew what had prompted the invitation, but a suspicion that it was primarily to complain about her cooking was firmly implanted by the time she was ushered into the dining salon, and she was already frowning defensively.
Yusuf was standing by a window at the far end, but he turned the moment she came in, and once more Lisa was struck by the sheer animal magnetism of the man. He surveyed her boldly, arrogantly, his gaze sweeping over her flushed face in frank appraisal before he spoke, and taking in every detail of her dishevelled hair and the way the blue shirt clung to her body bec
ause she was still hot and sticky, even after a spell on deck. 'Please come in, Miss Pelham.'
His cool and matter-of-fact reception of her was an added irritation to Lisa, for he sounded as if he was welcoming an invited and honoured guest, instead of someone who he knew would give him the slip at the very first opportunity. Rather than respond in the same way, she studiously ignored 4 him for the moment and instead took deliberate stock of her surroundings while he stood watching her.
Yusuf ben Dacra certainly believed in his comfort, even on the high seas, for the salon, although simple in comparison, was no less comfortable than the big, palatial one amidships. A long highly polished table ran the whole width of it and took up most of the space, although there was seating room for about a dozen people, Lisa guessed.
At the moment it was set for only two, with gleaming silver and snowy white linen, crystal wine glasses glinting like diamonds in the diffused sunlight coming in through the window. Briefly Lisa thanked heaven she
was not expected to eat Moroccan style with her fingers, for she had never yet acquired the necessary skill it required to eat a meal without getting into an embarrassing mess.
The floor was carpeted, the rich traditional Rabat carpet, like in the big salon, and the walls were white-plain white except for a light stippling of gold that added richness without being garish. It was unusual to see pictures on the walls of a Moroccan home, even a floating one, but two rather good pen and ink drawings hung on the wall at the window end, and Lisa noted them with interest.
One subject she could identify without any trouble. It was very definitely Sheik Abhan el Boudri, Yusufs adopted father, but the man in the other drawing intrigued her more because she suspected he might be Yusufs natural father, Joseph d'Acra. She wasn't quite sure why she thought it might be Joseph d'Acra, but the man was obviously European. About thirty years old, she guessed, younger than Yusuf was now, but with something basically similar in the angle of the head and the cast of the features, but fair instead of dark.
Close to the Heart Page 7
