Stormy Affair by Margeret Mayo
All Amber wanted while she was in Tunisia was peace and quiet after the hard time she had been through; but she was not destined to get it. Who did Hamed Ben Slouma think he was, spoiling her holiday by whisking her off to his house and announcing that he was going to marry her? And, even more maddeningly, declaring that he knew and she knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her! All Amber wanted was to get away — or did she? Was Hamed right after all? Yet he had never mentioned love. If Amber gave way to the attraction she realised she felt for him, wouldn't she only end by getting badly hurt?
Printed in Great Britain
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AFRAID TO LOVE
When her father remarried Ruth felt she ought to visit him and his new wife in their home in the Scilly Isles. But she didn't know then that her new stepbrother would turn out to be Matt Vincent, who had broken her heart six years ago. How could she endure Matt's-company, knowing that her feelings for him had never changed ? Would the admiration of Bruce Pemberton do anything to help ?
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.
First published 1979
This edition 1979
© Margaret Mayo 1979
ISBN o 263 73186 3
CHAPTER ONE
`PLEASE—pretty English lady—please come inside.'
For what seemed like the hundredth time Amber shrugged off the brown grasping hands that touched her bare shoulders and arms, scowling at the dark, always smiling faces which cajoled and beckoned her. She had been told that a visit to the souks was a must, but no one had warned her of the high-pressure salesmanship. Perhaps it was her long fair hair and creamy complexion that attracted them—a direct contrast to their own swarthy dark skins and shiny black hair—or was it the halternecked dress she wore? Whatever it was she felt that she was receiving more than her fair share of attention and began to wish that she had never wandered alone through the medina.
Amber had looked forward to this holiday in Tunisia, now it was turning into a nightmare. This excursion through the labyrinth of narrow streets with their frontless shops should have been a delight. Many examples of local craft were on display and to browse at leisure had been her aim—but the shopkeepers, it appeared, had different ideas. One particularly tenacious young man, with a disarming smile but a very firm grip, led her unwillingly inside—proudly pointing to his fine selection of leather pouffes and handbags, wallets and slippers.
'I'm sorry, I'm not interested in buying,' said Amber politely but firmly.
Her words, though, had little effect, for he kept her arm firmly grasped, pulling her close to him in an embarrassingly familiar manner. 'Here is a beautiful bag,' he said. 'Just five dinars, a special price because you are English.'
'I don't want it,' declared Amber, desperately trying to free herself. But the persistent young man pulled her from counter to counter pressing his goods upon her, never for one second letting go of her arm. Amber doubted whether she would get out of the shop without purchasing something and she felt the colour rising in her cheeks and perspiration breaking out on her forehead.
When a hand caught her other arm a rising panic threatened to choke her. Just what had she let herself in for? She closed her eyes, loth to see what was going to happen.
Sebhatemchi
The voice was commanding and whatever he said it had the desired result, for the abashed young Tunisian released her at once. In relief Amber swung round, but her ready smile of thanks faded when she encountered the cool, dark eyes of her rescuer. His tall, broad frame dwarfed both herself and the shopkeeper. A blue silk shirt strained across powerful shoulders, immaculate trousers hugged muscular thighs. He looked out of place in the dusty medina with its countless souks and hundreds of Arabs—many old with gap-toothed smiles, others young and eager, but none dressed with the expensive elegance of this man.
Before she could speak Amber found herself ushered outside and through the busy jostling crowds, their pace not ceasing until they reached the main road.
The tall dark man then looked disparagingly down at Amber. 'If you couldn't cope you should have had more sense than to wander about alone—especially dressed like that. Tunisian men go for fair-skinned Europeans—did you not know that? What were you after—a cheap thrill?'
Looking about her at the Tunisian women with their white sifsaris which covered both their heads and their bodies, Amber did indeed feel under-dressed, at the same time realising why she herself had attracted attention, but she was determined not to let this autocratic stranger know this. 'It's warm and sunny,' she said tightly, 'I always dress like this on holiday.'
'It is all right on the beach, or in your hotel,' he said, 'but if you want my advice you will wear something a little more modest next time you visit the souks—unless of course you enjoy being pawed!'
Amber's eyes, which were the same colour as her name, flashed angrily. 'How dare you speak to me like that. I don't need your advice and I don't know why you hauled me out of that shop as though I were in danger of my life. I'm quite capable of looking after myself.'
Thick brows rose to disappear in the thatch of dark hair which had fallen across his forehead. 'Really,' he mocked, 'you surprise me. I could have sworn there was a look of panic on your face.'
Amber shook her head crossly, her shoulder-length hair swinging about her face. Impatiently she brushed back a strand which caught across her cheek. 'You were imagining things. I was in perfect control of the situation.'
'Then I do beg your pardon.' The dark head bowed
deferentially. 'My mistake. I was going to offer you a
lift, but as you're so confident you can look after yourself I will take my leave.' He lifted his hand in salute.
Tilemcaan:
Amber did not answer, merely glaring after his retreating back. Rude, arrogant, hateful—that was how she saw him. Interfering where
he was not wanted. She could have coped; it was only a matter of being firm.
She crossed the road and made her way back towards the port and the bus stop. The streets of Sousse and the pavement cafés were crowded. All about her the male population of Tunisia were predominant. There were remarkably few, women and the men, it seemed, had little else to do but stand and talk—except for the touts selling their cheap souvenirs.
Having just missed one bus and compelled to wait for the next Amber found herself surrounded by eager young pedlars anxious for a sale. One small boy who looked no more than ten told her that he would be whipped when he got home if he did not sell all of his baskets. How could she refuse? She had been told to barter, to offer at least half the asking price, but the boy stole her heart and willingly she handed over three dinars for a round basket that could be worth no more than one. Seeing this easy sale the other Arabs, hawking their silver necklaces or olive-wood bowls and statuettes, would not take no for an answer; standing uncomfortably close, their hands brushing her body in a way that she knew was no accident.
A loud horn distracted her attention and looking through the sea of faces before her Amber saw again the tall stranger, seated this time at the wheel of a
sleek grey Mercedes. He beckoned her towards him, but Amber swung away haughtily. She needed no help—least of all from him.
'I do not wish to buy,' she repeated again and again, 'I'm not interested,' wishing fervently that the bus would hurry up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the Mercedes was still there and did not know which was the worst—the soliciting youths or the dark man watching, aware of her discomfort and waiting for her to turn to him for help.
'Okay,' she said at length, her nerves reaching breaking point. 'I'll buy a necklace and a bowl—then will you go?'
She had opened her purse when a hand reached out and took it from her. Her startled eyes encountered cool brown ones. 'I think you had better come with me,' he said, 'before you spend more than you can afford.'
About to refuse, Amber knew that he spoke sense. She did not really want these souvenirs, she could not afford to waste her money. Even so—she hesitated. But her mind was made up for her when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her unceremoniously forward and into his waiting car. The imperturbable Arabs followed, still flaunting their goods, their cheerful smiles very much in evidence.
When the car moved forward Amber could not help heaving a sigh of relief. Ungraciously she turned to the man at her side. 'I suppose I must thank you, though there was really no need, I'm—'
'I know,' he cut in blandly, 'you are quite capable of looking after yourself. But if that was an example I fear you must be harbouring a delusion. One needs
to be firm. The slightest sign of weakness and you will never get rid of them.' His eyes flicked over the basket. 'I see you had already succumbed before I turned up. Did you really want that thing?'
`It's very nice,' she defended hotly. 'Besides, I felt sorry for the boy.'
'Precisely. They can all spin a good tale. They make their living out of gullible fools like you.'
Amber's lips tightened. So he thought her a fool, besides a cheap flirt. Well, she did not think much of him either—pushing in where he was not wanted. What was he trying to prove—and why the interest? Did he too have a hankering for fair-skinned Europeans, as he had put it, only his methods were far more subtle than his compatriots'? He spoke perfect English, though his looks denied that he was an Englishman. Dark-skinned, but not so dark as some of the locals, with unruly curling black hair, chiselled hawk like features and a wide ruthless mouth. Good-looking, she admitted begrudgingly, wealthy too, judging by his fine clothes and expensive car, but it still puzzled her why he should choose to come to her rescue. 'I'm staying at the Sahara Beach,' she said coolly.
'Yes, I know,' came the surprising reply.
She wanted to ask how he knew, but aware that he expected this question she perversely remained silent. Perhaps he too was a holidaymaker there, though somehow she doubted it.
'I also know that you are holidaying alone,' he continued with annoying calm, `so if I can be of any help in showing you the sights just say the word.'
What a nerve! Did he think she would allow a complete stranger in an alien country take her out? He
really must think her a fool. 'No, thanks. There are plenty of coach trips from the hotel. If I want to go anywhere I'll take one of them.'
'A pity. I would have enjoyed your company. You are a very attractive young lady.'
'Is that why you came to my—rescue—hoping I would agree to a date out of gratitude?'
The brows slid up smoothly. 'Not at all. I would have done the same for anyone.'
'So you make a habit of rescuing damsels in distress?'
His smile held little amusement. 'Only when they're as foolish as you. Not many English girls travel alone, whether it's because they have more sense or more friends I do not know. What made you do it?'
'I don't see that it's any business of yours.' Why should she tell him that she had no friends, that all the girls she had known had either drifted away or got married during the last two years when she had devotedly looked after her sick mother. She had not begrudged the time spent at home. She and her mother were very close, her father having been killed in a car accident when she was a baby. When two years ago it was discovered that her mother had a terminal illness she had given up her job to spend every minute at home. She had been heartbroken when her mother eventually died and very close to a breakdown herself. There had been a little money left after the funeral expenses and the doctor had urged her to take a holiday. Doctor Greer had been very kind, even going so far as to book the trip for her. It would be warm in Tunisia, he had said, and would do her good to get away from England's cold autumn days when the
first nip of frost was in the air. But all this was ,very personal and she had no intention of discussing it with a stranger.
He shrugged laconically. 'It's your prerogative. I have no desire to force you into telling me something you do not wish to.'
'I'm very glad to hear it,' said Amber primly, and as they had now reached the end of the hotel drive she gathered up her purchases. 'You can drop me here.' But the barrier was lifted and they were through. Apparently he had no intention of stopping until they reached the hotel itself.
'Thank you for the lift,' she said, trying her hardest to be civil when all she really felt was intense antagonism towards this man who had against her wishes played the part of the Good Samaritan.
He said, 'Next time you take a trip into town give me a ring and I'll be more than pleased to be your escort.' He thrust a card into her hand as she stepped from the car and, unable to help herself, Amber stared after him until the Mercedes disappeared from sight. Only then did she walk slowly into the reception lounge and up the stairs to her room.
It was not until she had washed and changed that she looked at the card. Her first instinct had been to tear it into little pieces, but curiosity got the better of her and she picked it up, toying with it for a few seconds before reading his name.
Hamed Ben Slouma, followed by an address and telephone number—but no indication of what he did for a living. Why did she feel disappointed? This man meant nothing to her, so why the interest? She sat down before the white-painted dressing table, placing
the card before her and staring at her reflection in the mirror. Clear wide-set eyes, a short turned-up nose, nicely shaped lips, golden hair that flicked back naturally. There was nothing special about her—nothing that warranted this man's attention, so why had he chosen to single her out? The fact that he knew she had travelled alone and which hotel she was staying in proved that he had known of her existence before today. She shivered despite the heat. It was unnerving, to say the least. Perhaps there had been some ulterior motive behind his assistance? With fingers that trembled she picked up the card and tore it into tiny pieces, flinging them savagely into the waste paper basket.
S
he picked up her bag and let herself out of the room. It was time for lunch. There was a determined air about her as she walked along the corridor, a forced smile on her lips. From now on she would push the handsome Tunisian from her mind. It was highly unlikely that they would meet again and she certainly had no intention of getting in touch.
Amber spent the afternoon by the swimming pool, lying on one of the wooden-mattressed sun-loungers provided by the hotel. It was an idyllic life and up until today she had enjoyed it to the full. Already, after only a few days, she had felt a lessening of the tension inside her, the fatigue that her mother's long illness had induced was beginning to fade. With the resilience of youth she had begun to spring back to life and had looked forward eagerly to each new day.
Her meeting with Hamed Ben Slouma had spoilt this happiness. She was not sure why. He had come to her help; he was charming, incredibly handsome, and
had done nothing against which she could take offence, yet somehow a shadow had crossed her path. Annoyed with herself now for allowing her thoughts to return to the stranger, Amber struggled to her feet and dived cleanly into the pool. Despite the warmth of the sun the water was icy cold and took her breath away, but she determinedly swam several lengths. The exercise helped drive away these unbidden thoughts.
The Sahara Beach was a large hotel with three seven-storey blocks each joined by a wide corridor, but despite its size the atmosphere was friendly and Amber had already made several friends. She shared her dining table with a young married couple, Elsa and David Flemming, and a French girl, Nicolette, who had also come to Tunisia alone.
Over dinner that evening Nicolette asked Amber how she had enjoyed her day in Sousse. It should have been the most natural thing in the world to tell her about the stranger who had virtually plucked her from the medina, but for some reason she kept this news to herself, enthusing instead about the souks abounding with people and the variety of goods on display. 'There's absolutely everything,' she said, 'leatherwork, Arabian pointed slippers, gold and silver jewellery, sheepskin rugs—oh, all sorts of things. I didn't have time to see it all. It's an experience you mustn't miss.'
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