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'There you are, then. You can understand what I mean.'
'But there is an enormous difference between having principles and living the life of a nun, Annie. Five and five doesn't add up to ten with you, and that… irritates me.' He turned her round, bringing her into the circle of his arms as they reached her suite, and then backing her against the wall as he looked down at her with dark, narrowed eyes. 'And puzzles me too,' he admitted thoughtfully. 'And it's a failing of mine that I always have to solve puzzles.'
'I do apologise for disturbing that illustrious brain.' The sarcasm didn't quite come off, trapped as she was by his big male body, and enveloped by the warmth and smell of him. 'If I irritate you so much—' the word had rankled '—why did you insist that we travel together?' she asked tightly.
'Damned if I know.' His eyes narrowed further. 'Perhaps I'm a glutton for punishment? It could be that; I was always stubborn and awkward even as a child. Or maybe it's a matter of unfinished business. That's another thing that has always had the power to get to me. Or it could even be that any company is better than no company at all.' He smiled mockingly.
'Charming.' She tried to glare at him but the anger his words had induced was watered down by the potent magnetism of his nearness, and the word sounded humiliatingly breathless.
'You did ask.' He stared down into her face for one more moment, his eyes moving over her hair, her eyes, the silky-smooth skin with its delicate blush of pink, and then he reached out and touched her mouth with his finger, tracing the outline of her lips with a sensual caress. 'Goodnight, Annie.' And then he straightened up with an abruptness that left her stunned as he turned and walked away.
The cool control Hudson displayed that evening characterised his dealings with Marianne over the next few days. They left Fez early the next morning when it was still relatively cool, arriving in modern Rabat's broad, flower-lined streets later that day, and exploring its ancient medina the next morning before it got too hot.
Hudson was charming but faintly remote, teasing her a little—as a niece could expect from a favourite uncle—but maintaining a detachment that made Marianne feel quite isolated at times. And so it continued, even when, on the third night of the trip, Hudson escorted her to a wildly exotic nightclub in Casablanca and Marianne found herself trying to provoke something more. The very moment she realised what she was doing she stopped, but it hadn't made any difference anyway—he was still the benevolent uncle figure, and it was driving her mad. She told herself she was being inconsistent, selfish, unreasonable—that it was far better he viewed her platonically; it was what she had demanded after all. But in spite of her acknowledgement of her fallaciousness it still hurt.
They arrived in Marrakesh late in the afternoon of the fifth day, and by then Marianne was convinced that any attraction Hudson might still have harboured towards her had been well and truly dealt with by that formidable mind.
The city had a special charm of its own that was undeniably romantic, many of its streets being lined with orange trees and gardens filled with bougainvillaea and flowering jasmine that perfumed the air with a sweet odour, and Marrakesh itself being surrounded by orchards of olive trees and date palms bearing heavy bunches of fruit high in the air.
Marianne found its location—lying in the foothills of the High Atlas Mountains due south of Casablanca—fascinatingly picturesque, the reservoirs made by damming streams in the mountains nearby providing a lushness to the city that had been missing elsewhere. But Hudson seemed quite unmoved by the romance in the air.
It would be a wonderful place for a honeymoon… The thought shocked her and she glanced quickly at Hudson, big and dark beside her, as they drove past medieval palaces and other ancient and beautiful buildings towards the large square called Djemaa-el-Fna, deep inside the medina, where there was a fair beginning at about four e
very afternoon.
'Idris made me promise to pay a visit,' Hudson had said earlier with a wry smile as they'd been approaching the city, and he had told Marianne about the famous fair. 'He was horrified we might just come to Marrakesh without visiting Djemaa-el-Fna.' And so, on their arrival at 'the gateway to the south', they had parked the Range Rover outside the rosy pink medina wall, whereupon they had hired one of the hundreds of horse-drawn gigs lined along its length, and were now being driven in style to the great square.
It was alive with what seemed to Marianne's fascinated eyes thousands of people waiting to be entertained when they arrived just before four, and, after Hudson had paid the Arab who had driven them his required fee, he took her small hand in his.
'I wanted to show you the real Morocco when you came on this trip,' he said softly, his eyes warmer than they had been in days. 'And this is part of it. Let's just enjoy it together.'
'But the hotel? They won't let our rooms go?' Marianne asked anxiously. 'It might be late when we leave.'
'It's okay.' He smiled, drawing her close and kissing the tip of her nose in a light caress before adding, 'I know the owner.'
She couldn't argue any more; her heart was singing suddenly at the look in his eyes after the days of coolness, even as she berated herself for her stupidity. She had to be careful—doubly careful—when he was like this. She couldn't afford to let her guard down for a moment She loved him too much to get careless.
Marianne knew, as the afternoon stretched into evening, that she was going to remember the bitter-sweet enchantment of the hours spent with Hudson for the rest of her life. They listened to story-tellers, watched snake-charmers, magicians, jugglers and agile acrobats parade their skills, and the inevitable medicine men demonstrate the miraculous cures in their brightly coloured bottles.
There were many cooks tending their braziers while they grilled succulent pieces of fish or chunks of meat, and as the light began to fade into an aromatic dusk Hudson and Marianne ate charcoaled fish and sweet Moroccan bread washed down with bottled water, followed by handfuls of dried figs and dates.
It was a step outside real life—a dream, a taste of what might have been—and all the more poignant because of it.
'Worth coming?' Hudson's voice was soft as they stood finishing the last of the dates and watching the vendors beginning to pack up their wares as the dark shadows of night encroached on the colourful scene, blanketing it in a velvety dusk.
'Definitely.' And it had been—if only because of the magical bubble that had enclosed them as they had wandered hand in hand about the square like any other couple on holiday.
'Come on; we'll find a taxi to take us back to the Range Rover,' Hudson said quietly, and he slipped an arm about her waist, pulling her into the side of him as they turned to retrace their footsteps.
He kept his arm round her during the drive back, but although there were times—many times—when Marianne thought he was going to kiss her he didn't, much to her increasing chagrin.
The Range Rover was where they had left it, and once inside Hudson started the engine without attempting to touch her, his face cool and expressionless and his hands steady. They drove to the modern part of the city, built about one and a half miles from the old medina, and into a wide, tree-lined street where large houses reposed in regal splendour, surrounded by their own grounds and flower-filled gardens. It was the haunt of the wealthy.
'Oh.' Marianne glanced about her as Hudson cut the engine after drawing into one of the drives and stopping in front of a long, low, sprawling residence of some distinction. 'Have… have you a call to make or something?'
'Something, actually.' His face was still cool as he turned to face her and she knew instantly she wasn't going to like what he was going to say, and steeled herself for what was to come.
'This is the part of Marrakesh where Hassan, Idris's brother, lives,' Hudson said quietly. They're expecting us.'
