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Mocca had brought up the subject of her bodyguard. He eyed her up and down in dispassionate assessment. ‘You will need two, three men,’ he declared. ‘Maybe four.’
The number turned out to be fifteen, all Mocca’s blood relations. When she accosted him on the subject, Mocca had replied with complete confidence that it was no more than what Xa Shiraq wanted. Mocca displayed an uncanny ability to read Xa Shiraq’s mind.
Amanda had to put a stop to it. Her secret foray into the Atlas Mountains was taking on the proportions of a Cecil B. deMille Hollywood extravaganza.
‘Where is the money coming from?’ she demanded of Mocca.
‘It’s simple,’ he explained. ‘I invoice everything to the palace.’
The invoices to the palace must have been flying thick and fast, a veritable flood of invoices which surely had to be brought to the sheikh’s attention sooner or later.
Amanda’s blood ran cold. She hoped it would not be sooner. She had to get evidence of what her father had found before anyone was aware of what was happening. That not only applied to people in the palace. Amanda was acutely aware that her trail to Alcabab could be easily picked up by the man she had left behind in the Presidential Suite at Fisa.
She had caught the last flight to Bejos on the night he had stated his intention to pursue her. That put her at least twelve hours ahead of him since there had not been another flight until the next day. If the entertainment she had organised for him had gone well, he might not have realised she had slipped the coop for twenty-four hours.
Two days had passed since then. By now he would have discovered at Bejos that she had used the authority that was rightfully his. She didn’t know if he would confess what had happened to Xa Shiraq or try to find her first, but she suspected the latter. He had said himself he was a man who made his own rules. Amanda did not doubt that. The strength of his personality still haunted her.
As did his challenge to her.
It went far deeper than a contest of wills.
It forced Amanda to examine what it meant to her to be a woman, and what part a man should play in her life. Was she short-changing herself with mind over matter, repressing basic needs that she had found easier not to dwell on? Perhaps she was blocking off something more wonderful than she had ever dreamed of.
When he had touched her...and before that...the way his presence had somehow infiltrated her, tugging on feelings that both excited and frightened her...was she being a coward to deny what might happen with him?
It was not only the heat in Alcabab that kept her awake and restless at night, yet in the end common sense always re-asserted itself. It would be all too easy to slip into a dangerous, exhilarating affair, but the letdown would inevitably come and it would probably take years to get over the emotional scarring. Or was she too frightened, too cautious? Perhaps if the opportunity came again, she should seize it.
As for his pursuit of her, he would have a difficult job finding her in Alcabab, Amanda assured herself. At her request, Mocca had found her an apartment. If Mr Complimentary Upgrade was scouring hotel registers for her name and a person of her description, he would meet with nothing but frustration.
In the meantime, her purchases were so outrageous they could not be overlooked by the palace accountants for long. Xa Shiraq would inevitably demand to know who was using his money and authority to buy such things. Once her identity was known, he would have Patrick Buchanan’s daughter brought to him. She would then have the opportunity to demand that he rectify the damage done to her father’s reputation. But not before she had the evidence.
Amanda decided she must get out of Alcabab as soon as possible. The longer she stayed in the capital the higher the risk that she would be found by the man pursuing her. He knew whose daughter she was. Her purchases were all aimed at a geology expedition. He was quite capable of putting two and two together and then making inquiries that could lead to the apartment she had rented.
The crisis arose late in the afternoon of the second day.
‘Inquiries are being made for a person of your description,’ Mocca had informed her gravely.
Amanda’s heart rose to her mouth.
‘Who is making the inquiries?’
‘His name is Charles Arnold.’
That staggered Amanda. ‘What?... How?’
‘Does it worry you?’
‘It’s vaguely disturbing.’
It made no sense to her. Charles Arnold had no reason to pursue her. Surely petty malice didn’t extend that far. Was Mr Complimentary Upgrade making use of that name to confuse her?
‘The bodyguard can dispose of him,’ Mocca said with satisfaction. ‘We will throw him in the well from which no-one ever returns.’
‘No, no, no,’ Amanda said hastily. ‘That’s going too far. But it does mean we must leave Alcabab immediately.’
‘All is not yet ready.’
‘Then make it ready. We will leave tomorrow morning at three o’clock.’
