Читать книгу The Sheikh - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 8

I t was the first time Chloe had been out alone in a foreign city. Jane and Mrs Vermont had always been with her on the excursions planned and guided by one of the ship’s crew, but now she was completely alone and it felt a little odd.

Chloe was glad she had taken Amelia’s advice to cover her arms and her hair. After being stared at by both men and women as if she were some sort of curiosity, Chloe was almost ready to return to the hotel within a few minutes of leaving it. However, she was determined not to let an attack of nerves betray her, and she forced herself to walk as far as the bazaar she had noticed on their way to the hotel.

Once she had conquered her initial feeling of uncertainty, she began to relax and enjoy herself. It was all so very different and exotic—the people with their dark skins and flowing robes, and the children who clamoured for coins as she passed. She had been warned not to give them money, and resisted the temptation, even though their little faces were very appealing. She was fascinated by the Moorish architecture, and the glimpses of paved courtyards behind high gates was intriguing, the colours brilliant.

The bazaar was crowded with people, the merchants at the doors of their shops calling out to entice passers-by to enter. Chloe took her time, lingering over a profusion of beautifully worked soft leather goods, long silky scarves, sandals, beaten brass and little wooden tables that had either brass or silver inlaid into their surfaces. Sensibly, she had brought only a little money with her, for the professor had advised against large sums in case of theft. She did have enough to buy a leather bag she liked, and was able to conduct a bargaining session with the merchant in French.

Satisfied that she had secured a good deal for herself Chloe handed over a few coins, then, as she left the shop, found herself besieged by other shopkeepers extolling their own wares as she made her way back to the bazaar entrance.

‘No, thank you,’ she said as they clawed at her arm and chattered away in a language that was strange to her. ‘I have no money to buy anything else.’

Discovering that they would not take no for an answer, Chloe broke away and started to run. She turned to her right as she left the bazaar, realising only after her panic had begun to ease that she had mistaken her way and left by the wrong entrance.

She was not in the main street she knew but a narrow alleyway between houses built close together. It seemed darker all of a sudden, and she looked up at a sky that was leaden with clouds, thinking that it might rain at any moment. She realised that she had spent longer in the bazaar than she had intended, and that the evening had pulled in much more quickly than she had anticipated.

Anxious to return to the hotel before the rain came, Chloe turned to retrace her steps. She must find the main street so that she could get her bearings, but she wasn’t sure which way to turn.

It was only after a few minutes of wandering that she sensed she was being followed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw two men dressed in long white tunics walking towards her; they appeared to be looking at her excitedly and she was suddenly afraid. Supposing Amelia’s warning had not been as ridiculous as it had sounded back at the hotel? Supposing the men were intent on kidnapping her?

Her heart began to pound rapidly, and, seeing the main street at the end of the alley she had just turned into, she began to run. Fear took over as she heard one of the men call out to her and knew that they had begun to pursue her.

Oh, why hadn’t she returned to the hotel at the beginning? She had been aware of intense interest almost immediately, but pride had forbidden her to give in to her anxiety. Wild thoughts of being sold into a harem filled her mind, but she was nearly at the main street now and surely she would be safe then?

They were catching up to her! She redoubled her efforts and catapulted out into the street, colliding with a man walking past.

‘Oh, I am so…Mr Armand!’ Chloe cried as the relief swept over her. ‘Those men are chasing me. I think they are trying to kidnap me.’

‘I doubt it,’ he replied, turning to fire rapid questions at the two men in a language Chloe had never heard before. Some sort of argument seemed to ensue before the men looked at her and made what was clearly an apology. Philip Armand’s expression was definitely amused as he looked at her. ‘It seems to be a case of mistaken identity, Miss Randall. They had heard that a beautiful American actress was staying at a hotel near here—and since you are beautiful and looked as if you might be American, they wanted your autograph.’

‘My autograph?’ Chloe stared at him in disbelief, and then at the men, who were shuffling their feet and looking shamefaced. ‘But why did they chase me? I was frightened.’

‘I have explained and they are very sorry, but they had seen films where fans pursue their idols in America and they did not think it was wrong.’ He spoke to the men, and they mumbled another apology before turning and walking off in a dejected manner. ‘They were excited by the thought of meeting an American actress—they would probably have asked you to take them to America, for they have heard it is a rich country. It isn’t often someone famous comes their way. They are simple people, Miss Randall. I told them you had forgiven them—I hope that was right? You did not wish to press charges?’

‘Of course not!’ Chloe was feeling foolish by this time. ‘I—I suppose I let my imagination run away with me.’

‘Perhaps you have seen too many Hollywood films?’ he suggested and she blushed as she caught the mockery in his look. ‘I do assure you that my people do not often abduct young women these days.’

‘Your people?’ She stared at him. ‘So I was right. I thought Armand wasn’t your real name. I saw a picture of you in the paper once…’

‘Yes, that was a mistake,’ he said and frowned. ‘I should never have allowed it. If you recognised me, others might—’

‘Oh, I didn’t—not at once. It was only when you spoke of the Bedouin way of life…’ She blushed again as his eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t suppose most people would have taken much notice of the article. It was only because I was interested…’ She faltered as he frowned again. ‘Not in politics. I have an interest in Arabic literature…poems, to be exact. You quoted something from Umar Ibn Abi Rabia, whose work was disapproved of by more pious scholars. That was what caught my eye.’

‘Ah, yes, the love poems.’ His brows lifted. ‘I would hardly have thought you a scholar of Arabic, Miss Randall?’

‘I am not, of course. I wish I could claim to be that clever. I can recognise a few words here and there—but there are some wonderful poems and other forms of literature that have been translated into English and French. I am making a collection. One day, I may inquire if anyone would like to publish them as a book. You see, I think other people might like them if they were readily available—especially some of the love poems. They are so beautiful…’

Her cheeks were on fire as she finished. He looked amused but also approving, and something about him at that moment was making her stomach tie itself in knots. She was finding it a little difficult to breathe—foolish girl!

‘Yes, they are,’ he agreed. ‘And it is a shame that so much of merit languishes unread for want of interest. Some of the most beautiful prose and poetry were originally written in Arabic—there is a sensuality about the language that flows from the tongue.’

And about his mouth! How attractive he was when he looked at her like that.

Chloe checked her unruly thoughts. What on earth was going through her mind? She was an incurable romantic!

‘I have often wished that I could read the original but, as I said before, I am not clever enough.’

‘That is because no one has taught you,’ he said, and there was a look in his eyes that sent an odd little tingle down her spine. ‘Perhaps you will tell me more of what you have discovered as we walk back to the hotel, Miss Randall?’ His dark eyes met hers in a challenge.

‘You know of the Rubaiyat, of course.’

‘Oh, yes, I know some of it by heart…’ She faltered as his brows quirked, and then closed her eyes. ‘It begins… “Wake! For the sun, who scattered into flight…”’

“‘The Stars before him from the Field of Night,

Drive Night along with them from Heav’n and strikes

The Sultan’s turret with a Shaft of Light.’”

‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed as he stopped and arched his brows at her. ‘I thought I must be the only one who had learned that verse. Most people only seem to know the bit about the cup of wine and thou.’

‘But you are different,’ he suggested. ‘You intrigue me, Miss Randall. Tell me more.’

Chloe looked shyly at him. ‘I’ve never talked about my work before. Daddy calls it my little hobby, and my friends don’t understand why I find the study of Arabic literature interesting. Justine says there are already too many English poets to bother with something in an impossible language that no one can understand.’

‘Justine is your exuberant friend from the ship?’

‘Yes. I am sorry that she ruined your suit—and that I made it worse.’

‘I am not sure that once something is ruined you can make it worse.’

‘You’re laughing at me!’ Chloe accused.

‘Yes, and it is very unkind of me,’ he replied with a twist of his mouth—a mouth she again realised was very attractive. ‘But it is good to laugh sometimes. Believe me, I have not wanted to laugh for a long time.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘Someone I cared for died.’

‘Oh, I see—I am very sorry. I know that hurts. I was devastated when my mother died.’

He nodded, but did not elaborate. Clearly his grief was private, and still too raw to be discussed.

‘May I ask your real name?’

‘You could not remember—even though you saw the newspaper article?’

‘No. I thought it might be Hassan—or Pasha?’

‘It is Pasha,’ he said. ‘Pasha Ibn Hasim—can you be trusted to keep that to yourself, Miss Randall? I would prefer that it did not become common knowledge at the hotel—or anywhere.’

‘Yes, of course—if you wish,’ she said and frowned. ‘I expect you have a good reason for using a false name.’

‘Armand is my maternal great-grandmother’s name. She was French—and her father was called Philippe. I have a British passport in that name so it is not entirely false.’

‘Oh…’ Chloe felt her cheeks getting warm again. ‘I didn’t mean to imply anything.’

‘You did, of course, but no matter. I do have very good reasons for travelling under an assumed name. My father was assassinated in Algeria when I was a child of nine years. My uncle sent me to England to be educated because he believed I would be safer in a foreign country—and, as my mother was English, I had relations there.’

‘Your father was… I am so sorry! I had no idea.’ Chloe was appalled. She had never heard anything so dreadful and it had completely shocked her. ‘That’s why…I mean, I shan’t say a word about what you’ve told me to anyone. Are you an important Sheikh or something?’

Pasha laughed. ‘Not important in the way you mean, merely wealthy. However, someone in my family is very important.’

‘Please don’t tell me any more,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I ought to know. In case I inadvertently say something I shouldn’t.’

‘I had no intention of telling you anything that might compromise his safety—or your own.’

Chloe’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘You really are important, aren’t you? You must be if your…friend might be in danger through something I might accidentally learn from you.’

Pasha didn’t answer and she felt that he had withdrawn from her once more, but she no longer wondered at it or that he should look so stern at times. He had a great deal on his shoulders, and his life could not be easy. She saw that they had almost reached the hotel, and turned to him.

‘Thank you for helping me. I can manage now.’ She hesitated. ‘In case we don’t meet again—good luck.’ And then without knowing why she did it, she leaned towards him and softly kissed his cheek. ‘Stay alive, Pasha Ibn Hasim. Goodbye.’

Chloe turned quickly away before he could answer, running into the hotel without looking back. She had acted impulsively and was already regretting what he must see as very forward behaviour.

She had no idea why she had done it, except that the little he had told her made her feel he might be in danger himself, and for some reason she couldn’t begin to explain, she couldn’t bear for him to be assassinated like his father.

Chloe looked for Pasha at dinner that evening, but he wasn’t in the hotel dining room. Nor was the film crew, and Amelia told them that she had earlier seen the actress and Brent Harwood being called for in a large, expensive car.

‘I think they have been invited to dine with some local bigwig,’ she said. ‘There’s quite a buzz going round over this film they are making. Apparently, it’s going to be shot mainly in Morocco, but they are doing some of the scenes here at the hotel—and they think it will make them famous.’

‘The manager hopes it will bring new visitors to his hotel,’ the professor said. ‘Can’t see it myself—never been to one of those films in my life and don’t care to. Give me a good German-made film—or the French make some decent artistic stuff.’

‘Daddy won’t go to a German film on principle,’ Chloe said. ‘Because of the war. But Justine and I went to one—it was rather macabre and frightening. We didn’t like it.’

‘I dare say you young things would prefer an Elinor Glyn script,’ Amelia said. ‘Personally, I don’t think you can beat Charlie Chaplin. He is the master of comedy.’

‘Now I don’t mind watching that fellow,’ the professor said. ‘He is quite amusing…’ He beamed at them. ‘Do you feel up to taking a little dictation this evening, Chloe? Or would you like to get an early night before we start in the morning?’

‘Oh, of course I don’t mind taking some dictation,’ Chloe assured him. ‘That is why I am here.’

‘Then we’ll find a quiet corner in the gardens,’ he said. ‘I spotted a little shelter where we can sit and be undisturbed. I’ll go up and fetch my notebook and meet you in a few minutes.’

‘I’ll be in the garden,’ Chloe agreed. ‘I think I know where you mean—I’m sure I do, near the palm trees in the corner…’

‘Yes, that’s right, my dear.’ He nodded to her and went off.

‘I think I shall have some coffee in the lounge and settle with a book,’ Amelia said. ‘You don’t need me for anything, Chloe?’

‘No, thank you,’ Chloe said and left her, wandering out through the hotel to the back gardens, which were rather attractive and quite large for a hotel. She stopped to sniff at a pretty yellow rose, and then became aware of raised voices coming from behind a large flowering bush. It sounded as though two men were arguing, but she was unable to understand because they spoke in a language she did not recognise.

And then one of them mentioned a name she had heard for the first time that afternoon…Pasha Ibn Hasim! Chloe strained to catch more of what was being said and she thought she heard the word Hassan…and then again Pasha’s name. Oh, how she wished she knew what they were saying! It was so frustrating to know that they were talking about someone she knew but not to be able to understand, and then one of them said something in French, and she knew they were talking about an attempt at murder.

Chloe’s blood ran cold. Surely she must have heard wrongly? She wished they would continue to speak in French, but they had returned to the first language, which she found unintelligible.

‘Ah, there you are, my dear! I am sorry to keep you waiting.’

The professor’s words startled her, and she swung round to see him approaching. The men had abruptly stopped speaking, and as her employer joined Chloe, they came from behind the bushes, glancing at her as they began to stroll off in the direction of the hotel.

Chloe felt her mouth go dry as she saw the expression of menace in one of the men’s eyes. He said something in a low voice to his companion, but he shook his head and frowned. Obviously the second man was of the opinion that they were in no danger, as a foreign woman wouldn’t have understood what they were saying.

And she hadn’t, of course—except for the names and that one sentence in French. She probably had it all wrong, of course she did! And yet Pasha had told her that his father had been assassinated…

Chloe’s thoughts were confused, but had to be dismissed as the professor found his little shelter and asked her to sit down so that they could begin. Chloe took the notebook she always carried from her bag and smiled at him, indicating that she was ready to begin.

Even if those men had been plotting something, there was nothing she could do for the moment. Pasha had not been at dinner, and she did not know how to contact him—though she would leave a note for him at the desk before she went up to her room.

Chloe asked for an envelope at the foyer, and was given one by an obliging desk clerk. She slipped her note inside, and wrote Philip Armand on the envelope, handing it in with a request that it be given to Mr Armand when he returned.

‘Certainly, Miss Randall. Is there anything else I may do for you?’

‘No, thank you—just make sure that Mr Armand gets the envelope.’

Alone in her room, Chloe thought over what she had heard earlier. She couldn’t be sure that it was significant—and she had made that clear in her letter. Pasha would probably think she was letting her imagination work overtime again, but at least she had done what she could.

She found it difficult to sleep at first, and lay tossing from one side to the other as her mind went over and over the events of the day, but eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep. She dreamed of a tent in the desert and a handsome, slightly dangerous Sheikh.

The professor wanted an early start, and there was hardly anyone in the dining room when they had their breakfast. Chloe inquired at the desk and was told that Mr Armand had been given her letter when he came in the previous evening, but that there was no reply.

She felt a little disappointed, but decided that it would be foolish to have looked for a reply. As she had half-expected, he probably thought that she had imagined the whole incident.

‘Are you ready, Chloe my dear?’

The professor was calling to her, and she hurried to his side. They were beginning their trip in truth now, for they were to enter Morocco and would make their way to various villages. The first important destination on the professor’s itinerary was Fez, and after that Marrakesh.

The car he had hired for their use was quite a large tourer, and more comfortable than Chloe had imagined, with a soft top that came down so that they could enjoy a breeze as they drove on fine days.

Looking back at the hotel as the professor drove away, Chloe saw Pasha come out of the main entrance, but she didn’t wave to him, even though she knew he had seen her. It would probably be the last time she would see him and that thought left her feeling a little low, though she didn’t know why it should.

‘Marrakesh was founded in 1062,’ the professor told Chloe as they looked out of the window of the house they had taken just outside the city for a few days. Situated on a hillside, it had a good view over the city itself. ‘It was a centre of the caravan trade for centuries, and is just as important commercially today.’

‘It looks exciting,’ Chloe said. ‘Amelia was telling me that it was the capital of the sultans, and there are many old buildings and mosques that are interesting to see.’

‘Yes—though, unfortunately, neither of you will be allowed inside,’ the professor said. ‘I was disappointed in Fez not to be able to even approach the mosque of Mula Idris, but the shrine is considered so sacred that non-Muslims may not approach its entrance. However, I dare say there are many fine buildings here that you will be allowed to look at, at least from the outside.’

They had been travelling for three weeks now, and Chloe had discovered that the professor was indefatigable when it came to visiting places he wished to see. She was glad that they were going to stay put for a few days, because she wanted to catch up on some correspondence.

‘Did you need me for dictation this afternoon?’ she asked. ‘I thought I might stay here and wash my hair.’

Charles seemed to realise that he was asking a lot, and looked contrite. ‘You must forgive me, Chloe. I have worked you both hard these past few weeks,’ he said. ‘That’s why I thought we would take the house for a few days rather than stay in hotels. You should be comfortable here, Chloe. And, no, I don’t need you this afternoon. I shall go into the city myself, but you may stay here and relax for a few hours.’

‘Yes, I should enjoy that,’ she said. ‘I saw a pleasant garden just down the road from us, and I think I might take a walk there once I’ve washed my hair—let it dry in the sun.’

‘And I shall stay here and prepare a meal for us all,’ Amelia said. ‘It will make a pleasant change to the bread, cheese and fruit we’ve lived on for the last few days.’

They had preferred to live on food they bought in the local markets rather than eating at the various small inns they passed on their travels. The roads were long and dusty, and they carried a supply of boiled water with them, because Amelia said one couldn’t be too careful about these things.

Chloe had found the travelling interesting, but hard going at times and she marvelled at the resilience of her companions, who seemed to take it all in their stride. Of course they were used to it, but she had not liked some of the rooms she had been forced to sleep in, and had thought longingly once or twice of the comfortable bedroom she had left behind in Cetua.

They had brought sufficient clothing with them to manage, though it meant washing out undies and blouses at night, and they often could not be ironed.

Chloe walked down the hillside to the garden she had seen as the professor drove to their house. It opened out on to the road and, since there were no notices saying that it was private and no fences, she assumed that it was open to the public.

The house they had hired had only a back yard, which was not particularly nice to sit in. Chloe thought that she would enjoy relaxing in this pretty garden with its palm trees, flowers and—yes, to her delight she saw that there were fountains and a little ornamental stream.

She wandered by the stream, which wended its way in and out of delightful shrubs and flower beds, until she came to a wooden seat and decided to sit there for a while with the book she had brought with her. Her hair was almost dry, and she could feel it blowing in the slight breeze that had sprung up.

However, the seat was hard and she found it uncomfortable, so she sat down on the dry grass, and, after reading for a while, lay down and closed her eyes. It was so peaceful here in this beautiful place and she had not been able to relax like this for ages…

‘It would be unwise to fall asleep in the hot sun.’

The man’s voice startled her and she opened her eyes, sitting up in alarm as she saw someone standing there. She shaded her eyes against the sun, and then gasped as she realised that she knew him.

‘Pasha…or should I say Mr Armand?’ she said, wondering for a moment if she was dreaming again. He had featured in her dreams rather too often of late. ‘Forgive me, I’m not sure…’

He came to her and squatted down on the grass beside her. ‘My name is Pasha,’ he said. ‘In the hotel I wished to be known as someone else—but we are quite safe here. This is the home of my cousin, Ahmad Al-Hadra.’

‘Your cousin’s home?’ Chloe stared at him, her cheeks growing warm as she realised what that meant. ‘Then I am trespassing. I’m sorry. I saw the garden and thought it was for public use…there were no fences or notices.’

‘My cousin prefers it that way. He says that the traveller is always welcome to his home—providing, of course, that he comes in peace.’

‘Oh, I come in peace,’ Chloe said and laughed. ‘What a wonderful man your cousin must be—to allow others the beauty of a garden like this is so unselfish.’

‘It is his culture—his tradition, if you like,’ Pasha said. ‘When our people were travellers, we always made strangers welcome at the oasis—food and water were given freely to those who came as friends.’

‘And those who did not?’

‘Ah—that is another story, and not one to be told on such a lovely afternoon.’ He offered her his hand, helping her to rise. ‘Would you care to meet my cousin, Miss Randall?’

‘Oh…yes, if that’s all right,’ Chloe said. ‘I mean—do I look respectable? We’ve been travelling for ages, and I washed my hair this afternoon. It probably looks a fright, and my clothes are creased.’

‘Sashimi will be delighted to lend you a comb if you need one,’ he said. ‘She is my cousin’s wife and much your age, I imagine—how old are you, Miss Randall? Nineteen…twenty?’

‘I’m twenty-two,’ Chloe replied. ‘Everyone says I look younger—which means I am naïve, I suppose.’

‘Not at all,’ he replied with a smile that set her heart racing. ‘Innocent would probably be a better word to describe you. You have a funny little lost look in your eyes sometimes, Miss Randall…which is actually quite charming.’

‘Oh…’ She arched her brows at him. ‘I am not sure whether I ought to take that as a compliment or not.’

‘I assure you it was meant as one.’

Chloe did not reply, because he had led her a little further through the bushes and now the house was in view. It was a long, low building with arched doorways and windows, and there were mosaics of vibrant hues on parts of the courtyard walls, though the rest of it was painted a brilliant white. Terracotta pots spilled over with flowers, and there was a cane table and chairs set out beneath a yellow umbrella.

Chloe could see that a man and woman were near the table, and as they approached they stood up and looked inquiringly towards them.

‘Now what have you found?’ the woman asked in French. ‘Who have you brought to see us, Pasha?’

‘Miss Randall—this is my very dear Sashimi,’ Pasha said. ‘She is of French–Algerian birth and a cousin to my stepmother Mariam—who lives in America. Sashimi, I should like you to meet Miss Chloe Randall. I discovered her sleeping in your garden, but I have had the honour of meeting her before. We travelled out from England together on the ship.’

‘Ah—then it is fate,’ Sashimi said in English and inclined her head. ‘It was written that you should come to our garden, Miss Randall—or may I call you Chloe?’

‘I should be delighted if you would call me Chloe. And I am happy to be here—though I must apologise for trespassing in your wonderful garden.’

‘It was written as Sashimi said.’ Ahmad spoke for the first time and smiled. ‘Such things do not happen unless Allah wills it—and so you bring a blessing to our home, Chloe. We are happy that you are here. You will stay and have tea with us?’ He clapped his hands and a man in simple white robes came out, inclining his head as the order was given.

Chloe looked at Sashimi. ‘I think I must look very untidy…’

‘You would like to freshen yourself before we have tea?’ She smiled and nodded. ‘Please come with me, Chloe.’

Chloe followed her into the house, which was tiled with cool mosaics and furnished very simply with dark wood furniture in the hallway through which they passed. But it was very different in Sashimi’s private rooms, which were light and airy, the furniture of French design and very elegant, the drapes white and filmy, blowing slightly in the breeze from the open windows.

‘Here are combs…perfume…’ Sashimi indicated the dressing table. ‘Through there the bathroom…please use whatever you need. I shall be outside when you are ready to rejoin us…unless there is more you need?’

‘Nothing more, thank you.’ Chloe went through into the bathroom, which was styled in what was obviously an Art Deco design and very modern. The bath and basins were green, and the floor was black and white, with a geometrical pattern that was echoed in the tiles on the wall. Everything had a French style, but combined with a vaguely Moorish flavour that gave it a unique charm.

It was the first time Chloe had been in a private home in Morocco, and it was clearly the home of people who were if not wealthy at least well off. She ran a little water into the basin and splashed her face, which had caught the sun a little when she had lain on the grass, then she used a brush she found on the shelf to tame her hair into something resembling its usual style. She noticed that it had grown longer than she usually wore it, and the sun had lightened the ends a little. Brushing it back behind her ears, she decided that she looked reasonably tidy and decided to go back outside.

She heard Sashimi’s laughter as she approached the door leading to the patio. ‘You are a terrible liar, Pasha,’ she cried. ‘But I shall not tease you. Your little English miss is delightful…delightful…’

Sashimi turned as Chloe emerged from the cool of the interior into the heat of the late afternoon sun.

‘Ah, there you are—you were quick,’ she said, her eyes noting that Chloe had not taken advantage of her invitation to use the various cosmetics that had been on offer. ‘But you need no artifice to make you beautiful.’

‘You make her blush, Sashimi,’ Ahmad said and Chloe noticed that her face dimmed for a moment, as though she resented something. Chloe wasn’t sure what. ‘Do not tease our guest. Please sit here by me, Chloe. Tell me how it is that you find yourself here in this place today.’

‘Thank you,’ Chloe said as he pulled out a chair for her next to him. ‘Perhaps Pasha has told you that I am travelling with Professor Hicks and Miss Amelia Ramsbottom?’ She paused and he nodded his head in agreement. ‘We have been travelling almost non-stop since we left Cetua three weeks ago. We had planned to return to our hotel, but the professor was caught up in his work and we just kept on driving from place to place. It has been difficult to wash or iron clothes—which is why I look so crumpled today.’