Читать книгу Hostage Of The Hawk - Сандра Мартон, Sandra Marton - Страница 5

WHAT did you wear to a dinner meeting with a Hawk of the North?

Not that she’d be dining with the great man himself, Joanna thought wryly as she peered into the wardrobe in her bedroom. Her appointment was with Hassan, Special Minister to Prince Khalil, although what a bandit needed with a minister was beyond her to understand. Their conversation had been brief but it had been enough to give her a good idea of what he’d be like.

He’d be tall and angular and as old as the hills that lay beyond the city. The skin would be drawn across his cheekbones like ivory papyrus. His eyes, pale and rheumy with age, would glitter with distaste when he saw her and realised that she was Joanna Bennett, for he lived in a world in which female equality was unheard of.

Joanna smiled tightly as she riffled through the clothing hanging inside the wardrobe.

How would she convince him to continue the meeting, once her deceit was obvious?

‘Surely, the great Khalil wishes prosperity for his people,’ she’d begin, ‘and would not wish you to refuse to meet with someone who can provide it.’ Then, as distasteful as the prospect was, she’d dig into her purse, take out the envelope with the numbered Swiss bank account her father had established, and slide it gently across the table.

After that, Hassan wouldn’t care if she were a man, a woman or a camel.

* * *

Joanna glanced at her watch as she stepped from her taxi. Eight o’clock. Her timing was perfect. She put her hands to her hair, checking to see if the pair of glittery combs were still holding the burnished auburn mass back from her face, then smoothed down the skirt of her short emerald silk dress. She’d hesitated, torn between a Chanel suit and this, the one cocktail dress she’d brought with her, deciding on the dress because she thought the suit might make her look too severe, that it would be enough of a shock for the minister to find himself dealing with a woman without her looking like that kind of woman.

The doorman was watching her enquiringly and she took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and walked briskly towards him. She was nervous but who wouldn’t be? Everything she wanted—her father’s approval, the vice-presidency at Bennettco—hung on the next couple of hours.

‘Masa el-kheyr, madam.’

Joanna nodded. ‘Good evening,’ she said, and stepped through the door.

Soft, sybaritic darkness engulfed her, broken only by the palest glow of carefully recessed overhead lighting and flickering candlelight. Music played faintly in the background, something involving flutes and chimes that sounded more like the sigh of wind through the trees than anything recognisable to her Western ear.

‘Masa el-kheyr, madam. Are you joining someone?’

The head waiter’s smile was gracious but she wondered if he would continue smiling if she were to say no, she wasn’t joining anyone, she wanted a table to herself.

‘Madam?’

Joanna gave herself a little shake. The last thing she needed was to get herself into an antagonistic mood.

‘Yes,’ she said pleasantly. ‘My name is Bennett. I believe there’s a reservation in my name.’

Was it her imagination, or did the man’s eyebrows lift? But he smiled again, inclined his head, and motioned her to follow him. There was an arched doorway ahead, separated from the main room by a gently swaying beaded curtain. When they reached it, he drew the curtain aside and made a little bow.

‘The reservation request was for as private a table as possible,’ he said.

Joanna nodded as she stepped past him. A private alcove. That would be better. At least, she and Hassan wouldn’t have to deal with—

A man was rising to his feet from the banquette. Joanna’s eyes widened. He was thirty, perhaps, or thirty-five, tall, with a lithe body and broad shoulders contained within a finely tailored English suit. Her gaze flew to his face. His eyes were shockingly blue against his tanned skin. His nose was straight, his mouth full and sensuous. And he was smiling.

Joanna’s heart gave an unaccustomed thump. Lord, he was gorgeous!

She smiled back, flustered, then turned quickly to the head waiter.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but there must be an error.’

‘Yes.’ The man had spoken, and she looked back at him. His smile had grown, tilting a little with intimacy and promise. ‘I’m afraid the lady is right.’ His voice was soft, smoky, and lightly tinged with an indefinable accent. ‘If I were not expecting a gentleman to join me—’

The head waiter cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, sir. I believe you said you were waiting for a Mr Joseph Bennett.’

‘Yes, that’s right. I am.’

‘Then there’s been no error, sir. This is the gentleman—uh, the lady—you were waiting for.’

Joanna’s eyes flew to the man’s face. They stared at each other in silence. This was Hassan, Minister to Prince Khalil? Oh God, she thought, as she saw his expression go rapidly from surprise to disbelief to fury, and she stepped quickly forward and shot out her hand.

‘Mr Hassan,’ she said with a big, determinedly cheerful smile, ‘what a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jo Bennett.’

He looked at her hand as if it were contaminated, then at her.

‘If this is an example of Western humour,’ he said coldly, ‘I should warn you that I am not amused.’

Joanna swallowed, dropped her hand to her side, and fought against the desire to wipe the suddenly damp palm against her skirt.

‘It’s not a joke, no, sir.’

Sir? Sir? What was going on here? Was she really going to permit this—this arrogant minister to a greedy despot to reduce her to a deferential schoolgirl? It was one thing to be nervous, but it was quite another to let the balance of power be stripped from her without so much as a whisper. Whether Mr Hassan liked it or not, they were here on equal footing. The sooner she reminded him of that, the better.

Joanna lifted her chin and forced a cool smile to her lips.

‘I am Joanna Bennett,’ she said calmly. ‘And I can understand that you might be a bit surprised, but—’

‘Where is Sam Bennett’s son?’

‘I’m his son.’ Joanna shook her head. ‘I mean, he has no son, Mr Hassan. I am—’

‘You are his daughter?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are Joe Bennett?’

‘Joanna Bennett. That’s right. And—’

He swung towards the head waiter. ‘Bring me the bill,’ he snapped. ‘For my apéritif, and for whatever the restaurant will lose on this table for the evening.’ He snatched a liqueur glass from the table, drained its contents, slammed it down, and made a mocking bow to Joanna. ‘Goodnight, Miss Bennett.’

Open-mouthed, she stared after him as he strode towards the beaded curtain, still swaying delicately from the waiter’s exit, and then, at the last second, she stepped out and blocked his path.

‘Just a minute, Mr Hassan!’

‘Step aside, please.’

It was the ‘please’ that was the final straw. The word was not offered politely, but was, instead, tossed negligently at the floor, as one might toss a bone to a dog. Joanna drew herself up.

‘And what will you tell Prince Khalil, Mr Hassan?’ Joanna slapped her hands on her hips. ‘That because you were narrow-minded, old-fashioned, petty and stupid—’

The dark blue eyes narrowed. ‘I advise you to watch your tongue.’

‘And I advise you to use your head,’ Joanna said sharply. ‘Prince Khalil sent you here to meet with me.’

‘I came here to meet with Sam Bennett’s son.’

‘You came to meet with his emissary, and that is precisely what I am!’

A muscle knotted in his cheek. ‘Whose idea was this subterfuge? Ellington’s? Or was it your father’s?’

‘There was no subterfuge meant, Mr Hassan.’

His smile was swift and chill. ‘What term would you prefer? Deception? Trickery? Perhaps “fraud” has a finer ring.’

‘At the worst, it’s just a misunderstanding.’

He rocked back on his heels and folded his arms over his chest. ‘Please, Miss Bennett, don’t insult me with games of semantics.’

‘I’m simply trying to explain why—’

‘What sort of misunderstanding could possibly have led to your thinking I would even consider discussing your father’s greedy plans for my country with you?’

His disdain, his contemptuous words, were like a bucket of iced water. Joanna met his harsh gaze with unflinching directness.

‘Wrong on all counts, Mr Hassan. For starters, I did not wish to discuss anything with you. It was Prince Khalil I wished to meet this evening, remember? As for greed—it is not my father who’s standing in the way of progress and betterment for the people of Jandara, it’s your high and mighty ruler.’

Hassan’s brows lifted. ‘An interesting description of the Prince, Miss Bennett. Clearly, your father didn’t send you on this errand because of your subtlety.’

Joanna knew he was right. Her words had been thoughtlessly spoken but to back down now would be a mistake.

‘He sent me because I have his trust and confidence,’ she said. ‘And if my honesty offends you, I can only tell you that I see little value in not being as direct as possible.’

An unpleasant smile curled across his mouth. ‘How readily you use the word “honesty”—and yet here you stand, having lied your way into my presence.’

‘I did no such thing! I am who I said I was, Jo Bennett, the vice-president at Bennettco.’

‘And we both know that if you had identified yourself properly, this meeting would not have taken place.’

‘Exactly.’ Joanna smiled thinly. ‘I’m glad you admit it so readily. You and the Prince would have turned your noses up at the very idea of discussing business with a woman.’

‘Typical Western nonsense,’ he sneered. ‘A woman, taking a man’s name, trying to pretend she can do a man’s job.’

‘I haven’t taken anything,’ Joanna said coldly. ‘”Jo” is short for Joanna. As for a woman trying to pretend she can do a man’s job—I don’t know how to break this to you, but women don’t have to “pretend” such things any more, Mr Hassan. In my country—’

‘Your country is not mine,’ he said, his tone rife with contempt.

‘It certainly isn’t. In my country—’

‘In Jandara, those who lie do not break bread with each other.’

Joanna glared at him. ‘It isn’t my fault you assumed Jo Bennett was a man.’

‘I don’t recall you attempting to correct that assumption, Miss Bennett.’

Anger overcame her. ‘If I didn’t,’ she said, stepping forward until they were only inches apart, ‘it was because I knew your boss would react exactly the way you are at the prospect of a woman representing Bennettco. No wonder my father’s gotten nowhere all these weeks! Trying to deal with a—tyrant is like—like...’

The rush of words stopped, but it was too late. He smiled slyly as she fell silent.

‘Please, Miss Bennett, don’t stop now. You’ve called Prince Khalil a tyrant, a chauvinist—I can hardly wait to hear what else you think of him.’

What was she doing? She’d come here to further her cause, to succeed in a tricky endeavour and convince Sam that she was capable of carrying her weight at Bennettco, and instead she was alienating the Hawk of the North’s right-hand man with terrifying rapidity. She took a deep breath, let it out, and pasted a smile to her lips.

‘Perhaps—perhaps I got carried away.’

The Prince’s emissary smiled tightly. ‘You may not be given to subtlety but you surely are given to understatement. Referring to m—to the Prince as a dictator is hardly—’

‘I never called him that!’

His brows lifted. ‘But you think it.’

‘Certainly not,’ she said, lying through her teeth. Of course she thought it. If this—this overbearing, arrogant, insolent pig of a man was the Prince’s minister, she could only imagine what the Prince himself must be like. ‘Besides, my opinion of your Prince is no more important than your opinion of me. You and I have lost sight of the facts, Mr Hassan. We are representatives, I of my father, you of Khalil. I doubt if either of them would be pleased if we reported back that we’d cancelled this meeting because we’d gotten off to a bad start.’

Her smile did nothing to erase the scowl from his face. ‘Perhaps we’ll simply tell them the truth, that we cancelled it because I resent having been made a fool of.’

He had a point. Much as she hated to admit it, she had twisted the facts to suit her own needs. She’d lied to him, lied to her father. And if Sam found out...

‘Well?’ She blinked. He was staring at her, his expression as unyielding as stone, his eyes cold. ‘What do you say to that, Miss Bennett?’

‘I say... I say...’ Joanna swallowed hard. Go for broke, she thought, took a deep breath, and did. ‘I say,’ she said, her eyes meeting his, ‘that you have every right to be annoyed.’

His scowl deepened. ‘The start of another bit of trickery?’

Colour flared in Joanna’s face but she pressed on. ‘I admit I may have stretched the facts, but I haven’t lied. I do represent my father. I have his every confidence and I’m fully authorised to act on his behalf. I know you have a problem dealing with me, but—’

But, he thought impatiently, his eyes on her face, but! She was good at suggesting alternatives, this Joanna Bennett. She had insulted him, apologised to him, and now she was doing her best to convince him her father had Jandara’s best interests at heart—but for what reason? Why had Sam Bennett sent her? She kept insisting she was Bennettco’s representative, but what man would be fool enough to believe that?

His gaze moved over her slowly, with an insolence born of command. She kept talking, although her skin took on a rosy flush, and that amused him. Why would a woman like this colour under his gaze? Surely she was not innocent? She was a beauty, though, perhaps more beautiful than any woman he’d ever seen. What she couldn’t know was that her beauty meant nothing to him. Despite what Joanna Bennett thought she knew of him—or of the man she believed him to be—he had long ago wearied of beautiful faces and bodies that hid empty souls. He preferred his women with strength and character, individuals in their own right, not the pampered lapdogs Western women so often were.

The logical thing to do was to tell her that she and her father had wasted their time, that he was not Hassan but Prince Khalil, that he was not interested in whatever game it was they were playing.

But if he did that, he would not learn what game it was. And that, surely, was vital.

‘I still fail to see why your father sent you to this meeting, Miss Bennett,’ he said sharply, ‘unless he thought you could succeed where others had failed simply through the element of surprise.’

‘If it makes you feel any better,’ Joanna blurted, ‘I’m as surprised as you are. I thought you’d be—I thought...’

‘Yes?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What did you think?’

Joanna stared at him. That you’d be a million years old, she thought, that you’d be a wizened old man... His voice. His voice had sounded old on the telephone. Hadn’t it? Maybe not. She could remember little of their conversation except how desperate she’d been to make him commit to this meeting—this meeting that she was on the verge of ruining, unless she used her head.

‘I thought,’ she said carefully, ‘we’d be able to sit down and discuss our differences face to face.’

He smiled tightly. ‘But not man to man.’

‘The bottom line,’ Joanna said, ignoring the taunt, ‘is that we—that is, Prince Khalil and Bennettco—do have differences.’

‘Yes. We do, indeed.’ His voice hardened. ‘Bennettco thinks it can ignore Khalil and deal only with Abu—’

‘Abu Al Zouad is the King of Jandara,’ Joanna said with an icy smile, ‘or has your Prince forgotten that little item?’

‘He is not the King, he is the Sultan,’ Khalil said sharply, ‘and surely not Khalil’s.’

‘Abu is the recognised leader of your country, and he has guaranteed Bennettco the right to mine in the northern mountains.’

Khalil’s smile was wily. ‘If that is the case, why has your father sent you to meet with me?’

‘To talk about what is best for Khalil’s people.’

He laughed, this time with such disdain that it made Joanna’s spine stiffen.

‘You spout nonsense, Miss Bennett. That is hardly the issue we’re here to discuss.’

At least the man was blunt, Joanna thought grimly. ‘Very well, then,’ she said. ‘My father’s sent me to talk about what will most benefit Bennettco—and what will most benefit your Prince, which is why your unwillingness to listen to what I have to say surprises me, Mr Hassan. This meeting is in Khalil’s best interests, but—’

‘Sir?’ They both spun towards the curtained doorway. The head waiter was standing just inside it, smiling nervously. ‘The bill, sir.’

Khalil looked at the silver tray in the man’s hand, then at Joanna. She was right. It would be foolish of him not to find out what tricks her father had up his sleeve, even if it meant enduring her company.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will give you an hour, and not a moment more.’

Joanna nodded. She was afraid to breathe or even to answer for fear this impossible man would change his mind again and walk out.

Khalil nodded, too, as if they had made a pact, then looked towards the waiter.

‘Bring us the meal I ordered,’ he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Be seated, Miss Bennett.’

Be seated, Joanna thought as she slid into the padded banquette, just like that. No ‘please’, no attempt at courtesy at all. It was ludicrous. He’d already ordered dinner, even though she’d reserved the table. The man was impossible, arrogant and imperious and—

‘So.’ She looked up. He had slid into the booth opposite her and he was watching her intently, his eyes unreadable as they met hers. He sat back, his broad shoulders straining just a bit at the jacket of his suit, and a faint smile touched his mouth. ‘Why don’t you start our meeting by telling me about the Bennettco project?’

She did, even though she was certain he knew all the details. It would only help her make her case at the end, when it became time to ask him for assurance that he’d not try and hinder the project. She talked through the lemon soup, through the couscous, through the chicken baked with saffron, and finally he held up his hand.

‘Very interesting—but you still haven’t told me why I should permit—why my Prince should permit Bennettco to mine in the mountains?’

‘Well, first of all, the operation will bring money into Jandara. It will—it will...’ Joanna frowned. ‘Permit, Mr Hassan? I don’t think that’s quite the correct word, do you?’

‘English is not my first language, Miss Bennett, but I learned it at quite an early age. “Permit” was the word I intended.’

‘But the decision’s not Khalil’s. It’s Abu’s.’

‘Is it?’ He smiled lazily. ‘If that were completely true, you wouldn’t be here.’ He smiled lazily. ‘You’re concerned that Khalil will interfere with the project, isn’t that right?’

What was the sense in denying it? Joanna shrugged her shoulders.

‘We think he might try, yes.’

‘And have you stopped to consider why he might do that?’

‘Perhaps he hasn’t given enough thought to how much this project will benefit his people.’

The arrogance of the woman! Khalil forced his smile not to waver.

‘He is selfish, you mean?’

Joanna looked up, caught by the man’s tone. He was still smiling, but there was something in that smile that made her wary.

‘Well, perhaps he doesn’t see it that way,’ she said cautiously, ‘but—’

‘But you do, and that’s what matters.’

‘You’re twisting my words, Mr Hassan.’

‘On the contrary. I’m doing my best to get to the heart of your concerns. What else am I to tell him, apart from a warning about his selfishness?’

Joanna stared at him. Was he asking her to be more direct about the bribe money? It galled her to make such an offer but reason seemed to be failing. Sam had warned her that this was the way things were done in this part of the world, but—

‘Don’t lose courage now,’ he said coldly. ‘Be blunt, Miss Bennett. It’s why you came here, remember?’

‘Tell him—tell him we won’t tolerate any harassment of our workers.’

‘I see. You worry he might have them beaten. Or shot.’

There was a lack of emotion in his words, as if having men hurt were an everyday occurrence.

‘We are not “worried” about anything, Mr Hassan,’ she lied, her tone as flat as his. ‘This project will go ahead, no matter what your Prince does. We simply want to encourage Khalil’s co-operation.’

His nostrils dilated. He yearned to take the woman’s slender shoulders in his hands and shake some sense into her.

‘Really?’ he said, and if Joanna had not been so caught up in her own determination to succeed, if she had not already decided that the only thing that would close the deal was the enormous bribe Sam had suggested, she’d have heard the note of warning in that single word. ‘And how are you going to do that, Miss Bennett?’

Joanna gave him a look laced with contempt, then unclasped her evening bag and took out the envelope her father had given her.

‘With this,’ she said bluntly, and slid the envelope across the table towards him.

He bent his head and looked at it. His anger made the words on the paper a meaningless blur but then, what this female Judas was offering didn’t matter. She had accused him of being obstinate, selfish and despotic, and now she had sought to buy him off as if he were a common thief.

‘Well?’ Her voice was impatient. ‘Is it enough?’

Khalil silently counted to ten, first in Arabic, then in English, and then he took the envelope and stuffed it into his pocket.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the words almost a purr, ‘it is enough. It is more than enough.’

She’d done it! She’d won the co-operation of the infamous Prince Khalil—well, Bennettco’s bribe had won it, which stole away most of the pleasure. Concentrate on the victory, she told herself, on what this will mean to your future...

He rose to his feet. ‘Come, Miss Bennett,’ he said softly.

Joanna looked up. He was holding out his hand and smiling. Or was he? His lips were drawn upwards, but would you really call what she saw on his handsome face a smile?

‘Come?’ she said, smiling back hesitantly. ‘Come where?’

‘We must celebrate our agreement with champagne. But not here. This place is for tourists. I will take you somewhere much more authentic, Joanna.’

Joanna? Joanna’s heart thudded. Don’t go with him, she thought suddenly, don’t go.

‘Joanna?’

That was ridiculous. She had done it, she had closed the deal her father thought couldn’t be closed. What on earth could there possibly be to fear?

Smiling, she got to her feet and gave him her hand.

He led her through the restaurant, pausing only long enough to say something to their waiter, who bowed respectfully all the way to the front door. Outside, the night seemed to have grown darker. He was holding her elbow now, his grip firm, as he led her towards a low-slung sports car at the kerb.

Suddenly, Joanna thought of something.

‘Did you say we were going to have champagne?’

He nodded as he handed her into the car, came around to the driver’s side, then slipped in beside her.

‘Of course. It’s a celebration. Why do you sound surprised?’

Joanna frowned slightly. ‘Well, I’m just—I guess I am surprised. I didn’t think your people drank wine.’

He smiled. ‘Believe me, Joanna,’ he said, ‘you are in for a number of surprises before the evening ends.’

He stepped hard on the accelerator and the car shot into the night.