When he felt her still trying to struggle he murmured, ‘Don’t be foolish, my Diamond. You could overcome me more easily than you know, but not by force. You have weapons that could enslave a man.’

He turned her in his arms, putting a hand under her knees and raising her to carry her to the bed. Without removing his mouth from hers he lowered her onto the satin cushions. She clung to him, perhaps to steady herself, perhaps because she couldn’t do anything else.

She became aware that his embrace had changed. The fierceness had gone out of it, leaving behind only tenderness, and coaxing. Something deep in her took fright at that coaxing. It contained a greater power than any threat. His lips were seductive, teasing her into compliance, persuading her that there was nothing she wanted to do but this.

He left her mouth and began to kiss her down the length of her neck, then down further to the place between her breasts. He lingered a moment, and Fran knew he must be able to feel the hammering of her heart.

‘Does your heart beat with love or hate, Diamond?’ he whispered.

‘With hate,’ she managed to say.

‘And mine?’ He took her hand and placed it over his own heart, which was beating as strongly as her own. ‘What of mine? Is that love or hate you feel there?’

‘Neither,’ she gasped. ‘All you want is possession.’

‘Perhaps. There has never been a woman I wanted to possess as much as you, or for whom I would take such risks. Ask whatever you will of me.’

‘Let me go,’ she said fiercely.

The words stopped him in his tracks. He released her and drew back, his face a cold mask.

‘You ask the impossible,’ he grated. ‘It’s time you faced the truth. You’ll stay here until I’m satisfied.’

‘And when will that be?’

A strange, distant look came into his eyes, as though he was communicating with a vision only he could see.

‘When you yield to me completely, in your heart as well as your body. When you say that you are mine for all time and desire only to remain with me. Then, and only then, will I be satisfied.’

Moving quickly, he rose and backed away.

‘But I won’t stay here,’ she raged. ‘I’ll escape and expose you to the world.’

She was talking to a closed door.

Fran was too intelligent to keep fighting the same battle with the same discredited weapons. So she calmed her temper and assumed an attitude of compliance, to hide her inner rebellion and her determination to escape.

She realised she was exhausted. She hadn’t slept the night before. Now she was determined to keep up her strength, so she slipped between the sheets of the lavish bed, and slept the sleep of the jet-lagged.

When she awoke her maids were present, bowing and smiling, and indicating a meal that was ready for her. It was a meal for an honoured guest-veal and apricots, followed by stuffed dates and wine. It was delicious and she realised that she was very hungry.

While she’d slept her bag had been returned to her. Diving into it, she discovered that something was missing. Her notebooks and Dictaphone machine were there, but not her mobile phone.

So, no chance to call for help.

The maid who understood some English, and whose name was Leena, explained that the rest of the afternoon would be taken up by a visit from a maker of materials, who would produce samples for her choice.

‘Then make-to your liking,’ she said.

Fran would have liked to say that she wasn’t going to be here long enough to make a new wardrobe necessary, but she merely nodded and smiled. An appearance of agreement was simply part of the role she was playing for the moment.

But her pose was shaken when the merchant appeared and tossed bolt after bolt of fabric at her feet, until the floor was covered with a myriad colours.

‘Where do I start?’ she gasped.

‘My master says-everything you wish,’ Leena said, smiling.

Fran pulled herself together. She absolutely would not let herself weaken because of a few bolts of silk, even if one of them was guaranteed to highlight her eyes, and another would bring a peachy glow to her skin.

Since it was clearly expected of her she ran her hands over the material, feeling the luxurious sensation against her skin. It was her undoing. Suddenly she was a teenager again, pressing her nose against the shop window, yearning for the clothes within. Only this time someone had removed the window, and the clothes were hers.

A subtle intelligence had been at work here. Somebody understood what would make her weaken-if anything could. She would select only the bare minimum.

Two hours later the merchant departed jubilantly, with the largest order he’d ever been given, even from the palace.

Fran was left aghast, wondering what had come over her. It wasn’t just the material, but the fortune in jewels that Leena had calmly ordered to be sewn into the garments. When Fran had asked if these were real jewels Leena had been shocked. As though the Prince of Kamar would give anything less!

‘But of course these are only little jewels,’ she had explained. ‘The master will present you with the big ones himself.’

‘The-big ones?’ Fran had said, dazed.

‘You are to be greatly honoured. He has said so.’

Honoured with everything but my freedom, Fran thought.

But she held her tongue. When she next saw Ali she would have plenty to say.

It was early evening. Fran went out onto the balcony and watched the last few minutes of daylight before the light vanished and it was pitch-dark, almost as though somebody had thrown a switch.

Even in her present mood she had to admit that this was a magic place at night. Below her were the palace gardens, hung with a thousand coloured lamps, glowing against the velvety blackness. Beyond that was the city, with its own lights, hinting at a rich, busy life. From somewhere below the sound of music floated up to her.

Looking down, she could see the paths that crisscrossed in the garden, and the figures that strolled in the blessed cool of the evening. One of them might almost have been Ali.

She peered at the tall figure in the white robes and gold agal. She couldn’t see his face, but his bearing and the way he moved made her sure that it was Ali. He was talking to someone by his side, someone smaller, whose head was covered and who might have been a woman…

Fran didn’t even realise that she’d tensed, leaning forward a little more, and a little more, until the figure turned-and she saw his beard. Then she discovered that she was gripping the rail with all her strength. She released it, feeling the waves of relief wash through her so fiercely that she felt faint.

To make it worse, Ali looked up at that moment. She stepped away so that he shouldn’t catch her looking at him. But she was sure he would have seen her. She turned quickly back into the room.

To pass the time she pulled out some of the books she found on a shelf near her bed. They were in English, and all about Kamar.

She had already learned a good deal about the country in her preparation for the feature, but this book concentrated more on the men who had shaped the principality.

Kamar was barely sixty years old. It had become a self-governing state because one determined man, Najeeb, had appeared out of the desert, sat himself and his tribe down on the first oil well, and refused to budge. He was the man the oil companies had had to deal with, and when he’d declared himself sovereign it had been easier not to argue.

He didn’t sound a very pleasant man, Fran thought, but he’d had vision, courage, determination and obstinacy. He’d been Ali’s grandfather.

His son, Najeeb the second, had made money easily and spent it easily. He’d had two sons, who had quarrelled for the throne, and the younger, Saleem, had triumphed. Saleem had opened up Kamar to modern technology, and seemed to have been an enlightened ruler.

The photographs showed men with curiously similar faces, fierce, hard, seeming to look out on far desert horizons. They all had a noticeable unyielding quality about the mouth and chin, the same quality Fran had seen in Ali’s face. He came from a line of men who were ruthless by nature, and also because ruthlessness was the only thing that paid. And he was one of them.

She was suddenly unwilling to read any more. She closed the book sharply. At once Leena was on her feet, urging that it was time to retire. Fran agreed.

It seemed that Leena would stay with her, sleeping on a small truckle bed, in case she should want anything during the night. Fran’s attempts to shoo her away proved fruitless, so she resigned herself. And when she awoke in the early hours, with a parched throat, it was pleasant to have someone make her some herbal tea that sent her back to a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER SIX

IN THE morning Leena had a surprise for her.

‘We can go to the bazaar and do some shopping, if it is your wish,’ she suggested.

So she wasn’t to be kept locked in the palace all the time, Fran reflected. Perhaps while she was out she would find a chance to contact the British ambassador.

The maids dressed her in the peacock robes, and set the matching turban on her head. The veil was connected to one side of this, and could be drawn across her face to be hooked onto the other side.

Outside the door she found four large men waiting, their arms folded.

‘They are your guard of honour,’ Leena explained.

‘Oh, I see,’ Fran said wryly.

A stretch limousine waited below. One of the guards drove, the other three settled into the first compartment. Fran and Leena went into the second compartment. The car began to draw away.

But before they had travelled a couple of yards there was the sound of footsteps outside and one of the doors to the rear compartment was wrenched open. Next moment, a man had settled himself on the seat facing Fran, and pulled the door shut.

‘Get out!’ shrieked Leena. Then her hands flew to her mouth and she whispered, ‘My lord!’

It wasn’t Ali but a young man who resembled him, except that his expression was lighter and his eyes twinkled with merriment.

‘I couldn’t resist having a look at my cousin’s latest acquisition,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Your veil,’ Leena gasped to Fran.

‘Too late, I’ve seen her face now,’ the young man said. He smiled at Fran. ‘I am Prince Yasir, Ali’s cousin. Tell me, are the stories true? Did Ali really pay a hundred thousand for you?’

‘Pay?’ Fran gasped.

‘That’s what the rumours say. Most women don’t come so expensive. I’ve never paid more than thirty thousand myself, but Ali acquires only the best, and I can see you’re something out of the ordinary.’

‘Get out of here at once!’ Fran exploded. ‘Go on! Get out before I kick you out.’

Leena shrieked, but the young man merely roared with laughter. ‘And with the spirit of the devil. You were worth every penny. Goodbye-until we meet again.’

The next moment he opened the door and jumped out while the car was still moving.

‘He is a prince,’ Leena moaned, ‘and you threatened him. The royal displeasure will fall on us.’

‘Nonsense!’ Fran said robustly. ‘How dare he suggest that I was bought?’

‘But everyone says you cost Prince Ali a hundred thousand,’ Leena protested.

‘He gave that much to charity because-that is-to please me,’ Fran said, choosing her words carefully.

Leena gasped. ‘Then he must value you greatly.’

So now she knew how she was regarded here, Fran thought: as a high-priced acquisition, on a level with a jewel or a racehorse. No doubt Ali saw her in the same light.

Then she forgot her indignation in her excitement at being in the bazaar. As the limousine glided through the streets people backed away and bowed to the royal flag, although the darkened windows meant that they couldn’t see inside. They drew to a halt. Leena settled Fran’s veil back in place, and they stepped out of the car.

She gasped as she felt the noonday sun beating down on her. But when she’d had a few minutes to accustom herself she enjoyed the heat, the brilliant light and the dazzling colours. If this had been a holiday she would have revelled in it. As it was, the guard of honour constantly reminded her that she was a prisoner, although an honoured one.

Since she could order anything she wanted at the palace, there was little for her to buy in the street, but she chose a pair of white doves, whose cooing and friendly ways enchanted her. The vendor assured her, through Leena, that no cage was necessary.

‘Win their love, and they will stay with you,’ he promised.

‘He means they will fly back to him and he can sell them again,’ Leena said indignantly. ‘We’ll have a cage.’