Climax Of Passion

He probably thought her a soft pale creature compared to himself. Although her fair complexion had acquired a light golden tan in the tropical sunshine at Fisa, this only tended to accentuate the bright clarity of her aquamarine eyes, and made her long ash-blonde hair look whiter than it was, especially against the black suit that was the standard hotel uniform for her position.

Amanda was no fragile flower, but her facial features did have a delicate femininity, and she was slender and softly curved. Her physical appearance gave many men, men like Charles Arnold, the impression that she would be mal-leable and easy to manage. Amanda was quite happy for them to think so. Until such time as they crossed her mental line of what she considered wrong for her, anyone could think what they liked.

‘I have not been attended to.’

The sharp, demanding edge to the stranger’s voice made the statement sound like the most culpable crime against responsibility since the captain of the Titanic ordered full steam ahead.

Amanda’s fanciful speculations came to a dead halt. Her mind did an abrupt about-turn. She knew that voice. She had already heard it once today. This man owed her an apology for his rudeness on the telephone.

Charles Arnold gave the gentleman a perfunctory glance. ‘Everyone has to take their turn here, sir,’ he said brightly. ‘We’ll be with you in just a moment.’

In typically arrogant dismissal of anyone who impinged on his personal priorities, Charles turned back to Amanda. ‘Well, get on with it. The figures, please, Mandy,’ he urged. Then in an insultingly condescending tone, he in-structed, ‘Put your finger on the Enter key and...’

‘No! You will not touch the Enter key.’

The tone of absolute authority shivered through the air-conditioned atmosphere. Amanda had been right about one thing. The owner of the voice did not like having his orders disobeyed. He probably had an intense dislike for the word ‘no’, as well. Unless it was he who was using it.

She did her best to retrieve the situation. ‘We have a new arrival, Mr Arnold,’ she stated quietly. ‘Perhaps we could attend to him first.’

She flashed the stranger a quick glance, all ideas of aloofness, reserve, dignity and aplomb forgotten for the moment. She could not afford to have another complaint lodged against her. Her look carried a simple message. It said, please be aware that you are placing me in a difficult situation.

The man’s eyelids lowered fractionally for the briefest of moments, as if he had received her message, understood it completely, but nothing would divert him from the course of action he had chosen.

‘Don’t give me your dizzy blonde act, Mandy,’ Charles Arnold said, having missed the byplay between Amanda and the newly arrived guest. ‘These figures are important to me. My next promotion depends on them.’

‘I will have the Presidential Suite.’

That arrested Charles Arnold’s attention. Amanda hadn’t told him about the earlier inquiry. A paying customer in the Presidential Suite was a feather in any management cap. The dangling prize effected a complete reversal of attitude in Charles Arnold.

‘You are very welcome, sir.’

Pure smarmy syrup, Amanda thought, barely hiding her disgust as the sucking up act began.

‘We will attend to your every need immediately. Most regrettable that you’ve been kept waiting. If you’d alerted us earlier... However, we shall make generous amends. A porter for your luggage, sir? Any special refreshment you’d like in your suite? I’ll have your butler rung so it can be delivered while we... uh...take reservation details. Your name, sir?’

‘It is not necessary for you to know my name.’ It was a cold rebuff. The stranger, who was apparently intent on remaining a stranger, withdrew a folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his sports jacket and tossed it onto the desk. ‘This is all you need to know.’

Amanda watched Charles Arnold unfold the paper. It was thick, creamy, expensive. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the emblem at the top of the page. She was not in a position to read the typed lines underneath, but that notepaper, that emblem, represented the man she most wanted to reach.

She had seen it before amongst her father’s papers...the personal insignia of the Sheikh of Xabia...a gyrfalcon at full wing, its talons poised ready to strike.

Her stomach seemed to turn over. Despite a sudden and debilitating feeling of weakness in her bones, Amanda forced herself to look once more at the commanding, ageless face in front of her. Was he...could he possibly be...Xa Shiraq himself?

CHAPTER THREE

NO SOONER had the electric thought gripped Amanda’s mind, than a wash of common sense defused it. No way would Xa Shiraq arrive at any hotel as casually as this man had, or dressed as this man was. The Sheikh of Xabia would have a retinue, bodyguard. He wouldn’t wait for anything. He’d be waited on hand and foot!

‘This isn’t signed,’ Charles Arnold said huffily. ‘Anyone could have typed those words. I do not consider it an authorisation to give you complimentary use of our Presidential Suite. Unless you can produce more than that, sir...’ he tossed the page back onto the desk in contemptuous rejection ‘...you are wasting our time.’

It gave Amanda the opportunity to read what was written on the page. The message was short and succinct.

By order of Xa Shiraq, the bearer of this note is entitled to have any request within my jurisdiction fulfilled.

Her mind dizzied again with the enormity of what was happening in front of her. This man was certainly not Xa Shiraq but he had to be important to have such a note. He could be one of Xa Shiraq’s three great supporters, all military men who by their loyalty and skill had helped Xa Shiraq win the sheikhdom in the first place. There was Jebel Haffa and...

Amanda took a deep breath. She pulled her mind into order. This man could lead her to one of her primary goals, the secretive and elusive Xa Shiraq himself.

‘You question its authenticity?’ The icy sting in his voice was not propitious to any pact of friendship.

‘Naturally a man in my position of authority has to do so,’ Charles Arnold observed coldly.

On the surface, it was a reasonable statement. It was true, Amanda reflected, that anyone with access to that particular notepaper could have written the letter. The hotel had discreet procedures for checking authenticity and credit ratings for guests. These procedures should now be followed.

‘Perhaps...’ she began.

Charles Arnold cut her short. ‘The figures please, Mandy.’

He turned back to the stranger, intent on cutting this arrogant foreigner down to his own level. Amanda had seen it all before. ‘As I’ve already said, anyone could have typed this order...’

‘Who would dare?’

The challenge sent a quiver through Amanda. Her gaze flew up to the hard commanding face. This man had to be close to Xa Shiraq. Very close. And his eyes missed nothing. How could she possibly get close to him? Yet if she could... must...her pulse quickened. Given half an opportunity...and she would leap at it.

‘I will not fall prey to a cheap confidence trick,’ Charles Arnold scoffed, losing control of the situation but reasserting his sense of superiority.

To reinforce it even further, he picked up the typewritten authorisation, held it gingerly by one corner as though it were contaminated, slowly drifted it to a position above the disposal bin, then released his grip. The letter floated down to join the rest of the garbage paper in the bin.

‘That,’ said Charles Arnold with satisfaction, ‘is what I think of that.’ As far as he was concerned, he had just won his encounter with the stranger.

The stranger said nothing. The black blaze of his eyes would have incinerated most people but his target was cocooned in self-importance. He lifted a hand. Amanda prayed for more time. The hand moved up to shoulder height as though he intended to slap it onto the counter. But it did not descend.

A man loitering near the fountain moved abruptly into a brisk walk towards the desk. He wore a black suit and carried a black leather attaché case. Amanda recognised him as a guest who had booked in two days ago, a Mr Kozim from Bejos, a rather portly, middle-aged man, darker in skin tone than the stranger in front of her and more obviously of Middle Eastern origins.

He came to a halt beside the stranger who then lowered his hand but did not so much as glance at the man who had responded to his signal. Mr Kozim placed his attaché case on the desk, opened it, removed a typed page with the letterhead of the Oasis chain, and passed it to Charles Arnold.

‘For legal purposes you will find that document is signed by Jebel Haffa,’ the stranger stated bitingly. ‘I hope you will recognise his signature.’

Charles Arnold began sputtering. ‘What is the meaning of this? It can’t be...’

‘It means that as of this moment you are relieved of your duties as assistant manager of this hotel,’ came the hard, relentless reply. ‘You are no longer employed here. You have no further involvement with the Oasis chain.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Charles Arnold blustered. ‘I’m calling the general manager.’

‘That would be expedient.’

Amanda reached for the phone. Charles Arnold beat her to it. This call was too important to be entrusted to a menial like Amanda.

Charles Arnold protested his fate in acrimonious terms.