Sheikh's Ransom. ALEXANDRA SELLERS

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      He smiled in the mirror at her, looking like nothing so much as a desert bandit in a fairy tale. “The name of the hotel is the Sheikh Daud, Miss Langley. It is on the Royal Road that runs near the coast to the west of the city. Please calm your fears. Not all dark Arabs are desert sheikhs carrying off beautiful women to their harems. Some of us are so civilised we would even consider many of your own compatriots barbarian.”

      His teeth looked white and strong behind the black beard. He seemed to be inviting her to smile with him at her own foolish, unfounded nervousness. Kaifar slowed the car and turned out of the airport onto a wide, palm-lined boulevard, and this might be her last chance to leap out of the car. Caroline tensed.

      Kaifar turned slightly to look at her. “You will find the hotel very pleasant, Miss Langley. It is the best and most exclusive hotel in the Barakat Emirates. You were very lucky to win such a prize, yes?”

      She felt the buzz of his smile, the impact of the arrogant, effortless masculinity against her feeble guard, and thought, Is that what I’m afraid of? The fact that he’s so masculine and sexy?

      Maybe she should have listened to David. Maybe it had not been wise to come on her own. She had suspected that there was something David was worried about, though he had denied it. Had it been a fear that she would fall for some attractive foreigner?

      Someone like Kaifar.

      The airport was northeast of the city. “Shall I tell you about our country as we pass?” Kaifar enquired. He waved a hand and without waiting for an answer, began pointing out the sights to her an ancient ruined fortress almost buried by blown sand; a wadi in the distance, palm trees against golden dunes; a small desert village, looking as though it were still in the Iron Age, except for the single satellite dish.

      “That is the house of the chief man of the village. Once the possession of two mules marked his wealth. Now it is a television set,” he told her, smiling again. Yet she couldn’t relax.

      Soon they were in the city. The car entered a large leafy square, and a fabulously decorated, magical building of blue mosaic tile and mirrored glass came into view. “This is our Great Mosque,” he said grandly. “It was built in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries by m—” he paused, as if seeking the name “—Queen Halimah. Her tomb also is here.”

      Caroline gazed at it, entranced by her first live sight of such exotic beauty. After a glance at her rapt face, Kaifar slowed the car and drew in at the curb. The broad stone-paved courtyard was shaded by trees and cooled by fountains, and she watched the people—tourists and the worshippers together—strolling about. The place cast a spell of peace. A sense of wonder crept over her at the magnificence of the architecture, followed by a curious feeling of recognition. Her mouth opened in a little gasp.

      “What is it, Miss Langley?”

      “I think my fiancé has a miniature of this scene, painted on ivory! Is that possible?” How different, how unimaginably more impressive the place was in real life.

      “Anything is possible, is it not? That a man in New York should have a miniature of such a building is not very astonishing, even if one wonders why he wants it. Has your fiancé visited my country?”

      “I don’t think so. No.”

      “Yet he wants a painting of the Great Mosque.”

      “My fiancé is a collector.”

      Kaifar was silent.

      “An antiques collector, you know,” she said, thinking he might not understand the term. “He buys ancient works of art and...objects. Mostly Greek and Roman, but he does have some oriental things.”

      “Ah, he buys them?” He stuck his arm out the window to wave an old man on a wobbling bicycle past. In the bicycle basket she was fascinated to see a dirty, battered computer monitor.

      She smiled at his naivete. “How else could he collect them?”

      He shrugged. “People have things that have been given to them. Or that they have stolen.”

      Caroline bristled. “I am quite sure that David has paid for everything in his collection,” she said coldly. “Believe me, he is rich enough to buy the whole mosque, he doesn’t have to—”

      His voice cut harshly across hers. “No one is rich enough to buy the Great Mosque. It is not for sale.” He sounded furious, and Caroline could have kicked herself. She didn’t want to make an enemy of her guide before her trip had even begun. Some foreigners, she knew, were offended by the casual assumption that everything, including their heritage, had a price.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that literally. Of course such a thing would never be for sale,” she said hastily.

      Kaifar turned his head. “They come in the night, and they steal the treasures of the mosques and museums—even, they chip away the ancient tiles and stone monuments. Now we have a guard on many sites, and those who make the attempt and are caught are put in prison. But it is impossible to guard everything, and the danger only puts the price so high that someone can always be found to make the attempt. This is what foreign collectors do to my country’s heritage.”

      Caroline was hot with a sense of communal guilt. “I’m sure David’s never done anything like that!”

      “Are you?” he asked, as if the subject already bored him. “Well, then, we must not blame your fiancé for our troubles.”

      In fact she knew nothing at all of David’s business practices. She said, as her father might have done, “Anyway, if people are willing to pillage their own heritage for money, that’s hardly the fault of the buyer, is it?”

      He hit the brakes at an orange light so that she was flung forward against the seat belt, but when she looked in the mirror his face was impassive, and his voice when he spoke was casual.

      “You yourself have no experience of what desperate things people will do for money?”

      She stared at him as a slow, hot blush crept up under her skin. It was impossible, she told herself. His remark could not have been meant ironically—he probably believed she was rich. But he had scored a bull’s-eye.

      Caroline had many feelings about her engagement, but never, until this moment, had she felt shame. Shame that she should be allowing David to buy her, a human being, exactly as he bought the pieces for his collection. And for just the reason Kaifar cited—because of desperation for money.

      Three

      Twenty minutes later she was standing in a cool, comfortable room, looking out through a glass door onto a shaded balcony and the sea beyond.

      “You will want to relax, have a drink, bathe and change,” Kaifar informed her, waving at the terrace where he had instructed a porter to place a tray of ice and drinks. “I will return for you in three hours. Then we will have dinner.”

      She frowned in surprise. “What do you mean? Why are you taking me to dinner?”

      He shrugged. “I am a part of your prize, Miss Langley,” he said, with a smile that made her turn nervously away. “Would you like to go to a European restaurant, or do you prefer to try the foods of my country?”

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