Osman was alone in the office fuming over his misfortune when the American's husband, Robert Hale, had come in demanding to be told where his wife was. Osman was taken aback, not knowing for certain until now whether the young woman's husband was, in fact, in the country. After trying to stall by saying that he had never heard of any such woman, he realized that the man was the type who might contact the police. It was then that Osman decided that he had probably already lost any chance of future dealings with Nisli Bey, so he abruptly determined to tell this Robert Hale where he could find his wife.
Hinting that she had come with another man and spent some time with him in one of the cabins, he told Robert that his wife had found the motel too isolated and lonely and had decided to go back to Istanbul, where she intended to check in at the Palas Hotel. Osman knew that the old wing of the hotel was now Nisli's private mansion, and he had no doubt that that was where the girl was to be found. It gave him at least a small sense of satisfaction to know that he would be causing some difficulty for Nisli who had robbed him of his deserved money, not to mention the pleasure of fucking the young wife before she was taken away.
It was only after Robert had left to return to Istanbul, promising trouble if he didn't find his wife where Osman had told him she would be, that the vengeful Turk remembered that he had the girl's passport still hidden in his blazer pocket. He ripped its pages into tiny shreds and burned it in a wastebasket, destroying all traces by crumbling the charred ashes between his fingers. Now let them prove she was ever in one of these rooms, he snorted to himself.
To be doubly sure, he went to number fourteen and cleared away all indications that anyone had been there that night. He looked with regret at the bed where he had been on the point of screwing the drugged young bride only a short time before, and then he locked the cabin and went back to the office. He still had time for a quick nap before the morning crew came on duty, and he needed it after the wild scene with Madame Afet.
At least the evening hadn't been a total failure, he grinned obscenely to himself. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the couch inside the office, and within a few minutes he was sound asleep and snoring.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Palas Hotel was located in one of the older sections of Istanbul with narrow, cobbled streets. Robert Hale watched the seedy neighborhood his taxi was entering with some anxiety, noticing the dark, surly men skulking in the doorways opening right onto the streets and the painted women who were obviously prostitutes. Finally the car stopped outside the entrance to a surprisingly modern looking hotel and the driver asked to be paid.
After a brief argument which ended with Robert paying almost double what he thought he should have, he got out and ascended the broad steps. He brushed away the five dwarfs in red circus-like costumes who scrambled down to meet him. He had not brought any baggage, leaving his belongings in the hotel he had checked into so many hours ago with his bride Penny.
At the desk he demanded to see the manager and someone who could speak English. He was exasperated with all the difficulties he had been encountering, and he was so tired that his patience with these people was wearing thin. The man at the desk pretended not to understand a word he was saying, and Robert began to shout and bang his fist on the reception desk. He was almost sure Penny was in the building after what that sneaky looking little Turk at the motel had told him, and he would find her if he had to search every room himself.
Robert had not noticed he was being watched. The pretty dark-haired girl standing in a corner of the room glanced at a photograph she held in her hand until she was finally satisfied that the man shouting at the hotel clerk was the same as the one in the wedding photograph.
Nisli had taken it from the handbag where Penny had put it after her mother had handed her the Polaroid snapshot outside the church. It showed her and Robert in their wedding costumes, smiling at each other on the steps under a shower of confetti and rice. The picture had been definite proof that the girl was married, and Nisli was sure that her husband would be desperately searching for her. The experienced slave-dealer had no illusions about Osman's ability to figure out what had happened to this blonde American, and he had posted the girl Feyadin in the hotel lobby to watch for Robert.
The desk clerk was nervously wringing his hands and Robert was threatening to call the police when Feyadin stepped across the room and touched him lightly on the elbow.
'Please, would I be able to help you, sir?' she inquired in a sweet voice. 'He really doesn't understand a word you're saying. I'm afraid that few of my countrymen speak your language.'
Robert turned around in surprise at the sound of the soothing feminine voice. He looked down into the softest, warmest pair of brown eyes he had ever seen. His anger caught in his throat and he changed his tone of voice.
'God, yes. Thank you very much, Miss… Miss…'
'You can call me Feyadin,' she demurely answered him, gazing directly into his eyes.
'Thank you, Miss Feyadin,' Robert went on, stumbling a little over the strange-sounding name. 'I was telling this clerk that my wife is in this hotel, and I want to know which room she's in.' He knew it sounded crazy to say that, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was the truth.
'Just a minute,' she told him, reassuringly patting his arm. 'I'll get the information you want. What is your wife's name?'
'Penny – Penny Hale,' he stammered. 'And I'm Robert Hale,' he added.
'I'm pleased to meet you, Robert,' she said warmly, smiling up into his eyes. Then she turned to the clerk and spoke Turkish rapidly but with a softness Robert had not heard in the language before. He watched her full sensual lips forming the words as though she were caressing each one with her mouth. While she was busy asking questions and listening to the answers the man was giving her, Robert took the opportunity to run his eyes appreciatively over the young woman's body. She wore a clinging silk mini-dress that left little of her ample physical attractions to the imagination. Her high full breasts thrust tautly out against the material of her dress, lightly rising and falling as she spoke. A tiny, almost thread-like belt tied the dress in at her narrow, wasp-like waist, accenting the outward flare of her hips and well-rounded buttocks. He followed the long tapering line of her legs below the short skirt to the enticing swell of her calves and her slim ankles. She's quite a dish, he thought to himself, forgetting for a split second his concern about Penny.
He glanced at the profile of her face again and was nonplused to see her turn to smile coquettishly at him. She had seen him running his eyes over her body, but it didn't seem to embarrass or upset her. In fact, he thought, she seemed to like it. He smiled back a little more boldly than before, thinking to himself how lucky it was that she was here when he needed help, and that she was also lovely to look at.
'He says that your wife is not a guest of this hotel,' Feyadin told him softly.
'I don't believe it!' Robert nearly shouted again. 'She was brought here from outside the city not more than a couple of hours ago. Tell him that I know she's here!'
Feyadin placed her hand soothingly on his arm and squeezed lightly with her fingers. 'I understand how you feel, Robert. But he swears by Mahomet that she's not here – at least not under that name. Perhaps she isn't alone?' she suggested, changing her tone slightly.
'Impossible! We were just married yesterday!' he blurted out. Then suddenly he remembered the sly hint the man at the motel had made. It was just barely possible that Penny had actually been with another man – perhaps she was making a desperate attempt to get back at him for doing and saying those things earlier in the hotel – especially his declaration that he was going out to find a good lay. Suddenly he didn't know what to think any more. 'I just don't understand women,' he admitted.
Feyadin noticed his sudden uncertainty and leaned over closer to him, her breasts, seemingly inadvertently, brushing against his upper arm. 'Let's go away from the desk and talk alone for a minute,' she whispered in his ear.
They moved to the other side of the room and she planted herself firmly in front of him, looking sincerely up into his eyes. 'I can see that you and your new wife must be having problems,' she said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't want to say anything over there, but it seems to me that the clerk was hinting that there was a woman who might have been your wife who came in a little over an hour ago – with a Turkish man.'
She watched the glowering expression that seemed to close down over his face like a dark cloud. These Americans are so easily swayed in their emotions, she thought. She was glad that he was good looking; it made her
