[Harlequin] - Wanda Delamere - Call of the Heart (txt), Ksiazki, txt
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SHE HARDLY DARED TO BREATHE AT THE SIGHTThe man towered above her. His familiar face was ruggedly strong, his eyes a piercing electric blue. So overwhelming was his presence that she temporarily forgot the immediate danger confronting her.'You," she whispered, hardly able to grasp his reality. Too often she had seen him in dreamlike situations. She couldn't credit that he was here now, near enough to touch. For a moment his compelling magnetism almost forced her to reach out to him. But something held her back.'Yes, Camilla," he said in a quiet deep voice. 'We've found each other again."Her heart leaped as his gaze held hers, for she knew that here was the one man who had the power to unleash her darkest passions....Published, July 1982First printing May 1982ISBN 0-373-70.024-5Copyright (c) 1982 by Wanda Dellamere. All rights reserved. Philippine copyright 1982. Australian copyright 1982. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher. Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention and do not concern themselves with political developments in Afghanistan.The Superromance trademark, consisting of the word SUPER*OMANCE. and the Worldwide trademark, consisting of a globe and the word Worldwide in which the letter "o " is represented by a depiction of a globe, are trademarks of Worldwide Library.Printed in USACHAPTER ONEAs THE PLANE CIRCLED SLOWLY for its landing, Camilla looked down into the open spaces beneath her window and in her rising excitement gripped the arms of her seat. Sprawled along a curving silver river below her was Kabul, the capital city of this strange exotic land she had traveled so far to reach. Small mud huts crept up the hills that embraced the city, clinging there like lizards and blending with the color of the earth. She saw, too, the sparkling roofs of the mosques and palaces - some smooth with azure tiles, others glittering and metallic."There's the Blue Mosque," said her seat companion, and she followed the line of his finger to a great dome-roofed building, made miniature by the height of the plane and shining like a blue glass marble."It's so beautiful!" she exclaimed, turning to the man who sat beside her. His name, she had learned at the beginning of the flight out from Rome, was Johnny Hagan. He was an American, a doctor, and she was grateful for the cheerful boyish enthusiasm he had shown and the friendly way he had helped her, a nervous first-flighter, answering all her questions with his lopsided grin. She was grateful, too, for the way he'd unconsciously made his position clear right from the start."I can hardly wait to get back to Janet. She's expecting a baby - our first - and it kills her when I go away, poor kid. Kills me, too. Still, I've brought her letters from her folks.""Don't you miss being at home - America, I mean? There must be such a difference. Wouldn't your wife prefer to have the baby somewhere...well, more civilized?"He had laughed like a boy. "I guess not. At least, she hasn't mentioned it. Our son's going to be a real little Afghan - will grow up speaking the language, which is an opportunity I only wish I'd had. If we stay long enough he'll be taught by Malcolm Armstrong - another one of my missed opportunities."Camilla had been slightly intrigued. "You've mentioned this Malcolm Armstrong several times. Who is he?""A fixture of the country. English, like you, but to look at him, if he's dressed properly, you can easily be fooled into thinking he's a real Afghan. Grows more and more like them every day. We bet on the day he'll wake up with his blond hair turned black." He chuckled. "You ought to meet him. You'd admire him.""Surely you mean like," said Camilla, puzzled."Not at all," answered Johnny, smiling. "Not a lot of people really like him, I guess, but everyone admires him. It's too difficult to get close enough to him to really know him and like him."Camilla had understood. This Malcolm sounded like a standoffish expatriate who tried to impress other people by going native and playing at the silent Afghan, the man of mystery. Well, he could impress other people; he wouldn't find it so easy to fool her. She had turned the discussion then to different topics, feeling unwilling to linger on the subject of Malcolm Armstrong.But her instant dislike of Johnny's strange acquaintance was offset by her growing liking for the American himself, young and redheaded with a nose just recovering from the peeling effects of sunburn, and a face liberally freckled. If his wife was as... as - she cast about her for a description and settled for that overworked one, "nice" - if his wife was as purely nice as he was, she could count on two friends at least in this unknown land the plane was fast approaching. And heaven knew she needed friendship and help - without any demanding ties.Now Johnny leaned over her again, and with the excitement of a proud householder showing off his possessions to impressed guests, he pointed out the four points of the compass and what lay there."South," he began. "That's the desert. Ghazni and Kandahar are the two biggest cities. Kandahar is dominated by the strict mullahs - ""Mullahs? What are they?" queried Camilla."Muslim priests. Kandahar is the black Islam area of the country. Nearly every month we get rumors of some stoning authorized by the mullahs - ""Stoning!" Camilla exclaimed, her face blanched. "How horrific! It sounds positively B.C. - biblical."Johnny laughed again. "As long as I've been here I've never found a stoning rumor to be true. But it shows what kind of a place Kandahar can be if even those ridiculous rumors can be believed and passed around. I've been to Kandahar, and the worst thing about it was the flies that settle on everything like a black blanket.""Sounds just as bad," said Camilla. "I hate insects.""Well, it was worth it to see Kandahar. But I'll admit it's no place for a woman."Camilla's lips curled. They were all the same, these men. Tall, short, fat, thin, sandy, blond, dark, handsome or ugly, clever or charming or selfish or... mysterious - in the end they all believed that the primary need of a woman was protection. And she, Camilla Simpson, had had enough of that in any form. Freedom was a new drink to her, a strange and heady draft, and she was prepared to drain its joys to the fullest. Who was to say what was and what was not the place for her to go? No one would restrict her activities. She knew now she was not the kind of woman to act merely on the sufferance of some dominating male."I wouldn't be put off by a few rumors," she stated, holding her head proudly. "I shall see Kandahar if I want to. After all, I've come this far alone."Johnny looked sheepish. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't handle anything in the normal run of things. It's just that...oh, you don't know the Afghans. Their way of life and their basic philosophies are so totally different. It's very difficult to explain. Freedom for women is growing a bit in Kabul with the Western influences that touch the capital city, but in most of the country women still dress in their chadaris - head-to-foot veils - and I wouldn't like to say what you'd be risking if you went to Kandahar dressed as you are now."Camilla looked down at her outfit. On the advice of a well-traveled friend she had worn a creaseless apple-green cotton, leaving her arms and legs bare, with her feet shod in white espadrilles. The cool appearance of the dress was a foil to the flame of her auburn hair, and its color was reflected in the depths of her sea-emerald eyes. Such an outfit would be perfectly acceptable in England, but customs were very different here. She'd just have to be careful, that was all, she told herself."To the east," Johnny went on, "is the city of Jalalabad, near the Northwest Frontier Province of Pakistan. You probably know more than I about the political battles that have been fought at the borders, since you're from England, and the British have been involved in so many Afghan wars, so I won't display my ignorance. To the northeast is Nuristan - that is, Land of Light, so-called because the natives at the end of the last century were all converted to Islam; you know, 'seen the light.' Before that the place was called Kafiristan - ""Land of the Kafirs?" smiled Camilla."Good guess. They were pagans before their conversion, and many Afghans still fear them and the whole of Nuristan. It's a restricted area; you need a special visa to go there. They have little compunction about murdering foreigners.""What a place!" Camilla exclaimed."Armstrong visited it once, several years ago - only foreigner I know who's been and come back to tell the tale. And even he had to get out in one heck of a hurry. Apparently one of the chiefs took quite a shine to his looks and tried to sell Malcolm his daughter. He only went to collect some Mongol relics and nearly came back with a wife!""I'll bet the chief's daughter was relieved that the bargain fell through," Camilla commented dryly. "Imagine being sold off to the highest bidder! Like some farm animal."...
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