El Kabbar nodded curtly. "Right after you called me. He wasn't at the dispensary so I left word with his assistant."
"Undoubtedly hell be overjoyed when he hears the good news."
"Undoubtedly," El Kabbar said caustically. "He lost a horse-crazy fifteen-year-old and finds an orange-haired twenty-one-year-old rock star. Hell be over the moon."
"She's still his daughter," Abernathy offered quietly.
There was a short silence.
"Yes, she's still his daughter," El Kabbar finally said. "Whatever that means. Madchen never treated her with anything but complete indifference. When I told him she was missing his reaction was a philosophic shrug. No, you can't say they were exactly close."
"Is that why she ran away? I thought she was just rebelling at being sent away from Sedikhan to school here in England."
"No, there was more to it than that." El Kabbar's lips were suddenly a tight line. "Nothing is ever simple when it comes to Pandora."
"Isn't it?" There was a note of speculation in Abernathy's voice.
El Kabbar noticed it, and his lips curved in a cynical smile. "And, no, she wasn't my mistress, Abernathy. I've never indulged myself with teenage Lolitas. I like my bedmates with a degree of maturity and experience."
Abernathy was well aware of that. El Kabbar's latest affair had been with a beautiful opera singer who possessed both of those attributes. Still, he had wondered a bit at the sheikh's reaction when Pandora Madchen disappeared. El Kabbar had flown to London at once and supervised the search personally for almost a year. That, in itself, had been unusual. His demeanor during that period had been even more surprising. There had been moments when the man looked positively haggard. "I would never have intimated such a thing. I know that Dr. Madchen has been in your employ for a number of years. I'm sure you would have been just as concerned for the daughter of any—"
"The devil I would," El Kabbar bit out. "My employees are well taken care of, but I wouldn't go through that hell as part of any fringe-benefit program."
"Then why—" Abernathy broke off. He was coming dangerously close to exhibiting a curiosity that he knew would not be welcomed. He had learned long ago that one ventured past the sheikh's wall of reserve only at his own express invitation. "She appeared to be an unusually appealing child. A little quiet, but very polite."
"It must have been one of her better days," El Kabbar said dryly. "Pandora was seldom quiet and never polite. She was wild as a hawk." His lips twisted. "From the looks of this photograph I'd say she hasn't changed all that much."
"You have to admit she's made a success of herself, in a rather offbeat manner."
"She could never have done it any other way. She hears a different drummer." El Kabbar turned away from the fireplace and strode briskly toward the desk. He dropped down into the massive leather executive chair and tossed the magazine carelesslyon the blotter In front of him. "Does Blackwell's have a branch in the States?"
"I believe so," Abernathy said cautiously. "If not, I'm sure they can make arrangements with a suitable counterpart." He frowned. "But why? We already know where Miss Madchen is located. Since she used a return address it's obvious she wanted us to know her present whereabouts. It's not likely shell disappear again."
"Pandora never does what's likely. I have no intention of losing her again." He met Abernathy's eyes steadily. "Besides, at last I have some work that your very thorough detectives can sink their teeth into. Not only are they going to keep Pandora under surveillance, but they are going to protect her as well. Who knows what kind of weird element she's surrounded herself with?" For an instant there was a flicker of humor in his eyes. "Though I doubt if anything could be worse than the tiger she was cuddling before she left Sedikhan."
"Tiger?" Abernathy asked in bewilderment.
El Kabbar made an impatient motion with his hand. "Never mind, it's a long story. Just see that she's protected. I also want a complete dossier drawn up on her, down to the brand of toothpaste she's using at present."
"How soon do you want it?"
"Tomorrow afternoon." He ignored the other man's stifled exclamation. "Did you say she's playing in San Francisco day after tomorrow?"
"According to the list of concert dates in the magazine. It's the last concert on the tour."
"I have some loose ends to tie up here, but I should be able to get away by tomorrow morning. Have your man report to me at the Fairmont tomorrow afternoon at five."
"They might not be able to complete a dossier that quickly."
"They'll do it," El Kabbar said grimly. "They've been milking me for the last six years—it's time they produced. I'm extremely displeased with them."
Abernathy swallowed nervously and stood up. "I must get back to the office and make a few telephone calls. Do you have any further instructions?"
"That's all." Then, as Abernathy started for the door, he added, "No, wait. Find a way of contacting Mrs. Zilah Seifert. I believe she and Daniel are cruising in the Caribbean on their yacht Windsong. " He smiled sardonically. "Let her know the lost lamb has been found. She has a peculiar fondness for this particular lamb."
Abernathy nodded briskly. "I'll see to it. If there are any problems. I'll phone you in San Francisco. Good day, Sheikh El Kabbar." He strode hurriedly toward the door. This time he was allowed to leave and he closed the door behind him with a sigh of relief.
It was foolish to be nervous around the man after so many years in his service, but the sheikh could be a very intimidating man. Abernathy wouldn't like to be in the detective's shoes if he didn't come through with that dossier on schedule. For that matter, he wouldn't want to be in Pandora Madchen's place either. The sheikh's emotions were exceptionally strong and volatile where she was concerned. Personally, he found it muchmore comfortable to be ignored by the man except when needed.
Philip leaned back in the chair, his eyes going compulsively to the magazine he'd thrown so carelessly on the desk. Lord, she was beautiful now. Even in that grotesque wig she shimmered with allure. But then, he had known she would be beautiful eventually because as a child she had possessed an enchanting grace and loveliness. Strange that he hadn't noticed it more often when she had tagged around after him like an eager little puppy. He supposed he'd always been vaguely conscious of that glowing promise, but it had been all but obscured by her fire and intensity. He wondered cynically if that intensity was still as strong. Perhaps she had found, like most beautiful women, that society requires nothing more of her than a tempting body and an accommodating nature.
For some reason that thought sent a surge of rage through him, and he reached impulsively for the jeweler's box on the far side of the desk. He flipped it open and stared down at the medallion, trying to subdue his anger.
He had given her the medallion to safeguard her when she was a child running wild around the village and encountering danger at every turn. Everyone recognized the rose and sword as the insignia of his house, and it had placed her automatically under his protection and possession. She had accepted the fact that she belonged to him. She knew he didn't give up what was his. Not ever. Yet she had returned the medallion without even the courtesy of a note. What the devil did she mean by that gesture?