Page 81 of A Colourful Country Escape
‘I can’t wait.’
And she really couldn’t. An afternoon with hot Ben in this Moroccan heat would turn her insides to jelly. Could they sneak in a dip in the pool afterwards to cool off? Although who knew what the sight of him in shorts would do to her.
For now, they were deliciously alone. Cynthia had opted to slink off already, more interested in checking out the hotel’s spa facilities than in seeing Marrakech. Annoyingly, Mrs Fortescue had insisted on booking the hotel, and had bagged Ben and Cynthia stunning neighbouring suites, with jacuzzi baths and rose-petal-strewn beds.
She’d shoved Lexie in a bog-basic room on the opposite side of the hotel, from where she could see the other two on their balconies basking in the sun. Lexie wasn’t fussy about what sort of room she had – it was practical and clean, and who really needed their towel shaped like a swan? But it would irk her seeing Cynthia and her greedy claws so dangerously close to Ben. Cynthia was from thedesirableclass and was undeniably stunning, and with one little ‘I do’ she could secure everything Ben wanted. His father’s business, which he’d given his all to, the family home, future financial security. The very things that too much of a connection with Lexie would snatch away.
Although, as Lexie and Ben stepped blinking into the radiant sun, Lexie felt as though the warmth was melting their problems away. For the moment. She readjusted her shawl to cover her head and they began their winding journey through the side streets of the medina towards the main square.
‘Wow.’ Lexie soaked up her surroundings. ‘This is exactly it, don’t you think? The kind of inspiration we’re looking for. These colours; this charm?’ She could feel it already, like some kind of Moroccan magic, seeping into her skin.
They stopped and looked around them, Lexie spinning slowly like a child in a wonderland of treats. The buildings were beautiful and yet modest in their terracotta simplicity, draped with hand-woven rugs in glorious shades of cerise, burnt orange and midnight blue. All the colours of the rainbow seemed to shimmer around them through the hazy, hypnotic sun.
Lexie felt like her soul was on fire with anticipation. She was desperate to hug Ben with the sheer joy of it, but, out of respect for the culture, she didn’t want to display too much physical affection. She shook herself down, trying to ignore the tingle in her fingers to touch him. By the end of their walk she’d be fit to pounce.
He smiled at her, like she was the most enchanting thing. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘As are you.’
‘Mr Carrington, we’re on a research trip. Do behave yourself.’
‘I will behave myself all day.’ He crossed his heart and gave a small bow. ‘But do I have to behave myself all night?’
With Lexie’s agreement, he’d managed to convince Cynthia he’d be in his room all evening working and he wasn’t to be disturbed. In truth, he and Lexie were taking a taxi to a quiet restaurant in the High Atlas Mountains. She smiled at the image of an evening alone with him, enjoying his handsome features across the flicker of candlelight. And when they were back at the hotel …mmm. There’d been plenty of insinuations, and she was sure that part would be the most delicious of all.
As they moved on through the old town, the ancient buildings packed tightly like a dusky orange maze, Lexie marvelled at everything they saw. Old-fashioned pharmacies selling everything from exotic perfumes to cooking spices; tiny shops where craftsmen worked hard with wools and leather. Locals rushing by on bicycles and donkeys, offering to take them to places for a few dirham. Everyone was keen to make, sell and barter – and they hadn’t even reached the souks. Lexie could sense there was no abundance of money, but the people had a keen eye for business. And yet they were jovial and welcoming, with Lexie teaching Ben the polite but firm stance.
‘Nice handbag, madam?’
‘Two hundred dirham for these shoes, sir.’
‘Come inside and try some wonderful mint tea.’
Once they hit the souks, there was no mistaking it. The labyrinth of market stalls was almost too mesmerising for words. The alleyways were lined and piled high with wares of every colour and description. From dazzling Moroccan lamps to beautiful bejewelled slippers to spices that filled the air with a thousand tagine-like fragrances.
Sunlight filtered down to them in lazy strobes through the makeshift wooden slats overhead, making the colours dance with even more opulence and spreading a warm leathery smell.
Resigned to the fact she couldn’t touch Ben for a while, Lexie wanted to stroke and breathe in everything. Although with the market traders keen to pull them this way and that, she had to play it as cool as she did with the real object of her desires. It was as though she’d been dipped in a land of temptation and forced to behave.
With Ben tantalisingly close behind, she slipped through an archway into one of the shops, knowing full well if she touched anything, it would be as good as bought. Showing the slightest interest, daring to let her fingertips trail across anything she craved, would begin a process of hard bargaining that would not stop until the thing was hers – at whatever price.
As she felt the caress of Ben’s warm breath against her ear, innocently asking her what she wanted, she wondered whether tonight would be much the same. She closed her eyes and tried not to melt on the spot, aware that this was really not the place. This feeling would have to wait.
Before Lexie knew it, they’d been bustled from stall to stall, caught up in the magic of the place. The tickle of materials against her skin; the way the light dazzled through the reds and greens of the glassy lamps; the taste of cinnamon in the air. It was as though everything was conspiring to whip her up into a sensual frenzy. She was being seduced in every sense of the word.
And it seemed as though Ben was struggling with temptation too. Her firm instructions not to buy anything had melted in the muggy heat.
‘It’s research,’ he told her in hushed tones, as he hustled for a brightly coloured rug to go with the armfuls of other quirky items. ‘We need sample colours to inspire this new paint range of yours, don’t we? And isn’t it about time we spiced up some of that beige at Nutgrass Hall?’
Lexie tried not to laugh at the thought of Mrs Carrington-Noble’s plush cream sofas being draped with loud Moroccan throws.
‘You just can’t help doing a bit of business, can you?’ she teased him, as he made his purchase and they left the pressure cooker of the souks. Watching him lock firm but friendly horns with the stallholders had fanned her flames for him even more. ‘Who would guess you’re so far out of your comfort zone.’
‘It’s so much more thrilling than Cornwall,’ he teased back. ‘Although I dare say the pasties aren’t as good.’
As they moved into the blazing heat of the main square, Lexie drank up every inch of it. It was everything she had read about and more. The Jemaa el-Fna was a huge open space overlooked by a towering mosque, but filled with rows of covered markets and floods of people busying in every direction. It was a place of pure hustle, and locals vied for their attention, keen to help them spend their money in creative ways.
Lexie and Ben had no particular place to go, and yet they knew to look purposeful and try not to be swayed. They moved briskly around the square, making concentric shapes towards the middle, like they were riding a helter-skelter in reverse. There was a buzz of excitement that was completely infectious, as they danced to avoid people offering to dress them with snakes and paint them with henna.
‘This place smells fantastic,’ Lexie whispered to Ben, as they wove past stalls cooking kebabs, the smoky flavours wafting out at them and clouding their way.
