Margaret Mann - Destiny Decrees

Printed in Canada

Original hard cover edition published in 1974 by Mills & Boon Limited.

Margaret Mann 1974

ISBN 373-01519-4

Harlequin edition published September 1974

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.

The Harlequin trade mark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

The Portuguese waterfront was alive with jostling crowds as the passenger ship from England docked at the port of Lisbon. To the slim girl leaning on the trail, Lisbon spread like a fan of pearl pink palaces, Churches and colour-washed houses, crowning a dozen hills. A scented breeze lifted her long copper-coloured hair as Coralie negotiated the steep wooden gangway, narrowing her eyes against the golden glare. She struggled down uneven wooden steps, juggling her hand-luggage in one hand while searching her handbag desperately for her sunglasses with the other. Her head reeled from the effects of the stormy voyage.

Pausing momentarily, as she felt her feet once more on terra firma, Coralie glanced anxiously around for a porter. She stood on the glaring white quayside gazing about her with an air of bewilderment that made her face look younger than its twenty-two years. The sun turned to gold her halo of bright hair caught severely into the nape of her neck with a green ribbon that reflected the colour of her eyes. It revealed a face that looked pinched and wan as the result of a turbulent night on the water. Her stomach still churned from the motion of the ship; she had never been a good sailor, she reflected; but at last the throbbing engines had ceased and gradually the waves of nausea that had almost drowned her senses were subsiding. Only a short while ago she had wanted to curl up and die, she was so alone and miserable, but with the sea-voyage behind her she was struggling to maintain her balance and to steer herself towards the Customs sheds.

The next moment Coralie was flung from her feet as she stumbled clumsily over someone's luggage left standing on the quayside. She felt herself gripped suddenly by a strong hand saving her the indignity of sprawling full length on to the floor. Glancing up in confusion, she was startled into awareness by a tall

figure looming above her.

You are ill, senhorita?' enquired a deep voice. The accent was foreign, Portuguese no doubt.

' II shall be all right,' she gasped dazedly, and had the acute sensation that the dark eyes were taking in the delicate definition of her features and the trim line of her slender figure in the crumpled travelling coat which had been eminently suitable to keep out the damp of the raw English cold at Southampton, but which felt dowdy and totally unsuitable in the warm, scented air of Portugal. As he stooped swiftly to collect the scattered belongings that had spilled from the wicker basket of her hand-luggage, Coralie noticed his sensitive brown hands jutting from the immaculate whiteness of his shirt cuffs caught at the wrists with expensive gold studs. He straightened with what she took to be an impatient gesture pushing back the shock of blue-black hair from his forehead. Coralie caught an impression of strong, almost gypsy-like features as he handed back her basket with a bow.

Her seasickness was settling a little now, and as the dark stranger picked up the luggage over which she had stumbled, a spark of annoyance flashed in her clear green eyes.

' Those were your bags! ' she accused him. It's a wonder I didn't break my neckand I thought you were being chivalrous'

' My apologies, senhorita,' he broke in, and again she felt somewhat at a loss at his curt reply. Firm fingers at her elbow were propelling her towards the Customs sheds.

' I can manage quite well now, thank you.' The Portuguese glanced down at her from behind dark glasses, and to her intense relief released his hold.

Goodbye, senhorita.' He inclined his shapely head towards her and was immediately swallowed up in the crowds of early holidaymakers thronging the barriers. He had vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving Coralie feeling strangely at a loss without the reassuring strength of his masculine arm in this unfamiliar land. She had deduced that his knowledge

of English must have been vague if not practically non-existent when she remembered the almost churlish way in which he had dealt with her, she decided as she waited wearily at the long Customs counter for her luggage to arrive.

It was not until the crowd had cleared their way through the Customs that the awful truth dawned upon Coralie. Her luggage was lost! As in a night. mare she heard the mechanical tones of the Customs officer as he took particulars of her name, Coralie Grey, and destination; she gave him an address in the Algarve, her mind suddenly projecting to a quaint white fishing village she had seen on postcards where Peter, her fianc, would be waiting for her, but how was she to reach him when her money, along with the rest of her few belongings, was somewhere on the route between Southampton and Lisbon? she agonised.

Her only currency was a handful of escudos that she had exchanged on the ship for a five-pound note, barely enough for one day's expenses. The full realisation of her folly in leaving the traveller's cheques in her cases dawned upon her with sudden impact.

' But what am Ito do?' Coralie beseeched the apparently impervious Customs officer. She was on the verge of tears, and only his uncommittal response, goading her to anger, enabled Coralie to retain her dignity in a desperate situation. In her dazed anxiety she hadn't noticed a tall figure loom up beside her until he spoke.

' In difficulties over luggage once more, senhorita?'

Coralie started in amazement as she recognised the voice. She thought she detected a hint of amusement in his tone, making her feel like a child who didn't know how to look after itself.

' I thought you'd disappeared long ago with the crowd,' she said testily.

' Might I not say the same of you, senhorita?' he returned, still unruffled. ' I have been delayed on account of my camera which is being held until the officials ascertain whether or not it is stolen property. They will contact me later after having made certain

enquiries.' She saw a tiny musl e at the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement at her transparent reaction to this news. His smile was taunting. ' You've already labelled me, " smuggler of stolen goods!" ' He seemed unperturbed at the notion and indeed Coralie could not understand why he had not been taken into custody by now, if this were so.

' I see you are a newcomer to Portugal, and as such cannot be expected to comprehend this matter. Come, do I understand that your luggage is lost?' he demanded.

Despite herself Coralie told him something of her plight, her words disjointed, seemingly making little sense in her apparent distress, her cheeks burning beneath the stranger's shrewd regard of her. Yet in no time he had taken control of the situation. She listened to his authoritative voice speaking fluently in Portuguese with the Customs officer. Then she found herself being propelled along against her will out into the teeming throng that was Lisbon.

' Where are we going?' Coralie asked uncertainly of the tall man at her side. For answer he firmly withdrew her from the noise and bustle of the crowds, and ushered her into one of the many small waterside cafes, where he settled her in a quiet corner seat.