The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  As she added a spray of perfume to her wrists she couldn’t help a wry smile, for the trousers and tunic top were a deep emerald ... a perfect match for the suite’s furnishings.

  Would members of his family join them for refreshments? She had an intense curiosity to meet the woman who had been content to take second place to an existing wife. Had a sense of rivalry existed between the two women? And what of Shalef’s mother? One could only wonder at her situation—an English rose, unversed in Islamic customs, set among the desert jewels. Yet if the Prince had displayed his son’s obvious attraction for the opposite sex it was probable that Shalef’s mother had been caught up in a dream that had soon dissipated in the light of reality.

  Kristi emerged from her suite to find a Filipino servant waiting to escort her down to the sitting room. It was a courtesy for which she was grateful, as the palace was vast, the rooms many, and she’d begun to wonder if she would need to embark on an adventure of seek and find.

  They arrived downstairs and walked along a main corridor from which led three long hallways, linking, the servant informed her, further wings of the palace. No wonder there was such a large complement of staff!

  The room Kristi was shown into was large and airy and filled with exquisite gilt-framed furniture, priceless items of gold-painted porcelain and original works of art.

  Her eyes flew to the tall man who stood to one side of the window, his breadth of shoulder and stature emphasised by the silk-edged white thobe with Western-style collar and French cuffs. A white headscarf secured with an agal provided an electrifying effect, and made her all the more aware of the extent of his wealth, and his mantle of power.

  ‘Kristi. Allow me to introduce you to Nashwa.’

  She wrenched her eyes away from him and turned towards a slim, attractive woman attired in a royal blue traditional robe, whose dark hair was almost hidden by an exotic royal blue scarf beautifully embroidered in gold thread.

  Kristi extended her hand in formal greeting, then followed Nashwa’s action by touching her heart with the palm of her right hand.

  The gesture brought forth a warm smile. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Dalton. May I call you Kristi?’

  ‘Please.’

  Nashwa’s smile widened as she indicated a comfortable chair. ‘Do sit down. Would you prefer coffee or something cool to drink? I can have tea served, if you wish.’

  Kristi opted for coffee, then took a seat, all too aware that Shalef followed her action by choosing a chair close to her own.

  ‘I understand you are a photographer. It must be an interesting profession.’

  Kristi accepted a delicate cup and saucer from the maid, added sugar, then selected a pastry from an offered plate. ‘My father founded a photographic studio, which my brother and I still operate. Shane’s speciality is freelance photojournalism.’ She smiled, unaware that her eyes held a tinge of warm humour which lent their hazel depths a velvety texture. ‘He enjoys the challenge of venturing into far-flung territory in search of the unusual.’

  ‘You have brought your camera with you?’ Shalef enquired, his dark gaze steady, daring her to resort to any fabrication.

  ‘It forms part of my luggage wherever I travel,’ she managed evenly.

  ‘I suggest you exercise caution whenever you use it, and request permission before you do.’

  ‘Including the palace?’

  ‘I would prefer it if you did not photograph any of the rooms within the palace. I have no objection to external shots, or those of the gardens.’

  Security? She had no desire to flout his wishes.

  She turned towards Nashwa. ‘You have two daughters. I’m looking forward to meeting them.’

  Nashwa’s expression softened. ‘Aisha and Hanan. They are aged twenty-one and nineteen respectively. Aisha is enjoying a sabbatical after lengthy university studies. Soon she will leave for Switzerland to spend a year in finishing school. Hanan is not quite so academically inclined, and after emerging from boarding-school in England at the end of last year she too has opted to join Aisha in Switzerland.’ She proffered a warm smile. ‘You will meet them both at dinner.’

  Kristi sipped the coffee, finding it very pleasant if a little too strong, and declined anything further to eat.

  Shalef, she noted, drank Arabic coffee flavoured with cardamom from a tiny handleless cup that was so small it looked ludicrous held between his fingers.

  Nashwa was an impeccable hostess, adept at maintaining a flow of conversation, and Kristi found herself agreeing to a conducted tour of the palace itself, while Shalef retired to the study for a few hours in order to apprise himself of business affairs.

  The palace was even larger than Kristi had imagined, with innumerable rooms set aside for the sole purpose of formal and informal entertaining. Opulent, she decided silently as she admired the elaborate draping. Each room was large, the colours employed lending a cool, spacious effect that was enhanced by ducted air-conditioning. An indoor swimming pool was Olympian in proportion, the tiled surrounding area sufficiently wide to harbour a variety of casual cushioned loungers and chairs. Beyond that were the Turkish baths and beautiful paved walkways meandering through an exotic garden.

  There were three wings attached to the central building, Nashwa explained—one which she and her daughters used, one designated for Shalef’s occupation whenever he was in Riyadh, and the remaining one kept for visiting family and guests. Staff were housed separately.

  Encompassing two levels, the internal walls enclosed a central courtyard with lush gardens, palm trees and exotic plants. Numerous columns supported wide, covered verandas which could be reached from every room on the upper floor through arched doorways.

  Kristi’s tour was restricted to the guest wing and the entire ground level. Not offered were Shalef’s quarters or those of Nashwa and her daughters. A dual purpose, perhaps...privacy as well as security?

  ‘You have endured a long flight. Perhaps you would like to rest for a while?’

  A flight that had been fraught with a degree of apprehension about the destination and its implications. Added to which, she’d been painfully aware of Shalef’s presence and the vibrant energy he’d exuded as he’d relayed information about the history of his father’s country, its rulers, and the positive effects of an oil-rich nation.

  The thought of solitude for an hour or two sounded ideal. She could write a promised postcard to Annie, and Sir Alexander and Georgina would also value word of her safe arrival.

  ‘Thank you:

  Nashwa inclined her head in polite acceptance. ‘Dinner will be served at eight. I will send a servant to your room at seven-thirty, just in case you fall asleep. She will escort you down to the dining room.’

  They were back in the reception hall and, with a warm smile, Kristi inclined her head before turning towards the staircase.

  Her suite was delightfully cool, and she quickly discarded her outer clothes, then donned a silk wrap. An antique escritoire held paper, a variety of postcards, envelopes and pens.

  Twenty minutes later Kristi placed the completed cards to one side, then crossed to the bed and lay down. Half an hour, she told herself as she closed her eyes.

  But she must have dozed longer than she’d meant to, for she came awake at the sound of a light double tap against the outer door.

  It couldn’t be seventy-thirty already! But it was, and she flew to the door, opening it to discover a servant waiting outside.

  ‘Could you come back in twenty minutes?’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Kristi closed the door and moved quickly into the bathroom, shedding her wrap and her underclothes, as she went. The shower succeeded in removing the last vestiges of tiredness, and she let the water run cold for ten seconds before turning off the taps.

  She was ready with one minute to spare, dressed in long black silk evening trousers and matching top, her make-up understated except for her eyes. Jewellery was confined to a gold pendant and matching earrings, a
nd she’d sprayed perfume to several pulse spots. There wasn’t time to do anything other than stroke a brush through her hair.

  The servant was patiently waiting when she opened the door, and Kristi attempted to dispel a faint fluttering of nerves as they descended the staircase.

  ‘Dining room’ was a slight misnomer, she discovered on being directed to a semi-formal lounge with an adjoining dining room.

  Shalef was an impressive figure in a royal blue thobe edged with silver, and the butterfly wings inside her stomach beat a faint tattoo as he crossed the room to greet her.

  ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’ Her voice sounded faintly husky even to her own ears, and her eyes widened fractionally at his indulgent smile.

  ‘Not at all.’ He caught hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips, his eyes silently challenging hers as he glimpsed her inner battle to retain a measure of composure.

  He was initiating a deliberate strategy, alluding to a relationship which didn’t exist merely to qualify her presence here. Yet Kristi had the distinct feeling that he intended to derive a certain degree of diabolical pleasure from the exercise, and it rankled unbearably that the only time she’d be able to castigate him verbally for his actions would be when they were alone.

  Her eyes flashed a silent warning as she offered him a brilliant smile: Don’t play games with me.

  She saw one eyebrow lift in mocking amusement, and she had to marshal her features not to reflect the burning anger that simmered deep within her.

  ‘Come and meet Nashwa’s daughters,’ Shalef bade her smoothly as he turned and led her into the centre of the room. ‘Aisha.’ He indicated a slim girl of average height whose dark gaze was openly friendly, then the younger girl at her side. ‘Hanan.’

  Both girls were beautiful, with flawless complexions and dark, liquid brown eyes. Each wore traditional dress, Aisha in gold-embroidered aqua silk, while Hanan had opted for a soft blue. Their mother looked resplendent in deep emerald.

  At least she provided a contrast in black, Kristi decided as she smiled and offered the girls a greeting. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you both.’ She turned slightly and included the young man standing unobtrusively a short distance from Nashwa. ‘Nashwa. Fouad.’

  ‘Mother says you’re a photographer,’ Aisha said politely. ‘It must be a fascinating occupation.’

  ‘Most of the time it’s routine,’ Kristi acknowledged with a touch of wry humour.

  ‘I am to study fashion design when I return from Switzerland,’ Hanan declared. ‘Shalef has given permission for me to begin in London. If I do well, he will allow me to study in Paris.’

  Nashwa stood up. ‘Shall we all go in to dinner?’

  Shalef took a seat at the head of the table, and indicated that Kristi should occupy a chair close to him. An honour, she assumed, that merely endorsed her place as his latest ‘companion’.

  The food was excellent—hot, spicy lamb served with rice and beans, followed by a variety of sweets laden with dates and honey. There was a platter of succulent fresh fruit, and Kristi opted for some sliced melon and a few dates.

  They were waited on by a number of Filipino servants, who stood inconspicuously in the background as each dish was served, then moved forward to remove plates and replace them with each subsequent course, and no sooner was a water glass empty than it was unobtrusively refilled.

  ‘Is your photographic work confined to studio portraits?’ Fouad queried politely.

  Kristi set down her glass. ‘Frequently, in between assignments.’

  ‘Tell us something about these assignments. Are any of them dangerous?’

  ‘Not really,’ she answered lightly, deliberately meeting Shalef’s hard gaze. ‘The risk is minimal.’

  Shalef’s fingers toyed with the stem of his crystal goblet. ‘Indeed?’

  Kristi held his gaze without any difficulty at all. ‘You hunt in the desert and attempt to master the falcon. Is that without risk?’

  ‘Attempt’ was perhaps not the wisest choice of word. There could be no doubt that Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed achieved success in everything he did, and to hint at anything less was almost an insult.

  ‘Your concern for my safety warms my heart.’

  ‘As does yours for me,’ she responded, offering him a sweet smile.

  His eyes gleamed darkly and one eyebrow slanted in silent amusement. ‘When we’ve had coffee I’ll show you the garden.’

  She forced her smile to widen slightly, while silently threatening to do mild injury to certain of his male body parts if he dared anything more than a light clasp of her hand.

  At the mention of coffee the servants moved forward to clear the dessert plates from the table, and Shalef rose to his feet, indicating the conclusion of the meal.

  The partaking of coffee was leisurely, the conversation pleasant, and throughout the ensuing hour Kristi was supremely conscious of the tall man who chose to sit in a chair close to her own.

  For a brief moment she almost considered declining when he suggested that they stroll through the illuminated gardens, and she glimpsed the hint of steel in those dark eyes and was aware that he knew the passage of her thoughts. Then she gave him a slow smile and stood up, offering no protest when he clasped her elbow as they left the room.

  The warmth of the early evening was evident without the benefit of the palace’s air-conditioning, and she surreptitiously lengthened her step in an effort to move further from his side—an action that was immediately thwarted as he captured her hand in a firm clasp that threatened to tighten should she attempt to wrench it from his grasp.

  ‘What in the name of heaven do you think you’re doing?’ She kept her voice quiet, but he could hardly have failed to detect her anger.

  ‘If we act as polite strangers it will raise questions about our relationship,’ Shalef said smoothly.

  ‘We don’t have a relationship!’

  ‘For the purposes of this visit we do,’ he reminded her.

  She turned slightly in the pale evening light and was unable to discern much from his features. ‘I’m not in awe of your wealth or of you as a man,’ Kristi declared in an undertone. The first was the truth, the latter an outright fabrication.

  ‘No?’

  Her eyes acquired a fiery sparkle at the faint mockery evident in his voice. ‘If I didn’t need your help, I’d leave and be grateful that I never had to see you again.’

  ‘But you do need me,’ Shalef pointed out silkily. ‘So we shall walk and admire the garden, and appear to be as engrossed in each other as the situation demands.’

  A slight breeze riffled the palm fronds and teased the length of her hair. ‘Perhaps you’d care to introduce a subject of conversation that we can both pursue?’ she said.

  ‘One that won’t digress into an argument?’

  ‘You could tell me how you coped when your father first brought you here.’

  ‘Fill in the blanks that have not been written up in the tabloid press?’

  ‘Alternatively, there’s Riyadh itself. Islam.’

  ‘Religion and politics are a dangerous mix,’ Shalef dismissed.

  ‘They form an important part of life. Especially in the land of the Prophet Mohammed.’

  ‘And if I were to present you with my views what guarantee would I have that they wouldn’t be written up and sold to the media?’ he said drily.

  She looked at him carefully, aware of the caution he felt constrained to exercise with everyone he met. A man in his position would have many social acquaintances, numerous business associates, but few friends in whose company he could totally relax. ‘Is that why you retreat here several times a year?’

  The gardens were extensive, with carefully tended lawns, shrubs, and an ornamental fountain strategically placed to provide a central focus. Water cascaded over three levels, and at night, beneath illumination, it was nothing less than spectacular.

  No doubt for him the palace represented a welcome and familiar sanctuary,
whereas she found that it contained an air of Eastern mystery that she wanted to explore. The people, the culture, their beliefs, the vast, definitive division between men and women. To read and be aware of factual reporting was not the same as experiencing it for oneself.

  ‘This is the land of my father,’ Shalef began slowly. ‘A land where the power of nature can move tonnes of sand for no apparent reason other than to reassemble a shifting terrain. Man has plumbed its depths and channelled the riches, reaping enormous rewards.’

  ‘Yet you choose not to live here.’

  He smiled faintly. ‘I have homes in many capital cities around the world, and reside for a short time in several.’

  ‘When do you plan on going to the hunting lodge?’

  He paused and turned to face her. ‘In a few days, when the first of my guests arrive. Meantime, I will ensure that you see some of the sights Riyadh has to offer, such as the museum, Dir’aiyah, the Souk Al-Bathaa. Fouad will continue to see that you are entertained in my absence.’

  His features hardened fractionally. ‘I must impress on you the fact that as a woman you cannot venture anywhere beyond the palace unless accompanied by Fouad or myself. Is that understood? Women are not permitted anywhere on their own, and cannot use public transport. To do so will result in arrest. Nashwa will provide you with an abaaya to wear whenever you leave the palace.’

  Kristi made no protest. Despite her personal views on such issues there was nothing to be gained by flouting Saudi Arabian religious dictates. ‘Have we been out here sufficiently long, do you think?’

  ‘You have grown tired of my company?’

  What could she say? That he unsettled her more than any man she’d ever met? ‘I think you’re enjoying the pursuit of this particular game,’ she ventured, meeting his gaze.

  ‘There are advantages,’ Shalef drawled.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘This.’ His hands caught her close as his head lowered and his mouth closed over hers, his tongue a provocative instrument as he explored the delicate interior and wrought havoc with her senses. At her soft intake of breath his mouth hardened, staking a possession with such mastery that it took considerable will-power not to give in to sensation and kiss him back.