* * *
He argued, fought, cajoled the council, but the force behind the clutch of elders wanting the new law was backed now by three of his uncles.
As family they would normally stand behind him, whatever his decision. But this time they couldn’t be swayed, so the arguments went back and forth, and the need to shore up his supporters was constant, for many of them would prefer to take the easy way out of any decision.
Added to all that was his concern over information still coming in—information that tied, if not his uncle, at least his uncle’s wife to the death of Tariq.
Surely not his uncle?
No, that was impossible—wasn’t it?
They were family.
He had to try to work it out, to force himself to think beyond the imminent decision to what his uncle could have gained by removing Tariq from the family equation. Nimr would still have been the heir, although maybe they’d hoped he, too, would have been in the vehicle. A two-week-old infant—of course he’d have been with his mother.
Except that Lily had hardly been the maternal type and leaving Nimr with Lauren had meant she could enjoy herself more.
But after Nimr, he, Malik, would have succeeded to the throne—he was his father’s second son. Would he, too, have been targeted if that had happened?
He pounded his head with an open hand, trying to make his brain chase down through tangled pathways of deceit.
As things stood now, if the proposed change was made to the law, he couldn’t marry Lauren and rule as regent for Nimr. The suggested law was that the ruler must have a Madani wife, but because it would not be retrospective, Nimr was still the heir.
And in danger?
Malik sighed—there was so much he didn’t know, couldn’t even guess at.
But what was certain was that a regent acted as the ruler, and marriage to Lauren would mean someone else would be appointed regent for Nimr, probably one of the uncles, all of whom were unheeding of the needs of the country.
And one of whom might have been implicated in Tariq’s death...
If nothing else, what he was going through now had shown him how archaic their so-called government was—the country run by a group who took care of their own interests first, and could be swayed by favours, gifts and possibly even bribes.
There were only two days now to the vote and Malik wondered how long it would take, should he defeat the motion, to bring democracy to his people so everyone could have a say in how Madan was governed, instead of leaving all important decisions to the ruling tribe.
* * *
Lauren was aware that gossip was now rampant in the house, but her language lessons were proceeding slowly.
In the end, she had to ask, seeing Nim off to school then going in search of Keema, wondering how to broach the subject.
But it seemed Keema had already guessed at Lauren’s new closeness with Malik, for her voice, as she answered, was heavy with regret.
‘There is a new law,’ she said. ‘The ruler or the regent must marry a Madani woman.’
The words hit Lauren with the force of a lightning bolt, sending her head into a whirl and her heart into palpitations.
Stupid, of course, when she hadn’t wanted to marry him in the first place. She’d agreed because of Nim...
But acknowledging stupidity didn’t take away the pain.
For herself, for Malik, and for the country he’d hoped to help.
No, that was stupid—he could still rule for Nim, get things organised as he’d intended. Couples broke up all the time, and they’d been together so briefly they probably hadn’t reached couple status.
She thanked Keema for her trust in passing on the information, and resolutely set her mind to getting somewhere close to normal. She was on a late shift. She’d go to work and come home, check on Nim, play with him in the morning, then go to work and come home again, and again, and again.
She could handle a simple existence, like the one she’d set herself when she’d stopped running and been determined to lead a normal life for Nim’s sake.
But for all she’d been determined to stay strong, after two days all she really wanted was to see Malik—to tell him that it didn’t matter.
Should she hold out a hand, stop him, take him somewhere quiet and explain this to him?
But the opportunity failed to arise, and even Nim was asking where he was...
* * *
Then one night he was there—early morning, really—pale and shaking by her bed, a sound as slight as a sigh waking her, so she stood up and took him in her arms, dragged him down and loved him all she could, with kisses and touches, and whispers of passion, taking his body and giving hers in return.
He slept then, in her arms, a deep and dreamless sleep, she hoped, but was gone when she awoke, alone and naked in her bed.
Was this goodbye?
Was this how her recent dreams of love and marriage would end?
No, she was wrong! She may not have known the man long, but she knew him well. He would not just walk away from her without a word.
He would do what had to be done about the deaths of their families, and he’d sort out the mayhem going on with the elders, because his country depended on him to take it forward. These were his most pressing concerns—and his duty.
And with duty done, he’d come for her.
All she had to do was wait.
* * *
He came again, late one afternoon, as she was wandering through the roses. He took her hand and walked with her in silence, until it was time to go inside and have dinner with Nim, who wasn’t hesitant in complaining about what he thought had been such a long absence—although it had been all of four days.
‘I have been busy,’ Malik said, though the lines of strain on his face had already told Lauren that much. ‘You know I would have come if I could.’
He included Lauren as he spoke, and she read the agony of uncertainty in his eyes.
He read Nim’s bedtime story and they both kissed him goodnight, and as they left the room he took Lauren’s hand in his.
‘Can we talk a while?’ he asked quietly.
And although inside she was such a mess she didn’t want to hear his words, she had to know what was going on—and had to hear from him that the dream was over.
‘Let’s sit outside,’ she said, and they walked along the colonnade to where soft cushioned cane chairs were set around small tables.
‘Would you like coffee?’ she asked, a polite hostess in what really wasn’t her home.
He shook his head.
‘I’m coffeed out,’ he muttered. ‘May never touch the stuff again.’
But before he sat he turned towards her, took both her hands and leaned in to kiss her.
Just gently, on the lips—a single kiss—but he kept her hands and somehow they were both sitting on the small lounge chair, hands clinging to each other.
‘Have you heard about the law—the vote?’ he said, and before she could reply added, ‘How could you not—it would have been all over the house, if not the hospital. I know they’ve talked of nothing in the marketplace for days.’
He sounded so tired she slipped one hand out of his grasp to put it around his shoulders and pull him close.
And waited.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IF ONLY HE could find the words, Malik thought.
If only the decision he’d finally come to didn’t hurt so much!
But he had to tell her, explain, find out what would make her happy.
He groaned then straightened his spine, put his arm around her shoulders, and held her to him.
‘The new law makes it impossible for me to marry you and act as regent for Nimr,’ he began. ‘And the leader of the group that voted for it was one of my uncles. He—all my uncles—are easily bent to stronger wills, which m
y eldest uncle’s wife certainly has.’
He paused, seeking words that weren’t full of rage. None of this was Lauren’s doing, although he believed now it had revolved around her sister.
‘It was you who made me think more clearly about Tariq’s death—think it through without emotion. And the question you asked—was I sure he was meant to be the victim?—made me realise that none of us had known he was in Australia. As far as we were all concerned, he was in the US.’
‘But the local police ruled out my parents as the target,’ Lauren reminded him.
He took a deep breath—there had to be truth for there to be trust.
‘And Lily? Did anyone consider her?’
He put his palms against her cheeks, framing her face so he could see her eyes as he explained.
‘When I considered Lily, it all became clear. My uncle’s wife is from another powerful family, and she and Tariq had been promised to each other as young children.’
Grey eyes widened as she took this in.
‘Then Lily came along,’ she whispered, and he held her close and smoothed his hands across her hair.
‘My information is that she sent three members of her family—distant relatives but trusted—to America and from there they travelled to Australia. Two of them—the couple who took Nim—are still in jail in Australia, and the third could be anywhere for he never returned to Madan.’
* * *
Lauren pulled away from him, needing to see his face.
‘You know all this or is it just supposition?’
‘I know most of it,’ he said, his voice deep with the sadness this knowledge had brought him. ‘She had no idea Tariq would be there—she was simply intent on getting rid of the woman who’d taken the man she thought of as hers.’
‘And your uncle married her?’
Now he frowned and shook his head.
‘There was dishonour in the family, you see. Although the arrangement wasn’t set in stone, to renege would have brought on bad blood between the families. My uncle sorted that by marrying her himself so the families were united, just in a different way.’
‘But she wants more?’
He sighed.
‘Marriage to Tariq would have made her the wife of the ruler. Without the law, you, the sister of the woman she so hated, would take that role—though as wife of the regent. I think she could not bear that, especially as the realisation that she’d killed Tariq as well as Lily must have haunted her for the last four years.’
‘Poor woman!’ Lauren said. ‘To be in so much pain she was driven to murder.’
‘Poor woman indeed,’ Malik snorted. ‘I doubt she’s felt a single moment of remorse. It is power she wants—power that motivates her.’
‘And still wants, if she has persuaded your uncle and his supporters the new law is a good thing for the country. Would it be your uncle who takes control if you were not available?’
Malik nodded.
‘Who will take control—for I will not be available!’
He spoke so determinedly Lauren shivered.
‘Of course you will,’ she said, hoping she had kept the pain and anguish she was feeling out of her voice.
* * *
Malik held her for a moment, held her close, before telling her the decision that had caused him so many sleepless nights but which was, he felt, the only way to go. ‘I have decided we will leave.’
She stiffened against him, opened her mouth to protest, but he closed it with a quick kiss.
‘Well, I will leave and hope you and Nimr will come with me. We will go back to Australia, or to another country if you wish—go together, marry and become a family—maybe have more children, who knows. I will work and you too if you wish, and we will make a new life for ourselves and forget this place.’
He heard a long sigh, then Lauren turned so she could take his face in the palms of her hands and look deep into his eyes.
‘You are such a bad liar,’ she said, almost smiling at the same time. ‘You know you could never forget this place—this is your home, your country.’
‘Maybe deep down in my heart I could not,’ he admitted, ‘but with you and Nimr we can build a new life and I can grow to love a new country.’
‘Nonsense!’ Lauren said. ‘You’d be useful in another country, doctors always are, but you are needed here, by the country, and by the people that you love. You are needed here to help them come to terms with a new future—to help the country grow and develop into a modern society. And you know, in every fibre of your being, that if you go, that will not happen.’
Unable to deny her words, he could only look at her, aware she’d read his answer in his eyes.
Anger twisted inside him—anger at Lauren for making this so hard, anger at himself for failing to secure the vote.
‘I won’t stay here and watch them spend the country’s money on trivia,’ he growled. ‘That is not an option. Neither would I leave my brother’s son here to become a pawn in their power games.’
‘But you can stay here—the answer’s simple, you stupid man. You can marry a local woman—I’ve met dozens of wonderful Madani women—and you can rule as regent for Nim, and get to work on your dreams that have been put on hold for too long already.’
She paused, and the dread that had begun in his heart with her talk of his marriage to a local woman grew heavier.
‘I will not leave Nim,’ she continued, although she hadn’t needed to put that into words to him, ‘but he and I can live somewhere else, maybe close to the hospital, and I promise that there is no way I’d put your marriage or your reputation into any danger, neither would I do anything to hurt the woman you marry.’
‘You don’t love me?’
What else could he think when she spoke so calmly, so coldly?
‘Of course I do. And I always will, but we have had our time together and I’ll always have those memories.’
Another pause.
‘Actually, I was thinking—those health outposts you want to set up along the nomadic tribes’ regular route, the places where they always stop. You thought a nurse and perhaps an aide could operate them, doing regular health checks and vaccinations as the people come through. I’d be happy to do that. I already love the desert country. Nim and I can live out there. With the necessary books, I can homeschool him until he is old enough to go wherever older boys go to school.’
‘You have it all worked out,’ he said bitterly. ‘You could walk away like that—as easy as you like—without a backward glance?’
‘I didn’t say it would be easy,’ she snapped, ‘but it would be a damn sight easier than living in town and seeing you, being near you, but not with you. Be reasonable, Malik, marrying someone else is what you have to do, so there’s no point in getting all maudlin and lovesick about it. Your country needs you more than ever now there’s been this split in the ruling parties.’
Malik just sat, trying to take in all she’d said, to process it so it made sense.
Which, of course, it did, even without much processing.
‘You’d walk away from me?’
That was the hardest part to understand. What they’d had—to him at least—had been somehow more than love. It had been unique, sublime, so special words failed to do it justice.
‘I wouldn’t walk,’ she said, so quietly he barely heard the words. ‘I’d run!’
Then she bent her head and he knew she was crying.
He put his arms around her and pulled her onto his knees, and sat there, holding her, feeling her misery in his bones, feeling loss right through his body.
And for a long time there was silence, and the perfume of roses in the air.
* * *
And as she shifted, about to move, he tightened his hold as a new solution burned in his brain.
‘I can have two wives,’ he
said. ‘I suppose they’d insist the Madani one was the number one, but you could be my second wife—my real wife.’
She stood up now, looking down at him.
‘As long as you treat both of them equally,’ Lauren reminded him. ‘Even I know that that is the law about multiple marriages. And quite apart from that, do you think I’d ruin another woman’s life? She’d know herself a token bride, a political wife—how would that make her feel?’
* * *
Lauren wandered down the steps, and plucked a yellow rosebud from the nearest bush.
‘My way is the best, Malik. You know that. Do it for Nim if not for yourself—so you have a wonderful, stable, happy country with healthy and educated people to pass on to him.’
And clinging to her last tattered remnants of self-control, she walked away from him, through the gardens to the front door, and hastily along the passages that led to her room.
There, at least, she could cry properly, although that wouldn’t do much good.
But what she could do was look back on her memories of Malik and the special time they’d shared. She could wrap each one carefully then tuck it into a box deep down in her brain, to be taken out so far into the future that looking at them would bring pleasure rather than tears.
Work was the answer. Waking after a troubled sleep, Lauren showered and dressed for work, checked that Nim was up and ready for school, pretended to eat with him while he had breakfast, then asked Keema to call for a car to take her to work.
The young girl with rheumatic fever was her first stop on the ward. As she slowly recovered, more and more of her family were sneaking in, so the room now resembled one of the smaller nomad tents she’d seen in the desert.
Lauren checked the girl as the father spoke, a young family member, a lad of about twelve, now acting as interpreter.
‘Your man, he is well?’
A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh Page 14