The Sheikh's Convenient Princess

by Liz Fielding

  ‘September will be fine.’ Pointless to regret the promised New Year in the snow.

  He nodded. ‘Noor will travel with you and there will be a car to meet you.’

  She considered telling him that she would take a scheduled flight, that she did not need a companion, that she could arrange her own car, but since she’d be wasting her breath all that remained was to thank him.

  ‘Shukran, Sheikh Ibrahim. Ma’al-salaama.’

  There was the faintest hint of a smile as he lifted his hand to his heart and with the slightest of bows said, ‘Afwen, sitti. Ila-liqaa.’

  * * *

  Bram’s sisters kissed her and said they would see her when they were in London.

  Safia brought Bibi to meet her. She seemed unbelievably young but happy to be leaving for England and university within the next few weeks.

  Ruby wished her luck but as they left Safia hugged her, said, ‘Ma’al-salama, Rabi. I am praying that your firstborn will be a son.’

  ‘I...’ Her breath caught in her throat and by the time she had recovered Safia was gone.

  Her final visitor was the Emira.

  ‘I had hoped that you would be staying with us for a while, Rabi,’ she said. ‘The Emir wanted to give you this himself but he has meetings all day.’

  She opened the small leather-covered box she was holding to reveal a small falcon, wings spread, delicately modelled in fine gold and suspended from a dark red ribbon.

  ‘It is the Order of the Golden Falcon,’ she explained, taking it from the box and fastening it to the lapel of her jacket. ‘It has never before been given to a woman but you saved the life of his firstborn son and when he announced the award at the majlis this morning I am told that everyone stood and clapped.’

  Ruby had known this day would be hard, but now, as Bram’s mother kissed both her cheeks, she was struggling to blink back tears that she could not allow to fall.

  ‘I am deeply honoured, my lady. Please thank the Emir for me.’ She forced a smile to her face. ‘Will he restore Ibrahim to the throne?’

  ‘He offered it. His brother pressed him to accept.’

  ‘But he refused.’

  The Emira smiled. ‘You understand him so well.’

  Yes.

  She understood him. Understood that the love he held in his heart for the woman he had set free to marry his brother was enduring, everlasting. Understood why marriage to her sister would have been unendurable.

  ‘Bram told me that he was born for another age.’

  ‘Maybe.’ She sighed. ‘He always found it hard to be inside. Was always escaping, looking for adventure.’

  ‘He told me that too. He took me to the blacksmith’s shop where he used to play truant as a boy. His friend’s son brought me tea.’ She picked up her phone to show her the photograph she’d taken of the boy. Instead she found herself looking at the kiss she and Bram had shared at their wedding and reached blindly for the night table, afraid that she was going to faint.

  The Emira took the phone from her, looked at the photograph for a long moment, handing it back as Noor appeared in the doorway.

  ‘The car is here, Ruby.’

  ‘Yes.’ She hugged the Emira. ‘Thank you for your kindness. Please give the Emir my very best wishes.’

  ‘You go with our hearts, Rabi.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  RUBY HAD EXPECTED her flat, unused for nearly two weeks in a reluctant spring, to be dusty and cold, but it was warm, aired and gleaming. The fridge had been stocked and, beside a pile of post, there was a basket of fruit on the sofa table.

  She would have assumed it was Amanda’s handiwork but for the fact that there were also half a dozen of the latest bestsellers in hardback, a florist’s arrangement of spring flowers and a large box of liquorice allsorts on top of the bookshelf.

  Amanda would have bought paperbacks, filled a jug with daffodils picked from her own garden and she didn’t know about her love of liquorice allsorts.

  A card listing appointments with a physiotherapist at the London Clinic was the clincher.

  ‘You must go to bed now, Ruby,’ Noor said. ‘I will bring you tea, unpack your clothes, then I will go downstairs. If you need me just call.’

  ‘Downstairs?’

  ‘Bram said your flat is too small for me so I am staying in the one downstairs.’

  ‘Downstairs?’ She knew the tenants had been looking for something bigger. They must have moved out while she was away. ‘Bram has rented the flat downstairs for you?’

  ‘So that I can be close to look after you.’ She took an envelope from her pocket. ‘The driver gave me the keys.’

  ‘Right.’

  It did explain why Bram hadn’t insisted she stay in his London house. This way he could be seen to be taking care of her while she was still, officially, his wife, while keeping her at a distance.

  It was the solution she would have come up with if she’d still been his PA and he’d asked her to sort it out.

  ‘Will you be all right on your own in a strange apartment?’ she asked.

  Noor grinned. ‘It will be the first time I’ve ever had my own home,’ she said. ‘And I have family. My cousin works in London for the airline owned by Sheikh Zahir. He is Bram’s cousin.’

  ‘Yes.’ She’d casually spouted that piece of information when she was attempting to impress him.

  ‘We are going to have afternoon tea, visit Borough Market on Sunday morning and go for a ride on the London Eye. Not like you did with Bram when he booked a night-time ride just for the two of you, with all the lights of London at your feet.’ She sighed. ‘So romantic.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her sightseeing trips were culled from the legend she and Bram had invented, that she had shared with Violet and Leila while Noor had been ironing and stitching and fetching tea.

  The Eye had been one of Bram’s suggestions and yes, he had made it sound so romantic that she could have fallen in love with him just listening to him.

  ‘I’m not sure about a picnic on the beach,’ Noor said with a shiver. ‘It’s very cold to eat outside.’

  ‘You have to wrap up warm, take a flask of hot soup...’ That had been one of her ideas. She’d imagined a winter picnic on a deserted beach, a driftwood fire and the two of them cuddled up close under a tartan blanket sipping hot tomato soup.

  She shivered.

  ‘You are cold,’ Noor said anxiously.

  ‘I’ll be fine once I’m in bed.’

  ‘I will help you.’

  ‘No.’ She wanted to be on her own. ‘I’ll manage.’ The sooner she got back to normal, got back to work, the better. ‘And don’t worry about tea. Just go and sort yourself out. Take anything you need from here.’ Although, no doubt, her fridge had been stocked as well.

  Her shoulder ached with the effort of getting out of her clothes but a bed had been made up for her on the plane and she’d slept most of the way.

  She picked up the mail and curled against the pillows. Once she’d discarded the junk there wasn’t much. Her bank statement, which she put to one side to check later, a bulky envelope from her lawyer and several letters from the bank used by the Queen and addressed to Princess Rabi al-Dance.

  The first was from her personal account manager welcoming her to the bank, hoping to meet her when she called in at the branch and to call him for assistance at any time.

  The second contained a bank card.

  The third a pin number.

  The fourth was a statement showing the six-figure balance in her account.

  ‘No...’

  She tore open the envelope from her lawyer. It contained a photocopy of the English translation of the contract that Bram had signed and documents requiring her signature regarding the purchase, in her name, of the house w
here she rented a flat. The accompanying letter congratulated her on her marriage and a suggestion that she make an appointment to discuss making a new will. There was also the contact details of a surveyor who had been engaged to look at the property and organise any necessary repairs. It also confirmed that the last restitution of funds stolen by her father had been made on the day of her wedding.

  She quickly scanned the contract, her mouth drying as she read the terms of the dowry Bram had agreed with Fayad. A house of her own, the jewels, a car, clothes, a maid, driver, annual allowances for wardrobe, personal spending, maintenance of her property, all rising with inflation.

  Not a problem. The marriage was over... Except that the divorce settlement terms were the same. A house of her own, maintained in good order, all the jewels she had been given during the marriage and, until she remarried, a maid, driver and all annual allowances.

  It went on, laying out what would happen to any children of the marriage, even down to the dowries he would provide for their daughters.

  A tear fell on the document. Not for the things she could never accept, but for the children they would never have. For the baby that, but for the deranged act of Ahmed Khadri, she might even now have been carrying.

  Not just sex...

  She curled her fingers into her palm, feeling the diamond ring that Bram had placed on her finger. She should take it off now, put it away.

  Tomorrow. She’d do that tomorrow. And then she’d call Bram and tell him to stop all this nonsense.

  * * *

  Ruby was woken by her phone. She opened her eyes and for a moment had no idea where she was. Then she saw the discoloured patch in the corner of the ceiling, the one she had been all set to paint when she’d had an urgent summons from Amanda to fly to Ras al Kawi.

  She was back in her little flat in Camden. The noise she could hear was the swish of wet tyres as the traffic built up to the rush hour frenzy. If she opened her window she would smell wet pavements and diesel fumes instead of the salt tang of the sea.

  The phone stopped ringing just as she reached for it. She checked the time, pulled a face but hauled herself out of bed and, having splashed her face with cold water and brushed her teeth, padded barefoot through to the kitchen. While the kettle boiled she checked her voicemail messages.

  ‘Just checking to make sure you had a good flight...’ Her hand shook as Bram’s soft voice murmured in her ear, so close that she could almost touch him, almost smell him. Had he been waiting for her to ring? Reassure him? ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Realising that she had answered him as if he could hear, she quickly clicked onto the next message.

  ‘Good morning, Ruby.’ Amanda’s voice, crisp and businesslike, was the dose of smelling salts that she needed. ‘Have you seen this morning’s paper?’ Actually, forget smelling salts; that was more like brimstone. ‘Under the circumstances, that seems unlikely,’ she continued, ‘but I suggest you check out the headlines online then give me a call and let me know what on earth is going on.’

  Lori...

  No. If it had been Lori, Amanda would have been concerned, sympathetic...

  She fumbled with the phone, frantically keying her name into the search engine. The headline that came up was not the one she’d feared.

  NEW RULER IN UMM AL BASR

  Sheikh Hamad al-Ansari was today installed as the new Emir of Umm al Basr. His father, Sheikh Tariq, who underwent heart surgery last year, is stepping down to allow a younger, more vigorous generation to steer his country into the future.

  His oldest son, former international ski champion Sheikh Ibrahim al-Ansari, was disinherited five years ago after a drunken incident in a London fountain and although he and his new English wife, Princess Rabi al-Dance, were at Sheikh Tariq’s birthday celebrations earlier this month, a palace spokesman confirmed that, while he will support his brother in every way, he will continue to concentrate on his private business interests.

  There was a small formal head-shot of the new Ruler at the top of the piece, but beneath it were two more photographs. One was that horrible picture of Bram throwing his heritage away in a London fountain so that the woman he loved could marry his brother. The other was of herself in a shimmering dress, diamonds and rubies at her throat, her desert prince at her side.

  She was still staring at it when there was a ring at the doorbell. She opened it without looking up, assuming that it was Noor, come to check up on her. Already hitting fast-dial to call Amanda.

  ‘I’ll have to find you the spare key,’ she said, stepping back.

  ‘That’s a good start.’

  In her ear Amanda was saying, ‘That was quick, considering you’re apparently on your honeymoon.’

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ she said, disconnecting. ‘Bram.’

  She had been so sure that she’d never see him again that she barely stopped herself from putting out a hand to make sure that he was real. But an illusion had no scent and his, so familiar, was overlaid with that of coffee and warm pastry. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Bringing my wife breakfast.’ He was carrying a bag from an upmarket bakery. ‘Coffee and warm pain au chocolat,’ he said.

  ‘How—?’

  ‘The sitting room is on the right?’ He removed a soft goatskin bomber jacket that was spotted with raindrops and then sat down on the sofa.

  ‘What is this, Bram?’ she demanded, although it was hard to stand on her dignity in a T-shirt nightie that was never going to pass the ‘princess’ test. She should go and put on a wrap, slippers...

  ‘I am catching up, ya habibati.’ He smiled up at her. ‘Is that supposed to be a hedgehog?’

  Beloved? He loved Safia...

  ‘It is a hedgehog,’ she said, perching on the edge of the sofa, leaving the maximum space between them, pulling the nightshirt over her knees. ‘It’s Mrs Tiggy-Winkle.’ His grin was unnerving her. ‘She’s a very industrious hedgehog. And kind.’

  ‘Then she is the perfect choice for you.’ He took a carton from the bag and offered it to her.

  ‘I’ll pour them into mugs,’ she said, putting it back in the bag and jumping up. ‘And put the pastries on plates or they’ll make a terrible mess.’

  She hung on the counter for a long moment, wanting him so much but knowing that every moment he was with her Safia would be in his heart, his thoughts.

  She jumped as he reached over her head to unhook a couple of mugs, poured the coffee into them.

  ‘I don’t understand why you’re here,’ she said, unwrapping the pastries, sliding them onto a plate, knowing that she could never eat them.

  ‘Don’t you?’

  His breath was warm against the nape of her neck. All she had to do was lean back and he would have his arms around her. She picked up the coffee, turned and found herself confronted by his soft sweater. Wanting to lean into it, feel the softness against her cheek, feel his heartbeat.

  She swallowed. ‘No.’

  ‘First we married, then we fell in love and now we are going to have the courtship. As I recall, this is how our story begins. I call on you at sunrise with coffee and pain au chocolat—’

  ‘It’s raining.’

  He took the cups from her, put them on the counter, took her face between his hands.

  ‘Beyond the clouds the sun is shining, Ruby, and this is just the beginning. Tomorrow the rain will stop and we might go to Kew Gardens, or take a boat down to Hampton Court, or have lunch in a little restaurant I know right on the bridge at Windsor.’

  ‘Bram...’ she protested.

  ‘When you are stronger we will have our picnic on a beach, we will ride on the Downs, and in the winter we will go to Switzerland and make snowmen—’

  ‘Stop!’ He was offering her everything she wanted—a life w
ith him—but she knew... ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know everything.’

  ‘What do you know, Ruby?’

  ‘That you love Safia. You gave up everything for her and would have done it again for Bibi. All she had to do was ask. A man would only do that for someone he loved, Bram. That’s why you dropped out, became a recluse. She broke your heart.’

  ‘Is that why you ran away?’

  ‘I didn’t run,’ she said. Then, because she couldn’t lie to him, ‘I flew.’

  He ran his fingers through her hair, pushing the curls back from her face as if to make her see him more clearly. ‘My marriage to Safia was arranged when we were children, Ruby. I loved her because she was to be my wife, but not in the way you think of love. Not in the way I love you. It was duty, honour.’

  ‘For family and state.’

  ‘For family and state,’ he agreed. ‘If I’d loved her the way I love you, I would not have kept putting it off while I followed the ski circuit. I could not have waited...’ He drew her close, put his arms around her. ‘What haunted me, what I will never forget, my darling girl, is that if I had not seen the look that passed between them I would never have known that every time she lay with me there would have been a part of her heart that longed for another man. For his children.’

  ‘But that’s...’ She stopped.

  ‘That’s what you thought it would be like if you stayed with me? That I would make love to you with another woman in my heart?’

  ‘Are you saying that’s why you would not marry Bibi?’ she said. ‘Because you knew her heart would be somewhere else?’

  ‘That, and the fact that she was too young, a pawn to her father’s ambitions, and I have to admit the thought that she would rather be cutting up cadavers in a laboratory than providing Umm al Basr with an heir did leave me a little underwhelmed.’ He caught her chin, tilted her face so that she was looking up at him. ‘Was that a smile?’

  ‘Very nearly,’ she admitted.

  ‘Shall we sit down and have the coffee and pastries before they get cold?’ he suggested. ‘Then we can plan how this courtship will go.’