by Liz Fielding
Actually, it hadn’t been so much ‘swept’ as gently lifted on a tide of yearning to belong. To be like other women. To come in from the cold.
‘I hadn’t seen him for years, not since I left school. He went off to university, never came home to live after that. Then, when Gran died, I found out that she’d left me the house.’ She glanced at him, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. ‘She’d always told me that she was going to leave it to her church, but at the last minute she relented, or perhaps she was afraid my mother would turn up and challenge the will, demand what was rightfully hers.’
‘And then this man appeared, magically, on your doorstep. Prince Charming to your Cinderella.’
‘That’s almost scary.’
‘What is?’
‘The Cinderella thing. I was wearing an apron, my hair tied up in a scarf, sweeping the path…’
‘Oh.’
‘He stopped, looked up at the For Sale sign, then at me, then he said, “Lucy Forrester…”’ She gave a little shrug. ‘I couldn’t believe he remembered my name.’
Han forced himself to get up, walk away, using the excuse of pouring a glass of water for her.
From the outside it was so easy to see what had happened. She had been left property and, alone, with no one to advise her, she had been a gift for a man who had no doubt been using women since he’d been a youth.
Add to that the disappearance of the burned out 4x4, the denial that she’d ever been to the Bouheira Tours office, and it occurred to him that her disappearance might suit her husband extremely well. That she might, in fact, be in very real danger.
There was no way that he could allow Lucy to leave his protection until he’d talked to the man, made it plain that Lucy was under his personal protection. That if anything bad happened to her he would find himself removed from society—not comfortably ensconced in a well-lit cell in a modern prison, but dropped in the darkest oubliette in one of those long-forgotten mountain-top forts that would never make any list of tourist attractions.
He forced his mouth into a smile before turning to Lucy, handing her the glass. ‘So, there you were,’ he said, ‘Prince Charming himself ready to sweep you away on his Harley. What happened next?’
‘Nothing dramatic. He said he’d heard about my grandmother. How sorry he was. How tough it was that I’d missed out on university…’
She lifted her hand in an unconscious gesture that said more than the words she couldn’t manage about how hard that must have been for her.
She sipped the water, put down the glass and said, ‘I asked him, as you do, what he was doing now. He told me that he’d got a job with an offshore bank here in Ramal Hamrah, but had immediately seen the potential for tourism, not just the standard dune-surfing operations that were opening up in other states, but for longer trips out into the desert to oasis camps, to archaeological sites. As soon as he’d managed to scrape together the capital, he set up Bouheira Tours.’
‘Zahir is always telling me of the possibilities,’ Han said. Then, ‘What was he doing looking at houses in the UK if he was so busy building up his business?’
‘Property prices were rocketing and he thought he ought to get a foothold in the market. Somewhere he could let while he was away. He wanted it near to his mother so that she could keep an eye on it for him.’
‘Did he make an offer? For the house?’
‘Well, no. He’d just been looking around the neighbourhood to see what was available. As soon as he said it was a buy-to-let I knew my house was wrong for him. It needs a lot of work and he would want somewhere modern, ready to go. He didn’t even come in, but as he turned to go he stopped and asked me if I’d have dinner with him that evening.’ She smiled. ‘And no, he wasn’t riding a Harley, he was driving his mother’s old Ford. Far from sweeping me off my feet, Han, it was pretty clear that everyone he knew had moved on and I was the only person saving him from a night in front of the television with his mother.’
‘Good dinner?’
‘I can’t remember. We talked about Ramal Hamrah, mostly. He made it sound magical. Encouraged me to come and visit once I’d sold the house. I didn’t actually believe he meant it.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s just the sort of thing people say, isn’t it? I just said it sounded lovely and I’d think about it and then he took me home, thanked me for a lovely evening and drove away. I didn’t expect to see him again.’
‘How long before he was back?’
‘I was on my way upstairs to bed when he phoned, asked me if I’d spend the next day looking at houses with him.’ She looked down at her hands as if embarrassed by her gullibility. ‘He made it all so easy,’ she said again. ‘I’d never been on a date, didn’t know what a man would expect, but Steve never did anything to make me feel uncomfortable. He was just so different from what I’d expected. From the way he’d been at school.’ She looked at him, pulled a face. ‘Still as gorgeous, still the kind of man who turned heads in the street, but Prince Charming himself couldn’t have been more circumspect.’
‘Never trust a man…’ he began, then stopped.
‘Never trust a man who doesn’t want to get into your knickers?’ she said, completing the sentence for him and doing it with a smile, more because of his reluctance to embarrass her, than because she found it amusing. ‘Because if he doesn’t want sex, you have to ask yourself what he does want.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have implied—’
‘It’s okay, Han. Life is a steep learning curve and I started later than most, but I’m getting there.’
‘How long did he wait before he asked you to marry him?’
She really didn’t want to talk about it any more, but Han had been patient. He had a right to know what he’d got himself into.
‘Not long. He said…’
No. She really, really didn’t want to think about the soft, sweet lies Steve had told her and waved her hand as if pushing the words away.
Han caught it and, before she knew how it had happened, her face was in his shoulder, her cheek against the smooth cloth of his robe.
‘I shouldn’t have asked,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘He was so sweet.’ She lifted her head, looked up at him. ‘He said I should take the house off the market, that when he came back from Ramal Hamrah we’d do it up together so that I could sell it for what it was really worth.’
‘A friend in need.’
‘For the first time in my life I thought someone actually cared about me,’ she admitted. ‘But there was a problem. I had no training, no job, no money. It had taken every bit of Gran’s old-age pension and my carer’s allowance to keep us alive and now she was dead I had no income of any kind.’
She didn’t bother to mention the much larger private pension that her grandfather had provided, that could have made their life so much easier. She hadn’t known about that until afterwards, when she had to sort out her grandmother’s papers, and had discovered that it had been paid direct to the church each month.
‘The house was my only asset. I was nearly twenty-eight years old and had never worked; the only jobs open to me paid the minimum wage. There was no way I could afford even the most basic running costs. That’s when Steve said we should get married right away. So that he could take care of me.’
‘That’s when he swept you off your feet.’
‘He brought all these forms from banks, credit card companies, changing the address on them to mine, adding my name to his accounts, not even waiting until we were married.’
She couldn’t look at him, but he cradled her cheek and gently turned her face so that she had no choice.
‘He borrowed money on them?’
‘Oh, yes…’ her laughter was mirthless ‘…and don’t those banks love to lend money?’
‘And the cards, of course, were not his, but new ones he’d applied for in your name.’
‘You see? You got it straight away. Why was I so
dumb?’
‘Because it never occurred to you that he would do anything so wicked.’
‘Pretty naïve, in retrospect. I mean this was Steve Mason. Why would he look at me twice?’
‘I’ve had a new mirror fitted in the bathroom, Lucy. Maybe you should take a look in it.’
‘Oh, please.’ Then, because she didn’t want him to think she was totally stupid, she said, ‘I did actually read all the forms he brought me to sign. Even the small print. They were all what he said they were. I guess it must have been the ones underneath, the ones he said were copies and just lifted the top copy for me to sign in duplicate, that he sent to the banks.’
‘I imagine that if he’d worked in a bank he must have known all the ways to work a fraud. Is that it?’
She wished.
‘He made me a partner in Bouheira Tours as a wedding present. I imagine the papers that I signed, in quadruplicate, are fakes. At least some of them. Somewhere in amongst them was the big one. The guarantee for a loan against the house.’
‘I’m not surprised you were in such a breakneck speed to catch up with him.’
‘Yes,’ she said. Then, not quite meeting his eyes, ‘I think it’s just as well I rolled the 4x4. At least this way I’m not languishing in a Ramal Hamrah jail on a charge of grievous bodily harm or worse.’
‘You would not have hurt him,’ Han began, but hesitated and she knew he was wondering if Steve would have hurt her. ‘But you might easily have killed yourself.’
‘I know. What I did was stupid. I just wanted…’ She stopped. ‘It doesn’t matter. All I have to do is sell the house, pay my debts and learn my lesson.’
‘All?’
‘Yes, Han. That’s all. Since I never expected to inherit it, I’m exactly where I expected to be when my grandmother died. The pity of it is that she changed her mind about leaving the house to the church. That way she’d have saved everyone a great deal of trouble.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HAN could not believe Lucy was going to allow this man to get away with stealing from her.
She was shivering just from the memory and he held her closer, wanting to warm her with his own heat. He’d told Zahir that having saved her life he was responsible for her but they both knew that he could have done everything that needed to be done from a distance.
It went deeper than duty, deeper than the care of a stranger in need. From the moment he’d set eyes on her, it had always been more personal than that.
He’d saved her life and now he wanted to save…her life.
‘You really need to take legal advice before you do anything, Lucy,’ he said, keeping it as businesslike as it could be with his arms around her.
‘Good money after bad,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do.’
‘There is always something.’ But he was speaking to himself rather than her.
‘I talked to the card companies, explained what had happened. They produced the forms I’d signed and what could I say? They had paid up in good faith. They didn’t do anything wrong, Han. It was my responsibility to read what I was signing.’
‘You trusted him. He took advantage of that. And what about the mortgage? You knew nothing about that. He tricked you into signing the papers. I’m no lawyer, but that sounds like a clear case of fraud to me.’
‘They explained it very clearly. It’s my house and he is…’
‘Your husband,’ he said, filling the gap when she faltered. He had to remind himself of that. Keep reminding himself.
‘That was why he married me.’ She shuddered.
‘You make your mistakes, Han, and you have to pay for them.’
He knew that was true. And that some debts could not be paid with money…
As if suddenly aware just how close they were, how tightly he was holding her, Lucy eased herself away from him, out of his arms.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t intend to burden you with my problems.’ Her smile did a good job of masking everything she must be feeling—the rage, utter helplessness in the face of such treachery. ‘You shouldn’t have been so stubborn about sending back the clothes. If you’d agreed with me, you wouldn’t have been forced to listen to me wittering on like this.’
It was harder than it should have been to let her go, but then he shouldn’t have been holding her in the first place.
‘I’ll remember for next time,’ he assured her. He’d remember that disregarding her wishes brought her close, opened her up. Encouraged her to talk.
‘Then you will send them back?’
‘If you insist,’ he said, standing up, a hand ready to help her to her feet if she needed it, but she used the arm of the sofa to lever herself up. ‘I must, of course, do as you ask.’
‘Thank you.’
He handed her the crutches, let her reach the door before he said, ‘There is just one small problem.’
She didn’t turn around, didn’t ask him what the small problem was, but waited for him to tell her; he could tell from the way she kept her eyes facing forward, lifted her a head a little, that she knew she wasn’t going to like it, whatever it was.
She was probably right, but there was no way in this world that he was going to ask Zahir’s sister, or his own for that matter, to return the clothes they’d bought and replace them with chain store versions.
‘If I return these clothes what are you going to wear?’
That got her.
‘I…’ She glanced back over her shoulder and, as her eyes met his, she thought better of whatever she’d been about to say. ‘If you could replace them with something more in line with my financial situation, I would be most grateful. Just a few things to keep me going until I can get home.’
Back to the charity shops, no doubt.
‘Of course. I understand. That will mean a delay, of course. I will have to find someone who is prepared to undertake such a task. While Zahir’s sister was happy to spend time choosing clothes for you from her favourite designers, she would, I think, baulk at visiting the souk.’
‘I’m not totally helpless,’ she said. ‘Take me to Rumaillah and I’ll do it myself.’
‘Of course. Whatever you wish.’ He waited until he saw the tension drain from her shoulders, then said, ‘But first you will need something to wear.’ He let his gaze travel the length of her body before meeting her gaze head on. ‘Unless, of course, it is your intention to cause a riot in the streets?’
Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged and after a moment or two she closed it again.
‘It will mean waiting another day, maybe two,’ he continued, since she appeared to have lost the power of speech, or perhaps had chosen discretion over candour. ‘And of course another trip for the helicopter. Will your insurance company pay for that, do you think? Will you ask them?’ Not waiting for her to reply—the question was outrageous, unworthy—he went on, ‘While we are waiting, you’re going to need to borrow some basics to tide you over.’
Her eyes remained fixed on his, defiant to the last, but her shoulders had slumped in defeat and it was difficult to keep up the act. But if that was what it took to make her accept the clothes, that was what he would have to do.
‘You will find a walk-in closet off your room,’ he continued, with a dismissive gesture that under normal circumstances came as naturally to him as breathing. These were not normal circumstances and he had to force himself to treat the matter as if it was of no consequence. ‘Noor was not as tall as you, nor as slender, but I’m sure you’ll find something you can wear. Take what you need.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ She gave up on looking over her shoulder and, carefully balancing herself on her crutches, she turned around so that she was confronting him head on. ‘You’re just making a point, aren’t you?’
Of course he was. He knew she would not wear Noor’s clothes, not because she had a problem with used clothes—she’d already told him that she’d been dressed in charity shop donations all her life—but
because she believed it would distress him.
He wasn’t about to disabuse her of that idea.
‘And if I am,’ he replied, ‘are you getting it?’
‘The point being,’ she said slowly, ‘that you have gone out of your way to provide me with everything I need. That I’m being a pain in the backside. That I should quit while I’m ahead.’
‘You appear to have mastered the essentials.’ Then, because he could not resist it, ‘Of course I would not have been so un-gallant as to comment on your backside, no matter how painful.’
‘I believe the colloquialism refers to your backside rather than mine,’ she said, scowling, he suspected, to prevent herself from laughing.
‘I stand corrected. English is such a complex language; I fear the finer points occasionally escape me.’
That did it. ‘You are so full of it, Han,’ she said, finally breaking down and letting a bubble of laughter escape. ‘I don’t appear to have much choice, do I?’
‘There is always a choice, Lucy, but believe me when I tell you that the simple pleasure you gave two young women today,’ he said, magnanimous in victory, ‘and the goodwill I have accrued by providing my sister with enough speculative gossip to keep the females in my family entertained for weeks, far outweighs the small cost involved.’
‘Gossip? You mean…’ She clearly did not want to voice what she thought he meant and instead said, ‘Your sister? I thought it was Zahir’s sister who had drawn the short straw. Or would that be the long one?’
‘For the pleasure of spending money without having to account for it to their husbands? What do you think?’
‘I think I’d better say thank you and shut up before you award me some Ramal Hamrah decoration for services to entertainment.’
Beaten, struggling between laughter and rage, Lucy retreated to her sitting room and sat amongst the piles of bags and boxes, touching fabrics she’d only thought of wearing in her wildest teenage dreams. Wallowing guiltily in the luxury of it all, she discovered that it was tears that threatened to overwhelm her as she touched the softest silk to her cheek.
‘Lucy…’