by Diana Fraser
A palace official bowed politely and offered a letter to her. Thanking him in her hesitant Arabic, she closed the door and opened the letter. It was a formal request to go to the palace that afternoon signed by an official she’d never heard of. She read it through again, trying to find something more in the collection of words than an invitation to the palace. What for? It didn’t say. She screwed up the invitation, pushed it deep in her bag meaning to throw it into the next available bin, and headed out into the bright sunlight to visit her friends. Just an official invitation, nothing personal. Just as well, she reassured herself, because she’d have run a mile. She’d be leaving in a few weeks, just as she always did. Domestic stuff wasn’t her. Domestic stuff spelled…heartache. So just as well Razeen had made it clear he didn’t want her.
The sun was glowing red in the sky by the time Razeen saw Lucy turn the corner, laughing with a couple of young women who were accompanying her. He felt her presence enter his body like a drug; his body recognized and welcomed her on every level, through every vein, every nerve of his body. He took a sip of his coffee and tried to look inconspicuous amongst the other cafe patrons. He wanted to watch her for as long as possible, unguarded and relaxed, just being Lucy.
Lucy was talking ten to a dozen and the women obviously adored her, no doubt unable to understand a quarter of what she was saying. But they were laughing and chatting back in Arabic, which no doubt Lucy could only barely understand, aided only by the occasional translation of one woman, presumably Aakifah.
And so they should be appreciative of her, he thought. She’d done more single-handedly for their welfare than any of his family since his grandfather. But, looking at them now, he realized two things. One, that the women didn’t only appreciate Lucy, they really liked her. They made contact with her, their hands resting on her arms when they spoke; they moved freely before her, laughing and joking as if she were an old friend. He realized with a start that she was accessible to them in a way that his family had never been to the people. The other thing that struck him forcibly, was that the regard went both ways. Lucy looked totally at home with them, despite the language barrier.
He frowned and turned away, replacing his coffee cup carefully on the table. As soon as Lucy had left he realized she had been right and his advisors had been wrong. He needed a Queen whose heart and soul were invested in Sitra. Neelam’s heart and soul yearned to leave Sitra and so he’d encouraged her to leave to follow her dreams and the wedding had been called off. But more than a passion for his country, he needed a Queen he could love. And that meant only one person. But this realization hadn’t made him track down Lucy and propose to her. How could he when she clearly demonstrated, by both her lack of words and her actions, that she didn’t love him?
He watched her farewell her friends and walk across the street toward him. And in that moment he knew he had to find out what she felt for him—good or bad—he had to know.
It wasn’t until Lucy stopped beside the cafe to pluck her keys out of her bag that she saw him. Her breath nearly froze in her throat as he met her gaze and rose to meet her.
“You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I’ve been with my friends from the market.”
“No, Lucy, I mean you’ve been away from Sitra for a long time.”
“I had no reason to return.”
He looked thoughtful. “But now you have.”
“Yes, now I have things to do here.”
She paused, gripping her key in her hand. What the hell was he doing here?
“May I come in?”
“I guess so.” She turned the key in the lock, entered the narrow hallway and immediately climbed the rickety stairs leading to her apartment. Razeen’s footsteps followed closely behind. When they emerged into the upstairs space he stopped and looked around.
“Is this satisfactory? Maia said you didn’t wish to stay at the palace so I found this for you. I’m afraid it’s a little small. I’d have preferred something more fitting for you, but Maia thought you’d like it and I knew you’d be safe here. The family downstairs are trustworthy.”
She turned away, not wanting to see how his words affected her. It was all thanks to him. Everything—from her favorite chocolate in the refrigerator to the newly planted window box filled with her favorite white-scented flowers—was down to him. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She turned and smiled at him. “I might have known you’d arranged it.”
“Of course.”
“Would you like a coffee or tea?”
“I’ve drunk enough coffee while waiting for you.”
“I bet you don’t have to wait around for people very often.”
“Indeed. But as you refused my invitation to come to the palace, I had no choice.” He stepped closer to her, his head tilted to one side as if to see her better.
“The King who has no choice. Nothing much changes, does it?” She couldn’t prevent the bitterness at his rejection from inflecting her words.
He narrowed his eyes briefly. “It seems you give me few. Perhaps I should even up the score and refine your choices.”
Lucy bit her lip in a vain attempt to stop it trembling. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I want you at the palace tonight.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t. There’s no point, Razeen. It’s over. I’m only here for a short—”
“You misunderstand. There’s to be a reception at the palace to mark the progress the clinic has made in six months of operation. That clinic is down to you, Lucy. You’ve made a difference. You should be there.”
She turned away, embarrassed at her assumption that his visit had been personal. Of course it wasn’t. This was Razeen after all.
“In that case, I’ll come.”
“Good. I’ll have someone call for you at seven.” He turned to leave but paused and turned back to face her once more. “You will be there, won’t you? You won’t disappear again.”
“I’ve only just arrived.”
“That means little. You come and go as you please with no thought to your responsibilities.”
“I have none.”
“And that’s the way you like it, isn’t it? I understand you’ve kept in contact with the clinic and they offered you a position with them.”
“Yep, that’s right.”
“And you turned it down.”
“Yes, of course. If you accept a job like that you have to commit to it.”
“And commitment isn’t something you do well, is it? Why is that, I wonder?”
“That’s personal.” Suddenly the room felt airless; she couldn’t breathe. Razeen was coming closer and closer to that knot at the centre of things that, so many years ago, she’d bundled up and drawn shutters around to protect herself. She knew why she didn’t do commitment, Maia knew why she didn’t do commitment, but no one else must know. She couldn’t risk unleashing the pain that still surged and flowed within the concrete tomb of her heart.
“And you can’t bear to talk about the ‘personal’, can you, Lucy?” His voice rose suddenly, frustration evident in every syllable.
She waved her hand impatiently and walked over to the windows which she shoved open to their fullest extent, desperate to see the sea. But it was dark now and she couldn’t see it. Her panic grew and she turned to find Razeen close beside her. “Leave it, Razeen. Please. I don’t want to talk about it now.”
He pushed her hair away from her face, distractedly watching it fall down her back. “I don’t know what you’re hiding from me, Lucy. But I’ll find out.”
The gentle touch of his hand and whispered words made the threat of discovery even more menacing. It was strange to stand so close to someone, to feel so much for someone, and yet have such a wide chasm exist between them. They stood facing each other, each of them breathing hard. Lucy didn’t know if Razeen was going to kiss her or shout at her.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap at the door.
“Enter!”
&nb
sp; A palace official entered the room. Razeen glared at him.
“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
The assistant appeared uncomfortable. Your Majesty, it is not for you I am here. It is Miss Gee.” He turned to her. “Miss Gee, your brother-in-law says you are to come at once. Your sister has been admitted to the emergency ward in the hospital. There’s a problem.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lucy’s heart was thumping high in her chest, as she shakily grabbed her bag and strode over to the man. “What kind of problem?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know the details. I have a car outside.” The man looked up at Razeen for approval. “If that’s suitable, Your Majesty?”
“I’ll take Miss Gee.” Razeen turned round. “Lucy?”
But she was already running down the stairs.
The white walls of the brand-new hospital were easily visible against the vast darkness of the desert. Razeen had assured Lucy the hospital was state of the art and staffed with well-qualified doctors, and that Maia would have the best care possible, but Lucy hardly listened. She was consumed by an overpowering sense of anger and frustration that Maia had stayed in the city of caves until her due date without having had regular check-ups. She was full of resentment that Mohammed had seduced Maia away from her life and hadn’t cared for her properly. The compass moved on her chest and she grasped it and closed her eyes. Instantly the anger fell away leaving only the terror that Maia would leave her.
As Razeen brought the car to a screeching halt on the hot concrete in front of the emergency entrance, she gripped the door handle tightly, trying to quiet the shaking, but it didn’t work. Grief rose up in her gut like a fiery ball.
“Are you OK?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, not knowing whether rational words would emerge or some primeval scream of loss.
“It’ll be all right. Don’t assume the worst. Come on.”
They ran through the corridors to the operating theatre where they were met by a distraught Mohammed who was pacing outside. He turned to Lucy and hugged her instinctively before turning to Razeen to do the same. He stopped himself suddenly as he remembered he was about to hug the King. Instead he stumbled back and leaned against the wall, his face a picture of agony.
Lucy’s heart sank but somehow seeing him so full of despair summoned up her own strength. “How is she?”
Mohammed appeared to have forgotten his English and, instead, uttered a stream of Arabic.
“He says she’s had an emergency caesarian but she’s hemorrhaging badly.”
“Can you ask him what happened?”
But there was no need to. Mohammed gesticulated wildly while pouring forth a stream of words which Razeen listened to patiently, before turning to Lucy to translate.
“Apparently everything happened fast. They were on their way here—luckily Maia decided to leave earlier because you’d arrived—and she started bleeding. It seems the baby is well, but he doesn’t know about Maia. He’s waiting to be allowed back into the theatre.”
Mohammed began pacing again, unable to keep still and Lucy leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms and watched him. In those moments of his grief she saw how much he loved Maia. It was written in every impatient, angry, distressed gesture, it was written in the tears that streamed down his face unchecked and in the words of self-recrimination over nonsensical things that Razeen translated. She understood then. Maia had always been popular, always had friends but Lucy had never witnessed such utter devotion. And she was happy for Maia. Happy she’d found a home after so many years without one. It was a home she would never have.
As a doctor emerged through the swing-doors and spoke briefly to Razeen, she caught sight of Maia’s face—deathly white, lively eyes closed now—and grief welled up inside her. “No, Maia, you can’t damn well leave me.” She shook her head and swiped at the tears that had begun to fall down her face. Suddenly Razeen’s arms were around her. “She can’t leave me.” The words emerged as a moan from the fear and grief that lay knotted in the pit of her gut. She crossed her arms over her body as if to contain the pain. “Will she be all right?” She looked up at him. “She will, won’t she?”
“They don’t know yet. They’re working hard. She has a postpartum hemorrhage, something to do with the placenta. But the blood isn’t clotting easily so they’re doing a transfusion of platelets.” He put his arm around her and brought her to his side. “Don’t worry, Lucy. She’s in capable hands.”
But Lucy did worry.
A nurse appeared and beckoned Mohammed who disappeared into the room. Lucy began to follow but Razeen stopped her.
“Leave him with her. They need each other now.”
She bit her lip and turned away, knowing he was right. She leaned her forehead against the wall that divided her from Maia and wept. Razeen’s arms folded around her and his warm body pressed against her back. He pressed his head against hers and murmured Arabic words of comfort that were incomprehensible but reassuring nevertheless. He continued to hold her and her sobs slowly calmed. Only then did he turned her around and press her head to his chest.
A doctor emerged and spoke briefly to Razeen. She saw from the relief on the doctor’s face and Razeen’s response that the worst was passed. “She’s going to be OK, isn’t she?”
“She’s going to be fine. But she’ll need some time to recuperate to regain her strength.”
“Can I see her?”
“The doctors prefer you to wait. She needs rest at the moment.” A nurse appeared behind him carrying a bundle. “Mohammed wants to stay with Maia and has asked if you could look after the baby.”
Lucy stepped away, shaking her head. She couldn’t do it. How could she possibly take responsibility for a baby? But the busy nurse didn’t have time to talk and pushed the bundle into Lucy’s arms. Lucy froze, holding the tiny bundle as if it were a time bomb. And it was, in a way. Because it ignited memories that had long been suppressed: of Lucy, barely more than a child herself, holding a small baby in her arms.
Then the baby wriggled and Lucy jumped, brought back to the present with a jolt. With one finger she tentatively pushed aside the swaddling blankets to look at the baby’s face and she gasped, holding the breath for long seconds as she absorbed the baby’s tiny features: a stunning combination of Maia’s perfect features and Mohammed’s dark hair and nutmeg skin. The tears began again—she wasn’t sure they’d ever stopped—and her arms instinctively drew the baby close. The baby opened its mouth briefly in a silent cry that quickly faded and then turned toward Lucy’s chest and fell asleep. Lucy spread her hands around the soft wool of the blanket, curling around the baby’s tender curves, and brought the bundle closer to her body. She dipped her head to smell the baby’s sweet smell and knew in that moment that, despite the grief that was irrevocably intertwined with her own past, she could do this.
She looked at Razeen, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “This has to be the quietest baby I’ve ever seen.”
“She doesn’t take after her aunt then.”
“Is it a ‘she’? I hadn’t even thought to ask.”
“Yes, it’s a she. Mohammed said that Maia and he had decided on the name ‘Noor.’”
“Noor,” Lucy repeated. “That’s beautiful.”
“It means ‘light’ in Arabic.”
“Same meaning as ‘Lucy.’”
“I didn’t know that.” His voice was so soft, so tender that it drew her attention from the baby nestled in her arms.
“Thank you, Razeen, for being here for me. I would have gone to pieces without you.”
His brown eyes were filled with sadness. “No,” he pressed his lips together as if in regret. “No, not you. You’re stronger than you think.”
“Even the strong need help some times. Will you stay with me now?” He didn’t answer immediately and she suddenly felt uncertain. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask. You must have so many things to do, I—”
“Of co
urse I’ll stay. The registrar says there’s a room at our disposal. We can stay here the night and then Noor will be close to Maia when she’s able to see her.” He lifted her chin so he could see into her eyes. “OK?”
Lucy nodded. “Definitely OK.”
Razeen put his arm around her and gently guided her through the corridors to the suite.
As soon as Lucy sat on the couch, Noor awoke and opened her mouth and screamed. Lucy looked up anxiously at the nurse who’d just appeared. “What’s the matter with her? Is she hurt?” The nurse laughed at Lucy’s expression. Although obviously unable to understand her word for word, she understood the gist and handed her the tiniest bottle of milk Lucy had ever seen.
“The nurse says she’s hungry. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.”
Noor was soon latched on to the bottle and drinking contentedly. But that only caused another anxious thought to pop into Lucy’s mind. “Will this mean she can’t breastfeed from Maia?”
Razeen translated to the nurse before turning once more to Lucy. “She says, hopefully it should all be fine. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t be.”
“This is so scary. There are so many things that might go wrong.”
“And so many things that might go right.” The nurse said something Lucy couldn’t understand. “The nurse says that you will make a good mother. You are already worried about everything.”
Lucy shivered as if someone had walked over her grave.
“What’s the matter, Lucy? The nurse meant it only as a compliment.”
But Lucy couldn’t smile, she couldn’t reassure Razeen, she couldn’t even look him in the eye. How could she tell him that, long ago, when she’d been far too young, she had been a mother—albeit briefly—a mother who hadn’t been able to care for her own baby?
“Lucy?”
Lucy shook her head, her eyes fixed on Noor. “I can’t imagine ever being a mother, especially not of a baby so perfect.”
Razeen didn’t answer but simply gazed down at Lucy and the baby and felt the opposite. He couldn’t imagine her not being a mother. But there was one difference to the scene he saw before him: the baby would be his and Lucy’s and it would be more perfect.