He’d be back on Wildfire before long, to check on the progress of the clinical trials, and in Bangladesh soon after that.
What woman would want a husband who was never there?
And when he was at home, wherever that might be, how could he live with someone who was doing the job that had been taken from him?
The job that had been his passion?
He squeezed the fingers on the hand he held in his, and much as he wanted to argue and protest, he knew that she was right to turn him down.
‘I love you,’ he said quietly, and knew he should have said it sooner.
Not, he suspected, that it would have made much difference...
The hand in his moved to tighten its grip.
‘I love you, too,’ she said, her voice so full of sorrow he longed to take her in his arms and hold her close.
Forever?
She’d made it clear that couldn’t happen, so he lifted a handful of sand and placed it in her hand, where she let it slip between her fingers.
‘Sand like silk,’ she said, remembering his description of it, ‘but it’s like life as well, isn’t it? If we’re not careful it slips away because we’re too afraid to grab it and cling to it and wring whatever satisfaction and joy and pleasure that we can out of it.’
He kissed her then, restraining the passion burning within him for this was a goodbye kiss...
* * *
So much for booking a flight for her, Sarah thought as the limo carrying her turned into the private part of the airfield where she’d arrived.
It pulled up at the foot of stairs leading into the same, or a similar, jet to the one in which she’d arrived.
‘Welcome, Dr Watson,’ one of the cabin crew greeted her as her chauffeur held open the door. ‘If you would give me your passport, I’ll see to the formalities while you get comfortable inside.’
Another member of the crew beckoned her up the stairs.
But halfway there she turned and looked back, disappointed that all she could see was the airport and the city beyond it.
‘You’ll see the desert when we take off,’ the crew member told her.
But Sarah knew that had been only part of her disappointment.
Not that she’d expected him to be here.
They’d both agreed last night that their goodbyes would be said in private. Not in the desert but, after dinner with the family, when she’d gone to say goodbye to Rajah.
And remembering Rajah she had to blink back tears, telling herself it was certainly the goodbye and not the kiss that had followed it that she would miss.
But she’d miss more than a kiss from Harry. She’d miss his closeness, miss sharing little moments of the day with him, miss his touch, and the feel of his skin beneath her fingers.
She’d miss him with an ache deep inside her but in time she’d find a smile as well—a smile for the happy memories.
Settled in her seat, seatbelt on, the engines whining as the pilot revved them, she reminded herself that pain lessened with time, and the memories became good friends instead of hurting.
She waited until the plane had crossed the desert, giving her one last glimpse of the red-gold sand, then closed her eyes and slept, waking only for a snack as they approached Farnborough, where, according to one of the crew, they were due to land.
He’d also told her that a car would meet her to take her to her family home in Roehampton, only a twenty-minute drive, she imagined, although she’d never been to Farnborough before, even for an air show.
* * *
Harry threw himself back into work, travelling first to Africa where his scientists were struggling to balance mosquito eradication with the preservation of the natural ecosystem.
Spraying worked for a season, but the swamps were still there, and the swamps and waterholes were an integral part of the local landscape and home or source of food to the inhabitants of each area.
The vaccine was the answer, and although clinical trials of the Wildfire vaccine were under way, there was doubt it would work here. The disease mutated according to the area, and sometimes success seemed a long way off.
But he persisted, needing work and the frantic dashing around the world to keep his mind off Sarah.
He could tell himself it had been nothing more than a short affair—a holiday romance, as she’d kept insisting—but images of her played in his head and a word here or a sight there reminded him so strongly of her he’d often have to stop what he was doing and breathe deeply for a moment.
The invitation came as a surprise.
It was waiting for him when he returned home for a brief visit before heading to Asia.
Real mail—a letter—white and thick, like an invitation...
But there was always mail waiting for him, and always invitations to speak at this or that convention.
He threw it in the bin, part of his past, then contrarily pulled it out and shoved it in his travel bag.
He might read it on the plane.
Or not!
But although that part of his life was over, it might be interesting to see who the speakers were going to be and whether any of them might have something new to offer.
He thought no more about it as one of the engineers he’d employed to look at draining a flooded rubbish dump in Bangladesh, with a view to reclaiming the land, was on the flight so it was back to business.
He avoided Wildfire for as long as he could, knowing he had competent people there who could carry on the work.
But even thinking about Sarah brought a clear image of her into his head, right in the middle of some theory about reclaimed land—a smiling, teasing image.
* * *
Sarah spent the first week home with her parents doing family things like visiting aged aunts and walking through Richmond Park with the dogs, remembering Bugsy on Wildfire who’d loved a walk...
The second week she began tentative enquiries about the possibility of getting an opening on a paediatric surgery team. She was only too aware that most of the people who could offer such training would be friends of Harry’s and one word from him might have made her job easier, but she couldn’t hurt him more by asking this of him.
He was with her day and night—well, more at night—because it was easier to escape her thoughts during the day.
But at night she dreamed of the time they had shared, of the passionate and gentle lovemaking between them, of their conversations, and shared laughter, and sitting together on Sunset Beach.
She didn’t think about the desert sunset, although its magical beauty was burned into her brain.
That memory was too painful...
He phoned one evening. She was just back from a walk and the smell of the roast beef her mother was cooking for dinner hung around the house.
She answered the phone, thinking it would be an old friend calling back, a doctor with whom she’d trained and who was now a GP.
They were making arrangements to get together for a meal, so there was no premonition of it being anything other than an ordinary call.
‘Sarah, I need you.’
Harry’s voice...
Harry’s voice almost pleading...
Her heart was bouncing around in her chest, her lungs had seized, and her stomach cramped painfully.
‘A baby?’ she managed to croak.
To her surprise she heard a smile—well, half a smile, a little bit of a smile—in his voice as he answered.
‘No, more a pillar—that’s what I need.’
‘A pillar?’
She took the phone from her ear and checked to see she wasn’t dreaming.
‘One of those things that support other things,’ he continued, although she might have missed a bit. ‘I need you to support me, be my
pillar.’
Long pause.
Was he gone?
No-o-o-o!
The wail came from her heart and then he was back again, his voice in her ear.
‘To prop me up.’
She heard a deep intake of breath then his words came out in a rush.
‘I’ve been asked to speak at a symposium in London, at GOSH, and at first I threw the note away, then I picked it out of the bin and tucked it into my luggage, and when I had to go back to Wildfire I looked at it and saw what it was and I heard you in my head telling me it’s what I should be doing—working in the field I loved and was good at. So I phoned someone and said yes and now I’m getting nervous. It’s next Tuesday and they’ve booked me into a hotel, the Russell, quite close to GOSH and the British Museum, if my talk gets boring for you, and it’s at the opening of the three-day talkfest and I wondered if you’d come.’
‘Yes!’ Sarah said, and wondered if he could hear her smile, which was so wide he could probably see it reflected on the moon if he was looking.
‘That’s it?’ he asked—or maybe demanded.
‘Yes,’ she said again, because that really was all there was. The rightness of it all, and seeing him again, and maybe, just maybe, talking him into returning to the work he’d loved and lost.
‘I’m coming in on Sunday. I’ll phone you with the time. Someone will collect you to meet me at the plane. We’ll have a couple of nights together before the show begins. Time to talk...’
Pause...
‘Is that all right?’
‘More than all right,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ll pack a bag.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘THERE’S A VERY large car outside,’ Sarah’s mother said on Sunday morning, sounding a little put out by the ostentatiousness of a very large car.
‘It’s how they get around, Mum,’ she said. ‘But the people are ordinary, friendly, hospitable—just like you and me.’
‘Except they live in a palace,’ her mother countered, and Sarah realised that although she’d listened to Sarah’s tales about Ambelia with interest, she was obviously concerned about Sarah’s possible future amidst such wealth.
‘Wait till you meet him,’ Sarah said, hugging her mother, although the car was waiting. ‘He gives his talk on Tuesday evening and we’ll come out here on Wednesday, take you and Dad to The Crabtree for lunch and we can sit by the river if it’s fine.’
Sarah could see her mother still had doubts, but those, Sarah guessed, were about meeting Rahman al-Taraq, and would be banished when she met Harry.
She said a quick goodbye and went out to the waiting car.
‘First to Farnborough to meet the plane,’ the driver told her, and this time Sarah actually noticed what Farnborough airfield looked like.
It was, she realised, like some great futuristic city, only too small to be a city—a village maybe.
It had developed from a small, wartime landing strip to an airfield that catered to the wealthy and privileged, flying in on their private jets for business, a shopping trip, or simply pleasure.
The high-arched dome was more intimidating than welcoming, but Sarah guessed it looked better from the other side.
She waited, moving from one foot to the other in an effort to keep her excitement in check, then, finally, he was there, walking out through sliding doors and just appearing in front of her.
He dropped the small bag he was carrying and drew her into his arms, holding her so close and for so long she wondered if he’d ever let her go.
Not that she wanted to be let go!
Eventually they made their way to the car, joined at shoulder and hip, his arm around her waist.
With the miracle of organisation she was beginning to accept as part of Harry’s world, his luggage was already being loaded into the boot, and the driver had the rear door open for them.
Harry spoke quietly to him, then slid in beside her, reclaiming her hand and drawing her close to kiss her again.
‘I have never before understood the concept of missing someone,’ he said, when he finally raised his head from hers, and brushed his fingers against her cheek. ‘But every moment of every day since you left, I have missed you. In my head, and in my heart, and in other parts of my body that we’ll leave nameless, you’ve been a gap and an ache and a sorrow all run together.’
Sarah nodded, her heart too full of happiness for words to form.
‘You, too?’ he asked, and she smiled and nodded, then kissed the lips that had haunted her dreams for so long.
They spent a very enjoyable hour or so in the car, until the driver announced ‘Hotel Russell, sir’ and Harry and Sarah broke apart like naughty schoolchildren caught kissing behind the gymnasium.
The driver opened the door on Sarah’s side, while uniformed hotel staff appeared from all directions, whisking away Harry’s large suitcase and Sarah’s much smaller bag on a trolley that would have held five times as much luggage.
Harry took her hand to lead her into the hotel, but Sarah paused, wanting to take it all in. The big old red and cream brick building had large inset windows, and the quiet dignity of a dowager of older times. Inside, it was breathtaking, with marble floors and pillars and a huge chandelier over the central foyer.
‘It’s not six stars but it’s very comfortable,’ Harry was saying, ‘and close enough to walk to GOSH.’
‘I love it already,’ Sarah said, although she knew she’d also have loved some cheap flea-pit hotel with Harry for company.
Once registered, they were shown to their suite of rooms, with views out over Russell Square. But views were soon forgotten, because Harry was behind her, holding her close, his desire for her making itself felt.
She turned in his arms, and held him close as she kissed him, remembering how well they fitted together, remembering touches that brought him pleasure, and revelling in the fingers that roamed her body.
‘We will not hurry this,’ he said very firmly. ‘I’ve been waiting so long I refuse to be rushed.’
But somehow that didn’t work because, once naked on the bed together, not rushing wasn’t an option, the fire between them driving their bodies to take and be taken, to give and be given, to touch, and kiss, and tease, and come together until they both lay exhausted on the bed.
‘Maybe next time we’ll take it slowly,’ Sarah teased, propping herself on pillows so she could look down at Harry’s beloved face.
She traced her fingers down his profile, around his lips, and her heart filled with love for this man she’d met by chance, and who had given her back her love of life itself.
She’d slowly put herself back together again, but to find love as deep as this a second time—that was special.
‘Thank you,’ she said, dropping a kiss on his lips. His eyebrows rose. ‘For loving me, for letting me love you.’
For now, that was enough, Sarah decided. The future could take care of itself...
* * *
Tuesday dawned bright and sunny, and because Harry had people to see at GOSH, Sarah walked with him to the hospital, a little bit of new excitement fizzing inside her as she’d been accepted on a paediatric surgical team, not here but at Arcadia London Children’s Hospital, due to begin in six weeks.
She’d be going back in time to the long and irregular hours of hospital work, with study on top of that, but it was something she definitely wanted to do.
And something that would occupy all her attention if this little visit with Harry proved to be just that—a small piece of heaven stolen from time.
‘Well, are you coming in?’ Harry asked as they stood by the statue of Peter Pan and Tinkerbell outside the front door.
‘Not until tonight,’ she said, then wondered at the look of concern on his face.
‘You’ll be all right
?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Not too many bad memories?’
She had to smile.
‘My memories of that life are all good ones now, Harry. Yes, I wonder about the baby, but all the rest are safely stored away. I’ve made new memories now and am happy with them, and happy to make more.’
She didn’t say ‘with you’ because beyond tonight she had no idea where Harry’s future might lie. She hoped it would be here, but knew it would be a huge step for him to take, to get back into paediatric surgery without being able to operate.
‘I should be done by lunch but just in case, let’s meet back at the hotel at three—I’ll stand you high tea!’
Sarah laughed. Harry was standing her everything on this little holiday and she felt pampered and thoroughly spoiled by his attention.
She kissed his cheek—lip kisses were too hard to break and they were in public—and left, wanting to wander through the museum again, to look at artefacts from the past and think about her future.
It would be with Harry, wherever he was, she’d decided. She could travel with him, learn about his projects, forget the idea of further study...
Couldn’t she?
As thinking only confused her, she headed for the Egyptian rooms and peered at mummies preserved for thousands of years, wondering if love had been as hard for people then as it was for her now.
She had lunch in the café beneath the vast, high steel and glass roof, built to provide more space and facilities for the museum, then walked back to the hotel to shower and change before meeting Harry again.
He was late, coming in at four, telling her he’d booked a table for high tea, urging her off the bed, where she’d been reading and dozing, and insisting they go now.
He was fizzing with excitement, and as they stood together in the elevator she could feel it buzzing in his body.
* * *
‘So tell me what this is all about,’ she said, but he smiled and shook his head.
‘Soon,’ he promised, and because the elevator was empty but for them, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart Page 14