by Jane Toombs
“Ailia!” she called. When her companion appeared, Mrs. Zohir spoke in rapid Arabic, evidently sending Ailia off on some errand. “Power, the Kholi king,” Mrs. Zohir told Linnea. “Power, the ulema.”
No argument there, even if she didn’t quite grasp what Mrs. Zohir was getting at. When Ailia reappeared, she began to understand. Talal’s grandmother was concerned about Linnea meeting the king while he was out of temper. That must be why Ailia was offering a long-sleeved white silk jacket and a white silk scarf.
Linnea shrugged. She had no objection to covering her arms and her head if Mrs. Zohir thought doing so would be more acceptable to the king. She allowed Ailia to help her into the jacket and to place the scarf over her head and drape it around her neck.
“Waiting, the car,” Mrs. Zohir announced, surprising Linnea. The car from the palace? Had it been here all along?
Mrs. Zohir rose from her chair and walked slowly toward the entry. She was as tall as Linnea, and though not actually stout, she had a matronly figure. Before reaching the door, she pulled her black scarf up over her head and held an end of it across her face.
A dark-skinned servant girl opened the door, then Mrs. Zohir exited and climbed deliberately down the two steps to the drive where a uniformed guard stood beside the car. He smiled at Mrs. Zohir and, to Linnea’s surprise, gave her a quick hug.
“Ameen, boy of sister’s son,” the older woman said. “Miss Swanson, Ameen.”
“I am pleased to meet,” Ameen said to Linnea.
“How do you do?” Linnea said formally.
“I am well,” he answered, opening the rear door of the limo and helping his great-aunt inside. Linnea slid in next to her. Ameen closed the door and got into the front seat with the driver. Remembering Talal’s warning about being escorted, Linnea realized Ameen must be doing double duty—a palace guard but also the requisite male relative of Mrs. Zohir.
The limo passed between the gates in the walls surrounding the Zohir house, and as they drove along, through the darkened limo windows she caught glimpses of other houses behind walls. Barren hills, small mountains, really, rose in the distance. Near their summits she saw square white buildings and round towers. There was very little greenery of any kind evident; apparently those who owned the houses hid their flowers and bushes in their courtyards like Mrs. Zohir.
“I’ve never met a king before,” Linnea confessed.
Once seated in the limo, Mrs. Zohir had dropped the end of the scarf. Linnea watched a mischievous smile turn up the corners of her mouth. “Never meet you before, King Hakeem,” she said, and chuckled.
Linnea smiled, warming to Talal’s grandmother, who was turning out to be far from the crabbed old crone she’d expected. But she was still nervous about meeting King Hakeem. What did one say to a king other than calling him Your Majesty?
Uncertain what to expect, she obediently removed her shoes like Mrs. Zohir, before being ushered into a large room with seat-cushioned niches along the walls, some larger than others, all with small-paned windows. Though elegant in its simplicity, Linnea was relieved this wasn’t the king’s throne room—if he had one. A strong-featured older man, somewhat corpulent, rose from a seat in an oversized bay-windowed niche when Linnea and Mrs. Zohir were announced. From pictures she’d seen, Linnea recognized King Hakeem.
“Ya, Noorah,” he said, holding out his hands to the older woman and continuing to speak in Arabic. He gave her a hug before turning to Linnea. “Ms. Swanson, I regret any grief you have suffered,” he told her in a cultured British accent. “You have my word this tragic error will be corrected.”
Motioning to the seats in the niche, he added, “Please join me for coffee.”
As Linnea seated herself, a servant came through the door pushing a cart. Behind him, Talal strode into the room and Linnea’s heart lifted. He crossed to the niche, bowed to the king, kissed his grandmother on the cheek and sat down beside Linnea.
The servant arranged the cart in front of the niche, poured coffee into the small cups the Kholis seemed to favor and handed one to the king before serving the rest of them. King Hakeem waved him away and he exited, leaving the fruit-and-pastry-laden cart behind.
Linnea sipped the sweet, strong coffee cautiously, aware she dare not refuse the king’s hospitality. This brew, like Mrs. Zohir’s, was decidedly not decaf, and too much caffeine would have her walking on the ceiling.
“You are rested from your journey?” King Hakeem asked Linnea.
“I am, Your Majesty,” she said.
“Very good.” He turned to Mrs. Zohir and said, “You do not mind if we speak in English, my dear sister-in-law?”
Talal answered for her. “My grandmother has an adequate command of that language. She will not be upset.”
“It is to be hoped, despite the unhappy circumstances bringing you here, that you will enjoy your stay in our beautiful country,” the king said to Linnea.
“Mrs. Zohir’s courtyard is most inviting,” she said tactfully. “I expect to pass many pleasant hours there.”
She was aware of Talal’s swift sidelong look but ignored him. Did he think she meant to flout his warnings and go traipsing about Akrim on her own? She might be independent but she wasn’t an idiot.
“Talal will soon bring before me those who violated my trust and they will be appropriately punished,” the king said. “At the same time, he will present your daughter to you, the child you bore to Malik Khaldun.” He spoke Malik’s name as though he found it distasteful.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Linnea said. “Shukran.”
He smiled at her use of the Arabic word, apparently pleased she’d made the effort to learn a smattering of the language.
“While Talal’s search will prevent him from being at your disposal,” King Hakeem said, “my sister-in-law will provide for your every need. I trust your stay will prove satisfactory in every way.”
Linnea had no doubt Mrs. Zohir would be a good hostess, but one thing, one person would be missing from what she could provide. Talal. Did the king suspect there was something between them? Had he hidden a warning in his words?
He had no reason to be apprehensive about Talal being interested in her to the point of marriage. He must not realize Talal didn’t want any wife—foreign or Kholi. Ever.
The king certainly didn’t know that even if Talal felt differently, she would never consider marrying another Kholi.
One mistake was enough.
Chapter Ten
In the Zohir courtyard, Linnea reclined on a padded lounge in the shade of two date palms. In this secluded place, she wore the one pair of shorts she’d slipped into her luggage at the last minute and a T-shirt Karen had given her that read Lucky Joe’s Casino in brilliant red across the front. Lucky Joe’s and Nevada seemed a million miles away, even though she’d received a call from Zed letting her know Yasmin was well and happy.
Talal didn’t seem any closer. He might be in the same country that she was, but she hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks. Why didn’t he let her know what was going on?
Was he following a promising lead? She missed him more than she’d thought possible, especially at night when she relived their evening under the Nevada stars. Right now, if she closed her eyes and conjured up an image of him, she could almost imagine they were naked together on the blanket, his lips on hers, his hands caressing her intimately....
The faint snick of someone cutting shrubbery intruded, ending her erotic reverie. She opened her eyes, noticing an inner gate was ajar, a gate that was always kept closed and locked if any of the household women were in this larger section of the courtyard. She wasn’t alarmed, aware the smaller yard was also within the walled enclosure around the house. A servant must have forgotten to lock it.
But her daydream of Talal had fled. Sighing, she picked up the book Mrs. Zohir had found for her, an English translation of Arabic poetry and proverbs.
“Take advantage of your youth,” she read, “life lasts only an instant.”
She shut the book with a snap, feeling she was lounging around growing older every second while the only one she wanted to take advantage of her youth with was nowhere near.
Why didn’t Talal call?
Resolutely she thrust him from her thoughts, deliberately focusing on her surroundings. Unseen birds chirped to one another from the palm fronds over her head. The courtyard was peaceful, beautiful and fragrant. Aadel, Ailia’s son, was tending the plants with loving care. He also doubled as the chauffeur when necessary, his presence in the car enabling Ailia to run errands for Mrs. Zohir.
He was reaching for the pruning shears when he apparently noticed for the first time that the inner gate was open. As she watched him hurry to close it, something whizzed though the air near the lounge and thudded into the shrubbery under the palms. Wings whirred as several birds flew to a safer location.
Alarmed, Linnea sat up and looked around. There was no one in the courtyard except her. She heard the crunch of the inner gate being pulled closed and the click of the lock, leaving Aadel on the other side. Whatever had been tossed into the shrubbery couldn’t have been thrown by him—he’d been in her view at the time. Whatever it was had to have come over the wall from the outside.
Uneasiness crept over her—had she been the object of an attack? Rising, she probed gingerly into the bushes and almost immediately spotted the missile—a large grayish stone with a sheet of paper tied to it with twine.
Again she looked around. Yes, she was obviously alone. Apparently nobody from inside the house had seen what happened because no alarm was being raised. Aadel, intent on locking the gate before he got into trouble, evidently hadn’t noticed anything, either.
Curious, Linnea retrieved the rock. Slipping the paper free from the twine, she dropped the stone and smoothed the paper to better read what was written on it. In English. Her heart began to thud. She had to be the intended recipient.
Mrs. Khaldun,
I know where your daughter is. I will tell only you. Meet me at the Blue Café tomorrow at eleven in the morning. Alone.
There was no signature.
A shiver ran along her spine as she stared at the words written on the paper. Who had written this? Had he also thrown the stone? He? She nodded. In Kholi, the person who initiated this would certainly be male. It didn’t surprise her that he knew who she was and why she was in Kholi. News traveled fast in any country. Mrs. Khaldun, he’d called her. Perhaps he didn’t know her by any other name.
Mrs. Zohir, commanding one or another male relative as escort, had taken Linnea for several drives around the area. From a closer view, the white buildings on the mountain had proved to be the ruins—Turkish, Mrs. Zohir said. They’d also gone shopping in Akrim, and Linnea remembered seeing the Blue Café, the name spelled out in both Arabic and English. As she recalled, the place was just off one of the main streets and had looked respectable enough.
But, of course, she couldn’t go there alone. She read the note again, telling herself she ought to show it to Mrs. Zohir. She knew, though, that Talal’s grandmother would advise her to ignore the letter and allow Talal to find her daughter. No doubt she’d also repeat the Arab proverb that Talal had mentioned in New York: Patience is the key to solutions.
Linnea was fast running out of patience. For all she knew, Talal might still have no clue leading to her daughter. If he were hot on the trail, wouldn’t he have called to tell her so? She decided not to mention the note to anyone. At least not right away. Not until she decided what to do.
Would this unknown man risk tossing the rock over the wall to her if he’d been lying about knowing the whereabouts of her daughter? It seemed unlikely to Linnea. She wasn’t so foolish as to believe he wanted to help her out of the goodness of his heart—he’d expect some reward, probably money. She still had quite a bit in that account in New York that she never touched except in search of her daughter. Once he produced Yasmin, he could have it all.
But how could she get from the Zohir house to the café alone without running the risk of encountering a muttawa? The religious police were active in the city; she and Mrs. Zohir had met one face-to-face on their last shopping expedition and he’d given them a lengthy scrutiny.
Linnea had worn the white silk jacket, the white scarf over her head and her longest dress, an ankle-length denim, so not much of her had been exposed to tempt a male. In addition, she and the veiled Mrs. Zohir had been escorted by a uniformed male—many of the Zohir relatives seemed to be members of one branch or another of the Kholi armed forces. The muttawa had watched them but hadn’t approached.
No, she didn’t dare be seen on the street alone, even if she muffled herself in the Kholi black gown and veil. True, if she dressed like one of the black-clad anonymous women, no one would have a clue she wasn’t Kholi. Unfortunately, a lone woman would still stand out.
She couldn’t just “borrow” one of the Zohir cars—there were three in the garages—because women didn’t drive in this country. Once she arrived at the café, she’d be safe enough with the writer of the note as her male escort. They wouldn’t be related, but surely the muttawa wouldn’t be suspicious enough to check identification.
The main problem was how to get to the café. Aadel popped into her mind. If he drove her, she wasn’t likely to attract attention. She had some money with her—would he be susceptible to a bribe?
Linnea glanced about, crumpled the note in her fist and jammed it into the pocket of her shorts. She wasn’t afraid of meeting a strange man—after all, they’d be among others in a café and he wouldn’t be likely to want to call attention to himself. Naturally she wouldn’t take any chances. If he proposed that she go anywhere with him, she’d refuse and suggest some alternative. As she perceived it, any danger would come from the religious police, not from the man she meant to meet.
The key to this clandestine meeting lay with Aadel. Was he unhappy enough working as a servant to take the risk of helping her for money? Linnea shrugged. The only way to find out was to ask him.
Her mind made up, she walked briskly toward the house, hardly noticing the heat of midday. Inside, the breeze from the rotating fans cooled the air to tolerable. For some reason Mrs. Zohir didn’t care for air-conditioning.
Later in the day, seated in the main room sipping tea, she noticed Talal’s grandmother eyeing her with a question in her gaze. She expected the older woman to bring up what was bothering her, but when Mrs. Zohir said nothing she grew fidgety.
Unless she’s psychic, Mrs. Zohir can’t possibly suspect anything, Linnea told herself. It’s your imagination. Guilt can play havoc with your nerves.
She shouldn’t feel guilty, because finding her daughter was the single most important thing in her life—but she did. She hated to be a sneak, to betray anyone’s trust. What else could she do, though, given the circumstances? If Mrs. Zohir saw the note, it would be goodbye to any chance to meet the man who knew where Yasmin was.
“Come he should, Talal,” Mrs. Zohir said at last in her odd English construction.
Linnea nodded, feeling exactly the same. Why hadn’t he shown up before now? Or at least called? Still, maybe it was lucky he hadn’t. He’d never allow her to go alone to the Blue Café.
Since she needed to study her phrase book to be able to talk to Aadel in Arabic, Linnea told Mrs. Zohir she was going to her room to rest. Actually, it was a relief to get away from the older woman, who seemed to sense something was amiss in Linnea’s behavior. Fortunately, she had no way of discovering what it was.
Kholi custom made it very difficult for Linnea to approach Aadel. Women were not allowed to be alone with men unless they were related by blood or by marriage, which meant the servants were off limits, as well. Shortly before the evening meal, she finally caught a glimpse of Aadel in the main courtyard, tending to the flowers, and managed to slip out through one of the glass doors without being seen.
He started when he saw her, apprehension clouding his expression, and seemed about to flee.
&nbs
p; “Wait,” she ordered in Arabic. Having carefully memorized the words she’d need, she hurriedly went on. “Eleven tomorrow. Cafe Blué. You drive me. No one else. Your pay, fifty riyals.”
He gaped at her, but she saw a flicker of cupidity cross his face at her mention of money. He finally agreed.
“Good. I meet you garage tomorrow morning.” Linnea turned and hurried back into the house.
She spent a restless night and overslept, waking from a distressing dream of being chased across an endless desert by faceless men. Shaking herself free of lingering traces of the dream, refusing to regard it as any kind of omen, she rose and faced the challenge of the day.
Mrs. Zohir had included a long-sleeved, black gown, complete with veil, in the clothes Maha had placed in Linnea’s wardrobe, so she did have one. But she’d have to dress in western clothes first and cover herself with the voluminous garment after she got into the car. The problem would be to sneak the black outfit out to the garage. Even getting to the garage would have to be surreptitious because it wasn’t a usual place for a woman to go.
By the time she was dressed, Linnea had worked herself into the spirit of what she told herself was a game where success meant she might recover her daughter. She meant to win this high-stakes game.
The hour between ten and eleven moved on turtle feet. She tried to avoid Mrs. Zohir, unsure she could conceal her eagerness to be on her way. That proved to be no problem since the older woman did not appear. When Linnea finally made it to the garage unseen, climbed into the limo and saw Aadel already in the driver’s seat, she sank limply against the back seat cushions in relief.
She didn’t know or care what story Aadel might have made up for his reason to take the car out. Despite the dark-tinted windows, she crouched low to avoid being seen until the gates closed behind them. Then she sat up quickly and pulled the voluminous black gown over her head, arranging the shawl part to cover her hair. Last of all she pulled down the veil.