She was pleased with the effect she was having on him. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying her company and she couldn’t deny that she was enjoying his as well. But her mind was on her work and she knew she had to get the conversation around to something more substantial sooner or later.
The sheikh ordered a bottle and took the liberty of educating her a little about the different vineyards in the champagne region of France. “Of course most champagnes produced nowadays are non-vintage, some of which are extremely good I might add. But for something really special you should go for a cuvée de prestige, like this one for instance.”
She read the bottle, “Salon Blanc de Blanc, Le Mesnil-sur-Oger”
“Nice accent,” he commented, “Parlez-vous francais?”
“Oui, un peu,” she replied modestly, again enjoying the fact that she was impressing him. “My parents had quite interesting ideas about how I should be brought up,” she revealed. “Being able to speak another language was something they insisted on and they taught me both French and Swedish from an early age.”
Seeing the questioning look in his eyes she continued, “Swedish because they spent years there and adored it, and French because they thought it would be more useful.”
“And they insisted that learning to play the piano was important too?” he asked.
“It was my mother’s dream to play the piano and one day she found a cheap second-hand one for sale in the local paper. One of our neighbors agreed to give us lessons in return for doing his family’s laundry. His wife had recently died so it was a nice way for us to help him without him feeling like he owed us something. Anyway, I hated it at first. I couldn’t play with both hands at the same time. But one day I walked in on him playing Chopin, and after that I was determined to be able to play. It’s a shame. I used to love it but after that my studies and career took priority…” she looked away wistfully and the sheikh leaned forward and brushed a stray hair away from her face.
He looked earnestly into her deep brown eyes. “You should take more time to play,” he said softly, “You come to life when you’re behind the piano.”
Frey withdrew to increase the distance between them; she felt a little overwhelmed. For a minute there it had seemed as though he was about to kiss her. His dark eyes lingered on hers and she felt a quiver run through her body. Get back on track, she told herself, remember why you’re here.
“So who taught you to play so well?” she asked.
He relayed a brief and fairly evasive account of his childhood, growing up in the family home near Luxor, being privately tutored in all subjects, and playing tennis and polo at the weekends with family friends. He joked that he had spent most of his time in the music room or the library either playing the piano or reading books, but never the pieces he was supposed to be practicing or the books he was meant to be studying.
“So you were rather a rebel,” Freya teased, “And what did you parents think about this?”
“My father scolded me constantly whatever I did. That is, when he was around. He still is a difficult man to please. I was mostly brought up by my aunt and uncle. But things have changed a lot since then.”
“And your mother?” Frey ventured.
“She died when I was eleven.” He grimaced and looked at his watch, “Are you hungry?”
Frey nodded and followed him out of the lounge and into the lobby. They took the elevator all the way up to the roof where there was a huge shimmering pool and a table set for two. Again there was a board indicating a private event and she smiled and turned to him, “Really?”
“People are annoying,” he replied, smiling at her, “And besides I want you all to myself. I can’t have you disappearing on me again like the other night, can I?”
“Well I’m sure I can still leave if I want to.”
“And do you want to?”
“No, of course not” she said, “this evening has been, well, indescribable really. First the limo, then the private lounge, and the piano. And now this! I don’t know how anyone could ever top this for a first date!”
She looked around her. The still blue pool glistened in the moonlight and she felt on top of the world as she took in the panoramic view of the Nile which stretched out before her. The river was lined with the lights from bars and hotels and the distant sounds of music and revelers could be faintly discerned.
“I much prefer it up here to down there,” she said smiling, “It’s so serene and beautiful.”
“I come here when I want to be undisturbed.” the sheikh said, “This hotel is very discreet and I can be sure there won’t be any nasty little staff members-cum-entrepreneurs trying to make a quick buck by selling stories or photos to the papers.”
It suddenly dawned on Frey that she wasn’t the first girl to get this treatment and she felt a stir of jealousy and disappointment. Not that it should matter, she told herself. This is strictly for business. Business. Only.
She decided to approach the subject of his mother once again. “I’m sorry about your mother,” she started, but he cut her off quickly.
“I thought I made it clear earlier that I didn’t want to talk about my mother,” he replied coldly.
“It’s just that… My own mother left me too when I was quite young.”
He softened and took her hand in his, “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said. “Growing up without a mother is a terrible thing to have to go through.”
Frey felt terrible. It had just popped out. She had killed off her mother in her selfish quest to delve into this man’s private life and further her own career.
“When I said she left me… I mean she’s still alive. She just left. So in a sense she did die, to me, anyway.” It was nearer the truth and she felt a little better. Her mother had never been able to accept spending the rest of her life in the US and when Frey had gotten older it was obvious that she was the only thing keeping her parents together. However they stayed in touch regularly after she left and her mother was certainly not ‘dead to her’.
The sheikh questioned her further, “But where did she go, your mother? Why did she leave?”
“She went back to her beloved Sweden” Frey said sadly, “I wanted to go with her but she wouldn’t take me.”
It had the desired effect and the sheikh relaxed and stroked her cheek. “We’re not so different, you and I.” he whispered.
She smiled and asked again quietly, “But what happened to your mother?”
He hesitated and was about to speak but got distracted by a silver trolley being wheeled onto the terrace from the elevator.
“Come!” he smiled and she took his arm and let him lead her to their table.
Dammit, she thought. There was definitely something he was going to tell me then. I (almost) killed my mother for nothing.
They feasted on some of the most exquisite and delicious food Frey had ever tasted. There were tiny beautiful rolls of sushi with sashimi to begin with, followed by falafel bites and an exotically spiced salad. All accompanied by more champagne, of course. Conversation at dinner turned to movies and Frey had to admit that she had never watched TV as a child.
“What?” The sheikh couldn’t believe it.
“My parents were hippies, what can I say? We read books and played music and talked. TV was banned!”
Frey had decided that she couldn’t bear to lie to the sheikh. She couldn’t undo what she had said as that would certainly blow her cover completely. But she made a pact to herself that she would tell him the truth from that day forward, however long their friendship lasted.
“You look like you’re deep in thought.” the sheikh commented as he considered her with those dark intense eyes of his.
“Oh sorry, I was just thinking about work,” Frey said.
“And what is it that you do?”
Dammit again, she thought. “I’m a writer, that is, of novels” she elaborated. “I’m always thinking up my next storyline or set of characters.” Pact-to-self equals broken, she thou
ght.
“Well as long as you don’t base one of your characters on me,” he replied a little taciturnly.
“Oh I never base my characters on anyone in particular,” she smiled back. “My characters are a mixture of everyone I’ve ever met.”
I’m good at this lying business, she thought. It was rather worrying.
“I’d love to read something of yours.”
“Sure,” she said, “Although I’m afraid it’s not exactly highbrow stuff. I still have an awful lot to learn.”
At that point she wasn’t sure who was being played and who was doing the playing and decided she’d had enough champagne and excitement for one night.
“Do you mind if I do my disappearing act now?” she said sweetly, “I’m exhausted. You have no idea how many circuits of the City Star mall I made with Katia today.”
He laughed and replied, “I’m sure you can be excused, on one condition.”
She raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“You simply must try dessert!”
She grinned and walked towards where he was standing at the silver trolley of delights. He picked up a strawberry covered in melted chocolate and whispered, “Close your eyes.”
She rolled her eyes but then closed them, her heartbeat quickening somewhat as she waited with baited breath.
She felt the warm chocolate brush her lips and went to lick it off but he got there first. His lips covered hers in a gentle caress that left her weak and unable to move. She felt his tongue on hers and she mirrored his actions, tasting the velvety chocolate and pressing her body into his. He was warm and strong and she surrendered completely to the moment, to his exotic, almost spicy, aroma; to his elegant hands stroking her back and waist; to his tender kisses on her mouth, her neck, her throat.
Chapter Six: The Post-Analysis
“Did you know that journalists invented the concept of brunch in the 1800s?” Frey asked her friend, not waiting for an answer because she knew full well he friend would not know, or for that matter care. “Reporters used to lunch early because they started work early and it became known as brunch. And then it became trendy and everyone started doing it.”
Katia looked confused and then said, “Oh I get it. You’re telling me this because you’re a journalist, and right now we’re having brunch?”
“And because it’s interesting?” Frey said despairingly as she took a bite of French toast.
Frey and Katia were eating at a nice little spot called Lucille’s, primarily chosen for its hangover-curing big breakfasts but also because it was a convenient place to meet, equidistance between Frey’s hotel in Giza and Katia’s apartment in Midan Tahrir, the downtown area. Katia had continued to make noise about Frey moving in with her but to no avail. Frey liked having her space and the view of the pyramids that greeted her every morning still took her breath away. The restaurant was in a residential area called Ma’adi and it was close to where Katia had an interview lined up shortly afterwards. Between fretting about her next opportunity and gossiping about the previous night she had completely forgotten to ask Frey about her date.
“I look hideous,” she groaned, inspecting herself in her compact mirror. “Why did I drink so much last night? And why did I go home with that guy?”
“Is this the guy you’ve been seeing?” Frey asked.
Katia looked confused for a second and then said dismissively, “Oh no, not him. We’re kind of over. He was dull anyway. The guy last night was super hot. He’s a dancer!”
“I thought you liked rich guys?”
“I do. But I’m not going to turn down a ridiculously hot dancer just because he’s not loaded. Do you think I’m shallow or something?”
They laughed. At least Katia was clear about who she was and was happy with that, thought Frey. She wasn’t sure she could say the same about herself. She decided to be completely honest with her friend about what had happened the previous night.
“I have something to tell you,” she started.
“That sounds ominous, go on”
“Well last night, you know I had my date, or whatever it was, with the sheikh…”
“OMG I completely forgot. How was it? And yes, it was definitely a date!”
Frey described everything leading up to dinner while her friend listened with glee.
“Did you kiss? Did you kiss?” she couldn’t help but interrupt.
“Well that’s the thing. Yes we did. And it was amazing! Like dreamy, movie kind of stuff!” Frey revealed. “But I guess the last time I kissed a guy we both had braces and it wasn’t exactly romantic so I don’t have much to compare it to. But yes, in my humble opinion, it was an amazing kiss!”
“Wait, Kevin Barker was your last kiss!?” Katia said incredulously, “And your first with tongues if I remember correctly. What were you, sixteen?”
“Ok, ok you don’t have to be so graphic. Jeez. And yes I know I don’t exactly have much experience with guys. I was studying. And working. New York is a pretty lonely place to be when you’re shy and you don’t know anyone.”
It was funny, Frey thought, how she could stand up in front of a room full of people and present an idea for a piece, directing the angle that should be taken on the story and how it should be told. But when it came to her personal life she had no confidence whatsoever. The New York social scene had intimidated her and eventually her colleagues had given up inviting her out.
“My poor Frey, I knew I should have come and visited you. I love New York! We could have…”
“Don’t feel sorry for me, please.” Frey said, before adding cheekily, “Besides, last night I kissed the sheikh, so there.”
She stuck her tongue out and then remembered her other dilemma.
“There’s something else though… I mean, he was a total gentleman all night but he got really weird when I asked him about his mother. He snapped at me a little. And my stupid champagne-head reaction was to almost tell him my own mother was dead to try and get him to open up.”
“What? Your poor mom…” Katia was finding this more amusing than Frey would have liked.
“Yeah I know, it’s terrible. But I managed to backtrack and change the story to her leaving me and pops at a young age and us never speaking. So it changed to her being dead to me… in a figurative sense.” Frey explained awkwardly.
“What happens if she calls you when you’re with him? Hang on a minute while I take this call from my dead mom” Katia sniggered.
Frey tutted, “You’re not helping. Or listening. I didn’t actually say she was dead.”
“I’m sorry. So what else did you tell him?” she said trying not to smile.
“That I write novels for a living. And now he wants to read some of my work. It’s a total disaster. Plus the fact that we had a genuinely nice time and now I feel like a complete lying bitch.”
“It sounds like little Miss. Professional Journalist is getting emotionally involved,” Katia said, raising her eyebrows and still looking annoyingly amused by the whole situation.
“I don’t know what to do,” Frey confided, “On one hand I really want to get this story. And on the other hand I actually quite like this supposedly arrogant rich playboy. Maybe I’m a bad judge of character or maybe I’m stupid but I feel like he might be a nice guy.”
“You’re just naïve, sweetie,” Katia patted her friend’s hand. “You have to be ruthless and get your story. Otherwise what’s going to happen when he finds his next bit of skirt? You’ll be left broken-hearted and with no story.”
Frey reluctantly agreed with her friend and they discussed what they thought the issue could be between him and his mother. Katia remembered hearing a rumor about something strange surrounding her death but it was years before she had arrived in Egypt and she couldn’t be sure about anything.
Katia’s eyes widened as she glanced at her phone, “Is that really the time? I have to go! Do you mind grabbing the check?”
“Sure, no worries!” Egypt was not expensive by New
York standards and Frey’s modest expense allowance afforded her a rather nice life this side of the world. She was enjoying her freedom and independence much more than she had done in New York. She had even been persuaded to dip into her savings account for a much-needed wardrobe overhaul and felt more stylish and attractive than she had done for a long time. Travelling was definitely good for her, she thought.
“Oh and by the way, if I get this job, it could defo help find out more about your sheikh and his mummy issues,” she winked, “So wish me good luck!”
Frey had no idea what she was up to but she put aside her worries and wished her friend good luck.
Chapter Seven: The Magical Mystery Tour
After their tantalizing kiss the night before, Frey had quickly recovered and come back down from cloud nine. Part of her had wanted to just go for it. She knew full well the sheikh would have got her into the penthouse suite if he possibly could. And then she would have probably just been another of his many conquests. It had taken a lot of willpower to bid him farewell and return to her hotel. And after her conversation with Katia she wasn’t sure if their kiss had even been that incredible after all. Anything would seem incredible after Kevin Barker with braces!
However, the sheikh had been insistent that he still wanted to play tour guide and so that evening he was taking her on, in his words, a magical mystery tour of the city. She took delight in choosing another of the beautifully put-together outfits Katia had helped her choose on their shopping trip. She enjoyed having someone to dress up for and she slipped on a floor-length midnight-blue gown that hugged her slight figure flatteringly. She waited patiently to be picked up in excited trepidation of what this magical mystery tour might involve.
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