Bundle of Brides

by Kay Thorpe

  She had to guard her feelings all the time. She was determined Edward would never suffer because of the lack of love between his parents. Nor would he ever know the humiliation she felt at being deemed an unsuitable consort for the Crown Prince of Abadan. She was good enough for a marriage of subterfuge and concealment, good enough stock to provide Kahlil with an heir, but not good enough to uphold the dignity of the throne of Abadan.

  Lucy jumped with surprise as the doorbell rang, and for one crazy, exhilarating moment she felt sure it would be Kahlil at the door. Rushing to peer out of the hall window, she saw it was only the mail delivery man with a large package.

  Disappointment and relief swept over her in turn as she hurried to open the door. Had she really thought Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan would simply turn up unannounced on her doorstep, like any ordinary mortal?

  ‘What on earth’s this?’ Lucy exclaimed as the man carried the large carton into the narrow hallway for her.

  ‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘Sign here, please. I’ve got three more for you in the van.’

  ‘Three more!’ Lucy knew in her heart where they must have come from.

  When the man had left, she sank down on the floor beside the boxes. The only thing that stopped her breaking down was Edward. She was determined not to let him see his mother crying over what she knew would almost certainly be her wedding dress and accessories.

  In the first carton Lucy discovered a fabulous jewelled veil covered in crystals and pearls. Holding it up to the light, she felt sure it must be meant for someone else because it was so beautiful. Even with the evidence of the clothes she would wear on her wedding day surrounding her, marriage to Kahlil had never seemed more unreal.

  When she had opened all three boxes, and rifled through the reams of tissue paper, Lucy sat back on her haunches. Kahlil had bought her after all—and for the price of a dress and a few trinkets.

  ‘For the photographs,’ his accompanying letter assured her. ‘It wouldn’t do for Edward to think his parents’ marriage a hastily arranged affair.’

  Kahlil was right again. There was no reason why Edward should be short-changed just because his mother had made such a hash of things. And his father was arriving tomorrow, Lucy saw, reading on.

  Crumpling up the page, she held it to her breast. She felt weak just thinking about Kahlil’s arrival. She never knew what to expect from him, or what he was thinking. One day maybe someone would strip away his defences, get to know the real man, but it wouldn’t be her, however much she longed to. She had tried and failed to get beneath his steely façade.

  ‘Come on, young man,’ she said, turning to Edward, who was already delving into the boxes and scattering clothes and shoes everywhere. ‘There’s nothing for you in here.’

  Except for a box-load of memories for when you are older, Lucy thought as she swept her son into her arms. And then you’ll have to make of them what you will. Because I won’t be able to elaborate on whatever fantasy your imagination conjures up. Nor will I be able to make palatable the fact that your parents married and then divorced within the space of a few months.

  Taking Edward into the kitchen to make them both breakfast, she carried on reading. There would be a discreet civil service at Westbury Hall, Kahlil had written. So it was to be a hotel, Lucy thought, glancing out of the kitchen window. She couldn’t ignore the irony—both ‘Kahl’ and her ambitious plans for Westbury Hall had proved a disaster, and now she was to be married at the Hall, to Kahl!

  From practically every room in her small cottage Lucy had some view of Westbury Hall. That was how the idea of renovating the magnificent old building had taken such a hold in the first place. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from it now, knowing her wedding was to be held there. Hopefully the decorators would be out in time—but, knowing Kahlil’s influence extended far beyond the boundaries of Abadan, she didn’t doubt the new owners of the Hall would make sure everything was ready for him.

  While she was warming Edward’s milk Lucy spotted another van turning in through the Hall’s imposing gates and felt a fierce pang of regret. She had so wanted to bring the old place back to life, but the challenge had got away from her—rather like that other challenge she had encountered at the Hall, the one that had called himself Kahl.

  The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of activity. Lucy had booked into the local beauty salon for a manicure, a facial and a massage. It might be a waste of time, but there was no reason not to look her best when Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan turned up on the doorstep.

  Later, when Edward was sleeping, Lucy crept up the stairs and went into the nursery just to look down at him. He looked like a sleeping fawn, innocent and untroubled, with his baby hands curled up as if he was holding her finger—or his father’s. Backing away, she hugged herself, shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. The only time she ever saw Kahlil soften was when he was with Edward, and then she saw a very different side of the desert Prince—someone who might almost have made a good family man—

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Lucy muttered impatiently. It was time she stopped behaving like a romantic fool where Kahlil was concerned.

  Leaving the nursery on tiptoe, Lucy left the door ajar so she could hear Edward through the night. Returning downstairs, she went into her study and closed the curtains, shutting out the cold, bleak night. All her important papers were still on top of her desk, where she had left them. The marriage contract her lawyers had asked her to sign took pride of place.

  She had refused all payment for herself, and Kahlil had respected that. But she knew that everything Edward could possibly need would be provided for most generously. There would be regular trips between Abadan and Westbury, and they would spend more time in Westbury than Lucy had dared to hope. Leila was to be given the job of full-time nanny—which, in Lucy’s opinion as well as Kahlil’s, would provide additional stability for Edward.

  Kahlil had thought of everything—except love, Lucy reflected, laying down the fountain pen she had just picked up. She didn’t want to read it, couldn’t quite bring herself to sign such a cold-blooded document. But as long as Kahlil loved Edward, that was all that mattered.

  Lucy knew the only thing she wanted, the only thing she had a right to expect was joint custody of their son. Kahlil had already agreed to grant her that without a fight. She should be satisfied. But still she was restless without knowing why.

  Beginning to shiver, she saw the fire had burned low in the grate. She was glad to have something practical to do. Adding more coal, she stirred the fire into life again with a brass poker, and then sat back on her heels. ‘Very soon I will be a wife—and a princess,’ she said aloud, on a note of incredulity. The word princess was so alien to her it filled her with apprehension. ‘And then, in six months’ time, or even less, I will be a free woman again,’ she added firmly for reassurance.

  The whole marriage machine would roll on with or without her co-operation. Kahlil’s staff were making all the arrangements. ‘Perfect. Saves me the trouble,’ she whispered, biting back tears.

  Kahlil will be here today, was Lucy’s first thought on waking. She was grateful for Edward’s routine. It gave her something to do other than stare out of the window every five minutes.

  His letter had said he would be with them by nine o’clock. So by eight Lucy was building towers with Edward out of plastic containers on the kitchen table. The table just happened to be by a window that looked over the road.

  Edward saw him first—or rather he saw the sleek black limousine that drew up outside. And then Kahlil was out of the car and striding up the path almost before it had drawn to a halt. Lucy’s heart was hammering so hard in her chest it hurt. She had forgotten how tall he was, how powerful. Even in the dark, formal suit he looked so regal.

  She stayed out of sight, watching as he stopped before the porch to take in the cottage with one sweeping glance. There was just a touch of humour in his eyes, she noticed with surprise, and she flushed pink as she realised that he was rememb
ering everything about their first encounter—but Edward was jiggling up and down in her arms, eager to greet his father.

  ‘Just a minute, please,’ Lucy said to Edward firmly, watching Kahlil turn to stare at Westbury Hall. Of course—that was where it had all begun for both of them. Her heart lurched as he turned back to the cottage and reached for the doorbell.

  She remembered everything too, Lucy thought on her way to the door. Every time she walked past the gates of the Hall. And every time she felt the same thrill, the same certainty that she had done nothing wrong. She smiled at Edward as she reached the front door. ‘How could it be wrong when I have you?’ she whispered in his ear.

  The bodyguard Kahlil insisted upon, who lived in the house alongside them, like a wraith, descended the stairs like a cannonball. Stretching one arm out in front of Lucy, he swung the door open and bowed low. Heat streamed into Lucy’s veins. She was glad of Edward’s comforting warmth in her arms as she stood back in the shadows with him, waiting. There was a great gust of fresh air laced with cinnamon and ginger as Kahlil stepped into the tiny hall.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said, looking down at her.

  Here in the low-beamed cottage, standing in the shady hall, he seemed immense, magnificent. Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan had an immense presence, Lucy thought, steeling herself to meet his gaze. She had prepared herself for this moment. She would expect nothing and therefore could not be disappointed. That was what she had told herself. But she was disappointed. There was nothing—nothing at all between them, she realised as he swept a frantically excited Edward out of her arms.

  ‘My son!’ he exclaimed softly and emotionally, holding Edward close for a moment.

  She could never have truly prepared herself for this, Lucy realised, seeing the look in Edward’s eyes as he gazed into his father’s face. Not for the great well of longing that opened up in her heart. But what had she been expecting? That they would both be swept into Kahlil’s arms like a proper family? That she would be greeted like Kahlil’s future wife, with love and tender kisses in the expectation of a lifetime of happiness together?

  ‘Did you have a good journey?’ she said, forcing the traditional courtesy through her lips.

  Kahlil frowned briefly. ‘I could have brought the helicopter,’ he said, and there was an edge of irritation in his voice as he glanced over his shoulder through the mullioned window at Westbury Hall. ‘I didn’t realise they’d finished the roof.’

  Lucy stared up at him in bewilderment. His comment was so far distant from her own thoughts that it took her a moment to respond. ‘That would have been more convenient for you,’ she said at last, not sure that he was listening.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ he said, looking beyond Lucy, deeper into the cottage.

  ‘Yes—yes, of course,’ she said, backing down the hallway in front of him. ‘You’ve had a long trip. Won’t you come into the kitchen for a coffee, tea…some breakfast?’

  There was something unreal about inviting the imposing figure of Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan into her humble kitchen for coffee. But Kahl hadn’t been too proud to eat and drink in her kitchen almost two years ago, Lucy remembered, watching him set Edward down on his play rug.

  ‘You’ve made some changes,’ Kahlil observed.

  ‘For Edward’s safety,’ Lucy said. She was glad to turn her back and busy herself at the Aga with the kettle and two mugs. ‘This thing gets red-hot,’ she turned to explain, ‘so I had a guard frame with a gate made to fit around it. But it won’t be long until he learns how to open it—Edward!’ she exclaimed, putting the mugs down again.

  Kahlil too stood frozen to the spot as Edward took his first few faltering steps unaided. Arms outstretched, he staggered determinedly towards his father and finally, in triumph, grabbed hold of Kahlil’s legs.

  Lucy’s hand flew to her chest and she drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m so glad you were here for that,’ she said honestly.

  ‘So am I,’ Kahlil said, his voice hoarse with emotion as he lifted Edward into his arms.

  Briefly, Lucy turned away, not wanting to begrudge either of them such a special moment. But she was tormented by the fear that every step Edward took towards his father was a step away from her.

  When Edward called for her attention a flood of fresh resolve came over her and she hurried to share his excitement, not caring that when she hugged Edward she was forced hard against Kahlil. There might be nothing left between them, but this was a very special moment.

  Kahlil suggested Edward should be taken for a walk in his stroller. ‘Don’t look so worried, Lucy. I brought a friend of yours and Edward’s with me from Abadan,’ he said, looking towards the door.

  ‘Leila!’ Lucy said, exclaiming with pleasure when she saw the girl. ‘It’s so good to see you.’

  ‘And you,’ Leila said warmly. ‘Shall I take Edward now?’ She came in to collect her charge.

  ‘You do seem to have thought of everything,’ Lucy admitted, turning to Kahlil, conscious that Edward was reaching out for his father, reluctant to leave him now.

  ‘Edward loves his daddy—don’t you, Edward?’ Leila said fondly, piercing Lucy’s heart with her innocent words. ‘But we could go and feed the ducks, if you like?’

  Her distraction was skilful, and Edward was easily persuaded. Lucy could already feel Kahlil’s influence pushing them both this way and that, and he had only been back in their lives a few minutes.

  ‘Do all the clothes that I had sent over for the wedding fit?’ Kahlil asked, when the door had closed behind Leila and Edward.

  ‘Perfectly,’ Lucy said tensely, finding her gaze drawn against her will to his strong, tanned fingers—fingers that had measured every inch of her with such accuracy.

  ‘Good.’

  As their gazes met and held Lucy turned away, feeling awkward. She wasn’t sure what Kahlil expected of her. ‘I’ve already picked up some of my old contacts,’ she said, forcing a bright conversational note into her voice. ‘I should be quite busy after the wedding.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he said sharply.

  ‘I mean I’ll start work right away…’

  Kahlil swore softly in his own tongue. ‘Are you mad?’ he said in English, staring at Lucy in amazement.

  ‘You always knew I would keep on working. It’s written into the contract on my desk. We agreed—’

  ‘You shall work,’ Kahlil said, ‘but not here—not in this country. I have much to occupy me in Abadan. You must be with me for much of the time, and I would not expect you to sit around all day doing nothing. My people expect—’

  ‘Our people—if only for six months,’ Lucy reminded him, trying to stay cool, trying to be reasonable.

  ‘Our people,’ he conceded—but grudgingly, Lucy thought. ‘The people of Abadan will expect to see us together, performing certain official duties.’

  Lucy’s patience was wearing thin. He seemed to have everything worked out in advance. She hadn’t been consulted about anything. ‘Isn’t that a little modern?’ she interrupted, stung into a sharp retort by his manner.

  ‘Not for me,’ Kahlil said, ‘and not for the people of Abadan. Why, Lucy? Don’t you think you can handle it?’

  ‘I can handle it,’ Lucy said, feeling her anger mounting. She was determined not to be backed into the place Kahlil wanted her to be: the willing wife, the obedient consort, the woman without a mind of her own, the person who could be swept up and dropped at will, whenever and wherever it pleased him.

  ‘Good, then that’s settled. After the wedding tomorrow—’

  ‘Tomorrow!’

  ‘Is there any reason to wait?’

  ‘In Abadan you said I needed time,’ Lucy exclaimed, springing to her feet. ‘You said we both did. You promised I would have all the time I needed to come to terms with this.’

  ‘I had to bring things forward; I have responsibilities. The formalities are being arranged.’

  ‘Everything is being arranged from the sound of it,’ Lucy said tensely.
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br />   ‘The guests have been informed; none of them has complained,’ Kahlil pointed out impatiently. ‘I can’t see why you should be so reluctant.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Lucy said shaking her head. ‘This is my life we’re talking about, Kahlil, and I won’t be controlled by you.’

  ‘You will do whatever is necessary.’

  ‘I will do anything for Edward,’ Lucy agreed. ‘But if you think for one moment you can order me around, that I will become your bond slave the moment we’re married, you’re mistaken. I agreed to this marriage for Edward—not for myself, and certainly not for you!’

  ‘Nevertheless, we will be married tomorrow,’ Kahlil said, standing up to face her. ‘And immediately after the wedding you and Edward will accompany me to Abadan.’

  Lucy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had been so sure there would be more time. She had been complacent—too complacent, she realised now.

  ‘There will be a civil ceremony tomorrow, here at Westbury Hall,’ Kahlil continued remorselessly. ‘That is so our marriage will be recognised in your country. When we return to Abadan we will have a second ceremony—a blessing, if you like—so that my people can greet and accept my new wife.’

  Unable to meet his eyes, Lucy looked at her hands and found they were shaking. ‘I didn’t realise…I mean, I didn’t think Edward and I would be leaving for Abadan straight after the wedding.’

  Kahlil moved a step towards her, as if he thought she needed some reassurance.

  ‘Don’t,’ Lucy said. ‘Don’t touch me. I can’t believe you’re trying to rush me into marriage like this.’

  ‘Rush you?’ Kahlil queried coldly. ‘We agreed for Edward’s sake.’

  ‘Yes, we agreed, but you said it would happen when I was ready.’

  ‘It can’t wait for ever, and the time is convenient.’

  ‘For whom?’ But Lucy knew she was wasting her breath. And she had agreed. She wouldn’t back down. ‘Very well, but I won’t be manipulated again.’