‘I will take your other clothes and wash them, and if you need something else to wear, the cupboards in the dressing room have a selection of clothes in different sizes, all of them new.’
‘Why is that?’ Liz asked, intrigued by a guest room that came complete with clothing for the guest.
‘In other times, people who had nothing would be taken in by the tribe. In the desert you cannot turn strangers away, for on their own they would surely die. If a person is hungry you must feed him or without clothes then you must cover him. That is our way.’
And when a person needs comfort, you comfort her, Liz added to herself just to make sure she understood that the attraction was going nowhere.
Once showered and dressed, she followed Mori to a huge room where women were already seated around a long piece of woven material stretched out on the floor. It would have been a tablecloth, Liz realised, had there been a table.
She joined Mori on a cushion on the floor.
‘This is Rimmi, Khalifa’s grandmother.’ Mori introduced her to the small woman on the other side of Liz. ‘She is the head of the house and likes to keep to the old ways, which is why we eat like this for breakfast and for dinner, everyone together.’
Mori rattled off a conversation Liz couldn’t understand, but it must have been an introduction for the older woman, Rimmi, turned and took Liz’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and smiling with a warmth that had Liz immediately smiling back.
‘Could you ask her if she has been down into the desert and found the relatives of the woman in hospital?’ Liz asked Mori, who spoke again.
Rimmi’s grasp tightened on Liz’s fingers and she nodded then spoke, her voice a husky whisper.
‘She says the family is already at the hospital and you are to be thanked and most blessed for all you have done.’
Liz smiled at the compliment and thanked Rimmi, then glanced up, startled, as an excited chatter spread among the women, while the children were positively yelping with glee.
As was Liz’s stupid heart, for Khalifa had entered the big room and apparently intended to share the meal with the women and children.
She watched the reactions around the table as he bent and kissed the women one by one, tousling the hair of the little ones he passed before settling down on the other side of his grandmother.
Liz told her racing heart to stop its nonsense, and nodded to the man. She longed to ask Mori about his presence, but obviously she couldn’t with him sitting so close.
And so at ease! His long body settled comfortably on the cushion, his legs hidden beneath a clean white gown, the sides of his headscarf tucked up tonight in some complicated fashion so she could see more of his face than was usually revealed when he wore his traditional dress.
Such a strong face. Having heard his stories of the men around the campfire, she could picture him in olden times, a rifle slung across his lap, perhaps a child held against his shoulder, for this man, she guessed, could be both hard and soft.
Now food appeared, great bowls of it, the steam rising from the bowls carrying all the scents of the market they’d visited earlier, deliciously woven into mouth-watering dishes.
Rimmi served Liz, Khalifa explaining what each spoonful was as it was placed on her plate. He passed her bread to eat with it, then demonstrated on his own plate how to use it to scoop the food to his mouth.
‘Although there is cutlery if you’d prefer. You’ll find it wrapped in that napkin in front of your plate.’
Liz grinned at him and picked up the napkin.
‘Better safe than sorry,’ she said.
And was surprised when he murmured, ‘Klutz,’ very softly but with an undertone of affection that caught her off guard so for a moment she forgot about keeping her distance from him and smiled.
* * *
He’d known he shouldn’t come—should have eaten at his own house—but all his brothers and their families were up in the capital, and he’d felt like company.
Felt like Liz Jones’s company, the last functioning cell in his brain had whispered, and he’d been unable to deny it.
Fortunately, before he could become too entangled in his thoughts, Rimmi demanded his attention, talking to him but apparently meaning the conversation to include Liz Jones as well, for she had asked Mori to translate.
‘The people of the desert—the people I spoke to—do not understand the hospital,’ she was saying. ‘To them it is a place where people die, so they do not wish to go there. Somehow you must explain better, to the women in particular, that going to the hospital, or to one of the clinics in the oasis villages, is the best thing to do for themselves and their children.’
‘And the men?’ Khalifa asked.
Rimmi shrugged her shoulders.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘the men! As good to talk to the camels or the date palms. But you must talk to the women. Take Dr Jones with you so they see it is a woman they will deal with, and let her explain about what can be done when pregnancy or births go wrong. A woman can tell other women.’
Khalifa glanced at Liz. Had she taken it all in? Had Mori translated it properly?
She smiled at him and nodded as if he’d asked the questions aloud, and her eyes sparkled as she said, ‘You and I talked about doing this earlier—was it on the plane or before that? I can’t remember. Talked about taking a crib and explaining what happens in a special-care unit. I’d be happy to go. Just tell me when. After climbing one of your sand dunes, I’m dying to see more of the desert, and I think until the internal changes are made to the unit there’s not much I can do there. So, when do we go?’
Now?
Tonight?
That was his libido talking, and he knew it could no longer be considered in this situation. She’d made if perfectly clear there’d be no more ‘complications’, as she’d put it, and it was only right that he should honour her request.
And she was right about the dalliance. Was that the word she’d used? Whatever might have happened between them, it could have been no more than that. How could he, who’d already failed one woman, and her child, take on responsibility for another?
Although to have a child…
He spoke before melancholy swamped him.
‘I understand Phil has the alterations in hand for the space where the unit will be. The hospital tradespeople are beginning work in a couple of days,’ he replied, when he realised his silence had stretched for far too long. ‘Do you feel you need to be there to supervise that part?’
She bit her lip—something he hadn’t seen her do, and rather wished she wasn’t doing so now given the way his intention strayed to the pinkness.
‘I can’t see that I’d be needed,’ she said eventually. ‘Would we have mobile coverage or access to telephones? Some way for Phil to reach me if he needed to ask me something?’
Phil again!
‘In most areas,’ Khalifa assured her. ‘It might be called the Endless Desert but it’s not the end of the world.’
She smiled at his defence of his country and he realised this trip might be a big mistake. Wasn’t he supposed to be spending less time in this woman’s company, not more? Hadn’t he decided that only hours earlier?
Then Rimmi was speaking, asking how he’d travel, who he’d take with him, whether they would be staying overnight and what arrangements she should make for the doctor’s comfort.
Mori was explaining Rimmi’s words to Liz, who was looking more puzzled by the moment.
‘When your grandmother wants to know how you’ll travel, she’s not talking camels, is she, because right now I’m not sure—’
He had to laugh.
‘I think she meant helicopter or car,’ he explained. ‘Going by helicopter, we could cover a lot more villages and tribal camps in one day.’
Now Liz was frowning at him.
‘But dropping out of the sky and telling these people stuff then whirling away again—isn’t that what you’re wanting to avoid? From what Mori tells me, most of
the nomadic tribes now travel in four-wheel-drive vehicles and trucks, although they still keep camels. Aren’t we better, if we’re trying to introduce new ideas without changing their lifestyles too much, approaching them in a vehicle they’re used to?’
It made sense, but before he could agree she was speaking again.
‘And on that subject, I think if you’re coming with me, you should come as a bloke, not a highness. Oh, they’ll know who you are, but if you’re in casual clothes—do you do casual clothes?—they might be more receptive. It seems to me the white gown puts up a kind of barrier, which you probably need at times, but in this case—’
She stopped suddenly, her fingers covering her mouth as if to stop more words coming out, her cheeks slightly flushed with embarrassment.
‘I do talk too much!’ she muttered from behind those long, slim fingers with their pale, unpainted nails.
‘No, you’re right,’ he assured her. ‘I see your point, but if we’re to cover all the tribespeople we will, as my grandmother says, have to stay overnight, and though we’d be welcome in the camps you might enjoy the experience of a night in the desert. With inflatable mattresses and sleeping bags it can be quite comfortable. What do you think?’
And what was he thinking, even to be considering spending a night in the desert with this woman? He, who knew the magic the desert skies could weave, the mischief the djinns could get up to? He’d forget the night in the desert and work it so they stayed in a village—all villages had buildings in which to put up guests.
‘I can manage an inflatable bed, although getting into a sleeping bag might be a bit tight,’ Liz responded, then she smiled, and her eyes shone with excitement as she said, ‘But, oh, a night in the desert! I’ve never dreamt I’d experience such a thing! It would be fantastic!’
So there he was, stuck. But if he took Saif to set up camp and cook—wouldn’t that be best? Although taking Saif when they were visiting the tribespeople would be a bit like wearing his kandora and headscarf—proclaiming his leadership by bringing a retinue, if only a retinue of one.
Saif in another vehicle—would that be best?
‘What are you thinking, my boy?’ Rimmi asked, and he turned to her, wondering just what she meant by the question.
‘Are you doubting the wisdom of my taking the woman into the desert to speak to the tribespeople?’ he asked, and she smiled and shook her head.
‘Not at all, the idea is a good one for, if you remember, it was mine. I am wondering about the thoughts that make you frown?’
Khalifa was sure his frown had deepened, for he could hardly tell his grandmother he feared taking the woman into the desert because he lusted after her. She would remind him Liz was a visitor and order him to put such thoughts from his mind.
At least, he thought she would, and now she was waiting for his answer.
‘I wouldn’t like Dr Jones to be uncomfortable,’ he said.
Rimmi smiled.
‘I think Dr Jones is more than capable of looking after her own comfort,’ she said. ‘And I think it is you who will be uncomfortable, although you must be aware she will get tired. Make sure she rests in the afternoon and do not let her overstrain herself.’
Khalifa eyed his grandmother suspiciously. The older he got, the more he suspected the woman could read his mind, especially the bits of it he’d preferred remain unread.
Liz wondered what the pair was saying. Mori had stopped translating so obviously it was some private conversation, although Liz had heard Khalifa use her name.
The meal continued, more dishes appearing, more strange morsels of food to try, but finally Liz pushed aside her plate and turned to Mori.
‘I realise it might be rude to leave the table, but I really need to stand up and walk around. Could you please explain that to Rimmi?’
Mori had barely nodded when Khalifa got to his feet, spoke to his grandmother, then reached out to support Liz as she struggled upright.
‘Too much food,’ she said, hoping to conceal the sizzling heat his touch was transferring to her hand.
She looked down, wishing there was some way she could offer Rimmi a direct apology, but when she tried, the old woman held up her hand and spoke through Mori.
‘My grandson will take you for a walk in the garden. In your condition you must do this before you go to bed. It will help you sleep.’
Liz thanked her and followed Khalifa from the room, waving a general farewell to the women and children. A walk in the garden was just what she needed, but with Khalifa?
Perhaps if they talked about work…
She paused outside the door to push her feet into her sandals, keeping her hand on the wall to balance herself so there was no need to touch Khalifa again.
‘I know Dr Hassan had two special-care cribs flown down with her when she came. If we take one of them, would it leave the hospital short?’ she asked, as they walked down the steps and onto the main path through the garden.
Khalifa didn’t answer, although he paused and she stopped, just a little ahead of him, and looked back to where he stood, a dark figure lit by small lanterns burning at intervals along the path.
‘Look around you. Do you really want to talk of work out here in the magic of the moonlight and the beauty of the garden?’
She smiled before she answered.
‘Yes, I do,’ she said firmly. ‘Magic’s all well and good, but it doesn’t save babies, neither will it help the women of these desert tribes you talk of to visit a doctor or nurse if they need it during their pregnancy.’
‘Then, yes, we can take a crib and whatever else you need,’ he replied, sounding distinctly grumpy. ‘Tomorrow I will take you to the hospital and you can organise whatever you want. There, are you satisfied? Can we now walk in the garden in silence, doing no more than enjoying the beauty of the evening? It is for your peace of mind, so you will sleep well, that my grandmother suggested the walk.’
Peace of mind! That’s a joke. Peace of mind with him around?
Liz wanted to yell at him, to rail against the feelings he stirred in her without any apparent effort on his part. But it seemed he’d accepted her edict on the kiss, that it had just been a kiss and they shouldn’t make too much of it, and had withdrawn behind the persona of the perfect host.
Perhaps that was all he’d ever been, his talk of attraction to her just that—talk!
So she walked with him in the garden and slowly the fizzing and sparks died down and the peace and beauty of the place entered her soul.
‘It is beautiful,’ she said, pausing by the fountain, trailing her hand in the shimmering water. ‘I am glad we walked.’
Well, good for her!
Khalifa’s mood was savage. Walking beside this woman in this place that was so special to him had been nothing less than torture. Walking beside her and not touching her, not feeling the softness of her skin or tasting the ripeness of her lips, captured in a kiss in the shadows of an olive tree. His body ached to feel her softness, his arms to hold her, but in his heart he knew he couldn’t, and his head told him it was just as well she’d put a stop to further dalliance—because once he did touch her, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop.
He held himself up to his full highness bearing, but the façade cracked and fell apart when she put out a hand, slightly damp from playing in the fountain, and grasped one of his, splashing water, klutz-style, all down his kandora.
‘Thank you for the walk. There must be magic in this garden to have given me such ease,’ she said, as cool as the hand that still held his. ‘I hadn’t realised just how badly my body needed to absorb some peace and beauty, to relax and let fate take its course. I’ve been pushing for things to fall into place, desperate for some certainty ahead, but now I realise I need to be patient and let whatever happens happen.’
He took her other hand and looked into her eyes, liking it that she was a tall woman, only a few inches shorter than his considerable height.
‘You’ve had every rea
son to be lost in uncertainty,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad our garden brought you peace. Use it whenever you like, stay as long as you like. You will be looked after here and when, as you say, whatever happens happens, we will deal with that then.’
She smiled and he had to grip her hands more tightly because the urge to lean forward and take off her ghastly glasses and then press kisses all over her moonlit face was so strong that only by anchoring himself to her could he resist.
He walked her back to the guest house and saw her safely into Mori’s care, then headed home, already on the phone making arrangements for their journey. Phil Cutler could make himself useful getting the things Liz would need ready for the trip, and Saif could pack the necessities for a night in the desert.
Yes, he was tempting fate by spending a night with her in the desert, whose magic was even stronger than the magic of the garden, but if the garden had given her peace, how much more at ease would she be after a night in the desert? And now he knew the torment she’d been suffering in recent months, how could he not offer her that one night?
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT TOOK a day to get organised but they left before dawn the following day, Liz assuring Khalifa that she loved early mornings, which wasn’t entirely true but she had been sleeping so fitfully lately that getting out of bed had become a relief.
Now, driving through the desert, she was glad they’d left early. Already the dark shadows cast by the waves of dunes were lightening and the sands were changing colour, turning from black and grey to red and gold, so she felt she was in a world filling with colour.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ she murmured, hardly daring to speak lest noise break the spell that beauty had bound around her.
‘And treacherous, never forget that,’ Khalifa told her. ‘The beauty can lull the unwary into thinking nothing bad can ever happen here, but the desert is a cruel master and must always be treated with respect.’
She turned away from the magic beyond the window to look at him.
The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum Page 10