I heaved a sigh. Instead of an old pair of jeans and a comfy jumper, I was wearing smart black slacks and a pale pink pure silk blouse. “I told you he’s generous, Sophie. And he likes me to wear what he’s bought for me.” I waved a hand down at myself. “I could never afford to buy stuff like this before, but now I can I love it. This is me!” As I added the last bit, I wondered who I was trying to persuade, her or me? Whichever, I’d not done a good job of convincing her if her expression was any indication. I decided to move this on, “Now, Soph, can we please change the bloody subject? I’m happy—happier than I’ve ever been! Can’t you just be pleased that I’ve found someone?”
Another critical look. I started to think this evening was a complete fuck up, and perhaps I should just summon the car to take me home. Ethan’s chauffeur was on standby to collect me as I was drinking tonight; I held my tongue on that bit of information, expecting my friend would find something to criticise about that too. I looked up at her from underneath my eyelashes, hoping she’d leave the subject alone. But she had one more thing to say.
“Do you love him?”
Did I? Now that was the question. I was ‘in love’ with him; I loved the life, the money. But as a partner for life? The jury was still out on that. As an answer, I gave her a dismissive shrug and then turned the conversation back to her. “What about you, Soph? Anyone sweep you off your feet yet?”
She glared, knowing exactly what I was trying to do, but my expression must have shown her she’d got as much out of me as she was going to. She mumbled something under her breath that I didn’t catch, and probably wouldn’t want to have heard in any event.
With a shake of her head, she reached out and touched my hand. “I love you babes, and I’m always here for you. Remember that!” Then, after downing another good part of her vodka she started telling me about the latest fiasco at her work. Soon she had me in stitches as she described a workmate who’d embarrassingly left his fly undone revealing his Flintstone boxers. Telling me, to his chargrin, they’ve since nicknamed him Fred, the matter of my new boyfriend was thankfully dropped.
Chapter 6
Kadar
Have we any other business to discuss?” I address Sadiq, our newly appointed Minister of Finance. In English, his name translates as sincere or truthful, and I only hope he lives up to it. The previous occupant of his post had proved to be anything but. It was Cara, my sister-in-law and the other participant at this meeting, who had exposed his predecessor’s treachery.
“Nothing from me, Your Excellency,” Sadiq politely dips his head.
I wipe my hand over my brow. It’s been a hectic month since Emir Rushdi died, and one in which I’ve had to become immersed in state business with no time for anything else. What with trying to get an oil field constructed in the Southern Desert while maintaining peace with the desert tribes—following the warnings from Rais and Abdul-Muhsi, rumours have increased that some of the other leaders are now vociferously voicing doubts about my ability to rule the country—my days are fraught with problems.
But now another meeting is over, and I can cross it off my very long list. Every minute of every day I have to concentrate on projecting an image of a confident man to the world, while underneath I’m struggling, trying to come to terms with the role life’s unexpectedly thrust upon me. Trying to second guess the outcomes of each of the decisions I have to make. Trying to do my best for Amahad.
“Kadar, can I speak to you for a moment?”
Cara interrupts my thoughts. I sigh, narrowing my eyes, unable to spare the time but equally incapable of resisting the woman who’s over half way through her pregnancy now, absolutely glowing, her ballooning tummy clearly visible. And despite my impatience at yet another delay before I start on the myriad of other tasks waiting for my attention, I would be a fool to dismiss her or what she might want to say. My sister-in-law has a well-earned reputation for uncovering trouble and while the last thing I want is another problem on my plate, if she’s got anything I need to know about, it would be stupid to delay hearing it. I throw her a quick nod of agreement then watch as, with a deep reverential bow, Sadiq leaves us.
“What is it, Cara?” Switching to English, the language I used throughout my youth while being educated at Eton and Oxford and that I’m as comfortable speaking as my native Arabic, I raise my eyebrows and stroke my hand across my chin as I wait to hear what my brother’s wife has to say. Taking a moment to admire her I realise how she’s grown into her role. In the last few months, she’s picked up enough of our language to be able to hold her own even during complicated financial discussions, sometimes to our detriment. We can’t hide anything from her now, and occasionally I forget her fluency to my cost.
She shakes her head, in answer to my question. “No glitches or anything Kadar, don’t worry. The country’s money is safe. There are only the usual problems, as you know. I’d rather be with Nijad.”
The ‘usual’ refers to the fact that the current unsettled situation following my accession to the throne has forced her to relocate to the main palace in Al Qar’ah as a precautionary measure, rather than staying in the desert city, Z̧almā, with her husband. Although the challenges since my father’s death have so far only been verbal, both my youngest brother and I have fears that insurgents may be plotting to actively contest my supremacy. In the event of acts of violence or, Allah forbid, an outright civil war, Cara is better protected here in this cosmopolitan city, rather than among the more primitive and often volatile tribes in the desert.
“So what can I do for you?” I know I sound haughty, but I have a massive pile of paperwork to address. Glancing across at the myriad of contracts and other legal documents I need to wade through, I heave a deep sigh then wave my hand to encourage her and let her know I’ll hear her out.
“The harem,” she starts.
It was the last thing I expected her to say! Even though I’m in the middle of sorting out at least a dozen problems, the mention of the ancient building makes me guffaw, “Missing the Desert Palace?”
Now it’s her turn to narrow her eyes, and she’s unable to hide the blush that comes to her cheeks. While not in a strict twenty-four-seven Dominant/submissive relationship, both she and Nijad like to play so part of the harem in their home, the Desert Palace, has been transformed into a Dom’s Dungeon. She’s not going to suggest something similar for the palace here in Al-Qar’ah, is she? My eyebrows rise, as I consider it. I’ve played such games myself―out of the country, of course. An emir, or even just an heir to the throne, has to preserve their integrity on home ground. I am a Dominant, but I’m not sure I need an actual dungeon to amuse myself. And not being married, I have no one in Amahad I can play with, or not without becoming the source of unwanted gossip.
“Kadar, get your mind out of the gutter.” Cara rebukes me with an easy smile.
Again I sigh, now thinking back fondly to the time when I used to intimidate her. It seems I can do that no longer. Perhaps I’m losing my touch. “Spit it out then, Sheikha.”
“It’s a beautiful place, Kadar, or it was once. It’s just decaying now.”
I know the harem has a special place in Cara’s heart, and it’s one part of the palace she grew to know extremely well when she was incarcerated there during the weeks when we thought her to be a thief. It was also the place where her child was conceived, where Nijad proposed to her, and where they spent their wedding night. It doesn’t take a genius to guess what she might be thinking. “You want to renovate it?”
She nods slowly and blushes again, making me intrigued. She gets out of her chair, walks across my office to the windows and an open door leading into the gardens, and gazes out while she starts to speak. “Even the word ‘harem’ brings forth evocative images.” She swings round to face me with a twinkle in her eye, and throws out a challenge, “You aren’t planning on using it for its original purpose, are you, Kadar?”
I snort. One of the so-called benefits of occupying the Amahadian throne is
that ancient laws dictate I have sole access to the harem. I can’t deny the idea of a bevy of concubines awaiting my pleasure does hold some attraction, especially as I’ve not been able to spread the royal seed except via the efforts of my hand for longer than I care to remember. But that really would be a step back into the dark ages. “No, my dear, I am not.”
“Well,” her eyes shine with excitement, “Why not renovate the harem so that we can offer it as elitist accommodation for people wanting to act out their fantasies? Perhaps a honeymoon couple or someone who wants to propose?” She pauses, and as a flush crosses her face, I suspect she’s recollecting Nijad’s marriage offer. Not that either of them has ever admitted the details of that event, but from her behaviour and my brother’s enormously satisfied grin on his face immediately afterwards, I always understood the occasion to have been somewhat special.
But I can’t quite grasp the idea. “Not sure if you’ll be able to find people to volunteer for the role of a eunuch. Considering the er, physical adaptations required.”
She laughs, a lovely tinkling sound, making me realise yet again why my brother fell in love with her. She came here a shy woman, completely lacking in self-esteem and has grown into an entirely different person, blossoming in her relationship despite the original auspices. An arranged marriage of two such different types shouldn’t have resulted in wedded bliss. But who can predict anything? As I watch her returning across the room, my mind flits to my own forthcoming nuptials; a second marriage of convenience in the Kassis family, wondering briefly whether there’s any chance that I could be as lucky. Then, as she takes her seat at the conference table once again, with a surprising grace for a heavily pregnant woman, I realise my own chance of being so happily wed is probably next to nothing.
Cara throws a glance my way and takes a moment to consider her thoughts then, as she continues to try to persuade me, I pull back my attention to what she’s saying. “The harem’s got its own entrance that can be isolated quite easily from the rest of the palace, so no security issues there. And maybe even the foreign dignitaries who visit might like to experience a bit of the exotic?”
I can’t stop a smile spreading across my face as I find some light relief in trying to picture the president or king of one of our allies lying back on luscious cushions, experiencing his bit of the exotic by being catered to by semi-nude belly dancers and concubines waiting to service him. But perhaps they’d appreciate that, and it could help improve our international relations. I end up grinning and chuckle, “So what do you suggest?”
“I’d like to take it on as a project; employ someone who can design both the alterations required to the building and restore the gardens to their former glory. Someone who can be both sympathetic to the history and provide twenty-first-century comfort to the accommodation.” She’s taking this seriously.
I groan, “Cara, renovating the harem is right off the bottom of the list of things that I need to address at the moment. We’ve got a potential revolt happening in the Southern Desert, and I’m attracting international attention as to how I’ll deal with that, as well as an oilfield to get off the ground and developed. I can’t get involved with something like this. I simply haven’t got the time.”
Sitting back in her chair the smirk on her face lets me know I’ve played straight into her lap. “I have. I’ve got the time. I’ll take on the project. It will give me something to do now I’ve here in the main palace, and not in Z̧almā.”
Personally, I think she’s got more than enough to do incubating my soon-to-be niece or nephew inside her, but then what the fuck do I know? I’m not a woman. I think about it for a moment. There’s no point in having a harem any longer, and if left to itself it will just disintegrate into dust without renovation. It can’t hurt to let her take such a project on, although I’m still to be convinced of the benefits. Still, there’s part of me that would be loathe to see any aspect of the fabric of our rich history neglected and left to crumble away. Putting my head on one side, I consider her. Is a restoration proposal something to satisfy her nesting instincts, perhaps?
I come to a decision. “If,” I hold up my hand to emphasise the point, “If Nijad agrees to you taking on the extra work, I will give my agreement. But only on the condition that you assume responsibility for the whole of the project—and that means every single detail! I have no time or inclination to be involved in any way at all. Any issues you deal with yourself.”
She jumps up, runs around the table and hugs me. “Kadar, thank you!”
I can do nothing but hug her back; she’s so demonstrative since she’s come out of her shell. “Nijad hasn’t said yes, yet.” I remind her.
“He will,” she assures me with a grin.
As she leaves my office, I shake my head. She’s probably right; she’s got her husband twisted around her little finger. No woman, I think emphatically, is ever going to have that sort of power over me. I lean my head back and then move it from side to side trying to get the kinks out of my neck. Cara’s presence has provided a welcome interlude in my day, albeit probably putting me behind. Damn this role, damn my destiny. For fuck’s sake, why did my father die? I don’t need these millstones hanging around me. I close my eyes. It’s bad enough that Cara’s had to relocate, and Nijad’s exposing himself to danger again. The tribes don’t trust me without trying my authority, testing my strength. And the jihadists are just waiting for a chance for us to show weakness so they can cross over our borders. The burden to prevent radicalisation affecting Amahad such as has spread to other Arab countries lies with me. Everything rests on my shoulders.
Chapter 7
Zoe
I realise Josh had asked me a question, and it’s a good one, how the fuck did I get involved with Ethan in the first place? His raised eyebrows show he’s still waiting for an answer, so I go for the simple version, “I got involved with him because I was stupid, alright? And now I’m getting away.” I don’t want to say anymore.
He knows there has more to it than that but doesn’t press me, changing tack to ask, “Have you got somewhere to go?”
Shaking my head, I admit, “Ethan’s got every resource he could want behind him, Josh. All I know is I’ve got to get as far away as possible; somewhere he won’t bother looking. I can’t leave any trail.”
Leaning back against a workbench, he folds his arms across his chest. “Tell me how I can help? Do you want to stay at my place for a while? At least until your injuries have healed?”
The offer stuns me. How can this man, this stranger who met me for the first time yesterday, and then for only a few minutes, be so kind; so willing to assist me? All I’d thought he’d agree to do was get a simple but urgent message to Sophie, but now he’s offering me a place to stay? But it would be too easy an answer.
“Josh, I can’t thank you enough for the offer, but it’s too close to home. And I don’t want to involve you any further,” I pause. There is a way he could help me. “You could give me a lift to the station if you wouldn’t mind.”
“If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.” He looks at me steadily for a moment and sees the answer in the set of my features. Then he throws a glance over at his van emblazoned with the name of his business and gives a small shake of his head. Rummaging in his pocket, he comes out with a set of keys dangling in hand and tells me we’ll ‘borrow’ one of the cars he’s got in to fix. I hastily agree, knowing if Ethan had remembered his details he’d probably leave no stone unturned and check out routes taken by all vehicles registered to the mechanic who’d helped me.
Josh picks up his coat, not seeming to care he’s going to have to close up his business for a while. “Let’s get you going then; I suspect you don’t want to dally.” He leans over and grabs a beanie and scarf from behind the counter. “Put these on, pull the hat right down. That’s good. Not the height of fashion but they’ll do the job.” He nods encouragingly as I do as he suggests. “If you keep your head down no one will recognise you. And, look,
love, if you need anything, anytime, call me.” Again he stares at me intently, until I agree.
Then I remember. I smile weakly, “I haven’t got a phone.”
He wipes his hand over his face, thinking. “Easiest thing to trace, I suppose. Hang on.” He goes over to the desk again and tips out the contents of a drawer, coming back to me with an ancient looking Nokia. “I bought this as a spare, never used it. It’s not registered to me. All you need to do is to buy a sim.”
Words are inadequate to convey the depth of my gratitude. Thank heavens I met this man yesterday. Someone must be watching over me. Before we leave, I ask for a cup of water, and under Josh’s angry gaze down a couple of the painkillers I’d bought, delaying taking the morning after pill due to the possible side effects the pharmacist had explained. I can’t afford to get sick until I reach a place of safety and I’ve got a couple of day’s leeway before it would cease to be effective. He shakes his head when I wrap my good hand around my left wrist and quietly swears when I grimace in pain. But he doesn’t say anything; there’s nothing he can say.
I follow him through the garage and out the back where a white Audi is parked, and get in the passenger seat. After thinking for a moment, he suggests, “Going back into Guildford would be a giveaway, it’s the first place he’d look. It’s only an extra half-an-hour’s drive to Morden; I’ll take you there, and you can disappear into the tube network.” I don’t have to think twice about it; it’s a better plan, the train service in town has limited options. Adapt and improvise, isn’t that a motto I read somewhere?
Luckily the traffic’s not too bad this time of day, so we make a good time, getting to the underground station just before midday. Now I’m strangely reluctant to leave my new friend, but making myself bite the bullet I get out of the car, putting my head back inside for just second to say an insufficient ‘thank you’. He reaches over, and we shake hands a little awkwardly, I smile weakly, thinking to myself, when I’m safe, I’ll contact him, but then I remember, if Ethan recorded the details on the card, he’ll track incoming calls to Josh and the garage. Best I don’t get in touch. I can’t afford to be anything but paranoid. So, turning my back on the mechanic who’s still waiting in the car, I go into the station. Approaching the ticket counter I purchase an all zone travel card with cash. Step Three of my plan—get as far away as possible.
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 7