Sheikh, Children′s Doctor...Husband
Sheikh, Children's Doctor...Husband
Meredith Webber
Sheikh,
Children’s
Doctor…
Husband
Meredith Webber
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u90790941-600c-5c70-aa7b-364cfa7d1270)
Title Page (#ud04f71a8-1b4d-55c5-a280-91e16ed228ba)
About the Author (#uf78d2e67-cbae-5855-88d0-162905670adc)
Chapter One (#ub37e7be2-2961-52c1-ba2a-ad90b03fe4a7)
Chapter Two (#uf5158381-12e0-552c-9246-bad76a9caa7f)
Chapter Three (#u5b957c0b-a0f0-5fd1-a52d-f75a06daba8b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical ™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’
CHAPTER ONE
HE’D send for her!
No, he’d go himself.
Shouldn’t there be someone else to handle things like this? Monarchs of their country shouldn’t have to check out women who’d intruded themselves into the royal family.
His father certainly hadn’t checked out Clarice.
Perhaps if he had, things would have been different …
His Supreme Highness Sheikh Azzam Ghalid bin Sadiq, newly anointed ruler of Al Janeen, groaned and buried his head in his hands as the random thoughts whirled around inside his head.
As if his father could have done anything to prevent his twin brother’s marriage. Bahir had fallen in love with Clarice the moment he’d laid eyes on her, not noticing that Azzam had already lost his heart to the beautiful woman. But it was the way Clarice had transferred her attention from him to Bahir that had staggered Azzam, and her behaviour since, the pain she’d caused his brother, had left Azzam with a deep distrust of women.
That is a ridiculous bias, the sensible part of his brain told him. You’re judging all such women by one example—totally unacceptable!
Yet deep inside he knew the hurt had never really healed—Clarice’s betrayal had cut deep, leading to him shunning most female company over the last few years and seeking solace in his work.
Which didn’t solve the problem of the stranger in their midst!
He’d see her himself. He’d handle it.
He left his office, his mind churning as he entered the wide colonnade surrounding the courtyard gardens, striding towards his mother’s favourite sitting area.
Striding—but reluctantly.
He’d met his mother off the plane on her return to Al Janeen, but in the cluster of chattering women disembarking with his mother he hadn’t noticed a stranger among them.
Had she deliberately hidden herself among the other women?
He tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing in his head but the parallels with Clarice’s arrival in his country were just too strong to be ignored. Back then, it had been him, not his mother, Clarice had accompanied, him she’d fussed over on the flight, convincing him he’d need a massage therapist once the cast was off the leg he’d broken in a skiing accident.
Not that he’d needed much persuasion. He’d been attracted to the golden beauty from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, fallen in love with her within days, only to find that once she’d met Bahir and realised he was the heir, Azzam had been dropped like a smouldering coal.
Azzam couldn’t say for certain his sister-in-law was responsible for his brother’s death, although he knew her continual and extravagant demands had weighed his brother down. Then there was the talk of fights and arguments that was surfacing among the staff—one story in particular of a loud and bitter altercation before Bahir had driven off in his car that fatal day …
It could all be rumour-mongering, but Azzam had to admit that recently Bahir had been patently unhappy, though he, Azzam, had been too busy with his own interests—with his passion for the new children’s hospital—to seek too closely into the cause.
The pain this knowledge caused outweighed all other—to have failed his brother, his twin, his other half! Although, could he have done anything? Interfered in his brother’s marriage?
Azzam knew he had to stop groaning. Groaning achieved nothing. In fact, it was weak and wimpish—he was behaving like a fool!
He had to pull himself together and behave like the ruler of the country.
He had to check out this woman, for a start. His mother was particularly vulnerable at the moment, and he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her then upsetting her further by letting her down. That, too, had happened in the past …
Straightening his shoulders, he strode on towards the shaded area where his mother sat each afternoon with her friends and female relations.
What was she doing here?
How had she let herself be persuaded to fly off at a moment’s notice to some foreign country?
What about her jobs?
The hospital had assured her, when Alex had phoned them, that they would always have her back. Doctors willing to work nights in emergency rooms were always welcome. But how long would the clinic keep her second job open? She’d thought maybe they’d pay her while she was away, as technically Samarah was their patient, but that idea had been slapped down, the manager telling her if she took time off to accompany Samarah back to her home, it would be without pay.
Pay she desperately needed. But when Samarah had wanted her help, she hadn’t had the heart to refuse.
Alex pondered the situation for the hundredth time as she lay back on the silk-quilted bed. No answers were forthcoming so she looked around the sumptuous surroundings, trying to take it all in so she’d remember this part of the dream in which she found herself.
She was in a room with dark red walls, hung with what looked like very fine carpets—tapestries perhaps—woven into fascinating patterns with jewel colours of emerald, ruby and sapphire, and the shadows on the silk coverlet on which she lay were formed by fretwork across open windows, what looked like marble carved into patterns as intricate as those in the carpets on the wall. More carpets were layered on the floor, so when she stepped off the bed her feet sank into softness. Above her, silk sheets like those on which she lay were draped from a central point in the ceiling so she had the impression of being in an extremely luxurious tent.
Her journey had taken on the aspects of a magic-carpet ride to a fabled world, for here and there around the rooms were huge brass urns like the ones in Ali Baba’s story, and strange-looking lamps Aladdin would have recognised!
It’s an adventure, she told herself.
Enjoy it.
Work will wait.
Oh, how she longed to believe that—to relax and enjoy the thrill of the new—to see something of the world beyond this room, the wide, empty desert, the rising red dunes, the colour and scents of the markets and the noisy delight of the camel auctions Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and obvious love.
Impossible, of course, Alex knew that much! The reason she worked two jobs wouldn’t wait—not for long. Bad enough that her brother had cheated his bosses, but how could he have been so stupid as to get involved with dodgy money-lenders? With people who would have no qualms about threatening his wife and vulnerable daughter?
Alex sighed, then turned her attention to practical matters, like getting out of this country she was yet to see.
Apparently Samarah had a niece who was a doctor. As soon as she returned from overseas, Alex would be free to leave. Samarah’s son, the king, was also a doctor, but Samarah was adamant it was not his highness’s job to look after her.
In the meantime?
For a start, she should get up off the bed, find her way outside, possibly dropping breadcrumbs on the way so she could find her way back, and have a look around. Arriving in the dark of very early morning, she’d gained nothing more than the impression of an enormous building, more like a walled town than a house. She’d been led along dimly lit corridors, past shadowy rooms, then seen Samarah settled into bed, sat with her a while until she slept easily, then slept herself. Now daylight was nearly done and she’d seen nothing—
‘Please, you will come.’
The young woman who’d been fussing over Alex since she’d woken up halfway through the afternoon was hovering in the doorway.
‘Samarah? She’s sick again?’
Alex shot off the bed as she asked the question, looked around for her shoes then remembered she’d left them in the doorway the previous night. She brushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her plait, and followed her guide.
‘Samarah is there but it is the prince who wishes to see you.’
‘The prince?’
‘His new Highness.’
It was all too confusing, so Alex kept walking, trusting that a conversation with this august personage would sort out a lot of things, not least of which was when she could return home.
Her carer led her out of the building, into a covered colonnade that joined all the houses around a beautiful central courtyard, with fancifully shaped trees, and massed roses in full bloom and fountains playing tinkling music, the cascading water catching the sunlight in a shimmer of such brilliance Alex felt her breath catch in her throat.
What a beautiful, magical place …
‘Come, come,’ the woman urged, slipping on her sandals and motioning for Alex to do the same, but although Alex responded, she did so automatically, her mind still lost in the delight of her surroundings.
That all this lush beauty should be hidden behind the high walls she’d glimpsed last night!
They walked around the colonnade, passing another dwelling, eventually reaching the end of the rectangular courtyard. In front of her, Alex could see carpets spread, with fat cushions and a low settee placed on them. Samarah was there, and some of the women who had been in Australia with her, their low-voiced chatter reaching out to Alex, making her feel less apprehensive about this meeting with the ‘new highness’.
But as she drew near, the women moved away, drifting lightly down into the courtyard, Samarah among them, so only a man in a white robe remained on the plush red velvet settee on the vivid carpets.
Azzam looked at the pale, tired woman who appeared in front of him. Not a golden blonde, more a silver ghost, slim and insubstantial, the shadows beneath her grey eyes the only colour in her face.
Was it the strain he read on her neat features—a strain he knew was visible in his own face—that made him pause before he spoke? Or did he have some fundamental weakness—some predilection for blondes—that clouded his judgement?
That suspicion, though he instantly denied it, strengthened his will.
‘I am Azzam,’ he said, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘My mother tells me you have been good to her and I wish to thank you.’
‘Alexandra Conroy,’ she replied, her voice soft but firm, her handshake equally solid. ‘And I’ve done no more for your mother than any doctor would have done. Adult onset asthma is not only very distressing for the patient, it can be extremely serious.’
She paused and the grey eyes, made paler by their frame of dark lashes, studied his face for a moment before she added, ‘But of course you’d know that. You’re the doctor, your brother was the lawyer.’
Another pause and he saw her chest rise as she drew in a deep breath.
‘I am sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose a sibling, doubly hard, I would imagine, to lose a twin.’
The simple, quietly spoken words pierced his soul, the pain of losing Bahir so acute that for a moment he couldn’t speak.
Had it been the wrong thing to say? Alex wondered. She found the man’s silence discomforting, but more distracting was the glimpse she’d had of his eyes—a startling green, gleaming out of his olive-skinned face like emeralds set in old parchment.
‘Please, sit,’ he eventually said, his voice cooler than the evening air, making Alex certain she’d breached some kind of protocol in mentioning his brother’s death. She eyed the cushions, then the settee, which had taken on the appearance of a throne as she’d approached. But he waved his hand towards it, so she sat, then regretted it when he remained standing, putting her at an immediate disadvantage.
‘My mother’s asthma? It came on suddenly?’
If a discussion of his mother’s health was all he wanted of her, why was she feeling uneasy?
Because there’s an undertone in his voice that sounded like—surely not suspicion …
She was imagining things.
Yet the sense that this man was judging her in some way persisted, making her feel uncomfortable, so her reply was strained-hurried.
‘I work for a clinic that does—I suppose you’d say house calls—to hotels on the tourist strip of the Gold Coast. About four weeks ago, the clinic had a call from the hotel where your mother was staying. I was on duty and I found her breathless and fatigued, and very upset, which wasn’t so surprising as it was her first such attack.’
‘You treated her?’
An obvious question, yet again she heard some underlying emotion in it.
Putting her silly fancies down to tiredness, not to mention an inbuilt distrust of men as handsome as this one, she explained as concisely as she could.
‘I started with an inhalation of salbutamol, then a corticosteroid injection. Her breathing became easier almost immediately, but I put her on oxygen anyway, and stayed with her. The next day, when she was rested, I talked to her about preventative measures she could take to prevent another attack. I explained about having a management plan for the condition.’
‘I can imagine how well she took that,’ the man said, and Alex thought she caught the suggestion of a smile lifting one corner of his lips. Unfortunately, it drew attention to his lips, so well shaped an artist might have drawn them. Something that wasn’t apprehension fluttered inside her. ‘Not one to take even a mild painkiller for a headache, my mother.’
Alex nodded, and forgot her suspicions, and the flutter, enough to smile herself, remembering the battle she’d been waging with Samarah to convince her that prevention was better than suffering the attacks.
‘You’re right, although after the second attack I think I was gaining some ground.’
Her smile changed her face, Azzam realised. It lifted the tiredness and smoothed out the lines that creased her brow, making her not exactly pretty but—
She was speaking again. He had to concentrate.
‘Unfortunately, when the news of her son’s death came, it triggered the worst attack. She was desperate to return home, but I couldn’t in all conscience let her travel without medical care. A competent nurse could have handled it, but Samarah had come to know me as I’d called in most days over the weeks since I first saw her. I suppose she felt safer with me beside her, so I flew here with her and her friends. As you know, we broke the journey in Singapore, stopping over for the night so she could rest.’
‘And now?’
Azzam knew he’d spoken too abruptly, his voice too cold, too remote, but once again the past seemed to be colliding with the present—Clarice’s insistence she fly to Al Janeen with him—this woman coming with his mother.
The woman’s smile gave way to a frown as she responded.
‘February is our most humid month at home. Although your mother was in a hotel, she’d had the air-conditioning turned off in her suite and she insisted on walking on the beach beside the surf every day. I am assuming it was the humidity that triggered the attacks and now she’s back in the dry air here, she should be all right, although with adult onset, the asthma could persist, and she did have a mild attack on the first stage of the flight.’
Again Alex paused. A woman who thought before she spoke …
‘I believe she has a niece who is a doctor and who normally takes care of her health, but apparently she is away.’
Was she angling to stay on?
His mother would like her to—he already knew that—but previous experience suggested the sooner the stranger was gone the better. His mother would settle down with her friends, he’d get on with the mammoth task of learning his new role, and everyone would be happy.
No, happy was definitely the wrong word, but life could begin to return to normal—a new normal, but still …
‘So?’
The word came out like a demand, unintended, but she was disturbing him in ways he couldn’t understand. So quiet, so shadowy.
Insidious?
But if his mother needed someone to keep an eye on her, which she obviously did, then this woman …
‘I suppose it’s up to you,’ she said. ‘But I won’t leave Samarah without competent care. Is there someone else who could keep an eye on her until her niece returns?’
Alex wanted to suggest he do it himself, despite Samarah’s protestations, but there was something forbidding in the stern features of this man.
And what features! They drew her mesmerised gaze as a magnet drew iron filings—the high sculpted cheekbones, the deep-set eyes, the slightly hooked nose—a face that looked as if the desert winds she’d heard of had scoured it clean so the bones stood out in stark relief.
Hard as weathered rock …
She was still cataloguing his features when he replied so she missed the early part of his sentence.
‘I’m sorry?’ She was so embarrassed by her distraction the words stumbled out and seemed to drop like stones onto the carpet where Azzam was pacing.
‘I asked if you feel my mother should stay on preventative medication now she has returned home.’
Was it suspicion she could hear in his voice? Was that the note bothering her?
Or was it pain? He’d lost his brother, his twin—his world had been turned upside down …
Realising she should be speaking, not thinking, and relieved to have an easy question to answer, Alex now hurried her reply.
‘Probably not in the long term, but for a while perhaps it would be best if she continued to take leukotriene modifiers. I’ve been monitoring her lung capacity with a peak-flow meter daily and prescribing preventative medication as needed, but she is reluctant to use the meter herself and to take control of the illness.’
To her astonishment, the man smiled. Smiled properly, not just a lip quirk. And it was a smile worth waiting for, because it lip up his stern face the way sunrise lit the highest peaks of a cold mountain.
Alex gave a little shake of her head, unable to believe the way her mind—not to mention the fluttering thing inside her chest—had reacted! Sunrise on a mountain indeed! She was losing it!
Tiredness, that was all!
She looked at a point a little above his right shoulder so she didn’t have to see his face again, and concentrated on his words.
‘You are asking her to do something against what, she believes, is meant to be. She would see, and accept, her illness as the will of God. Can you understand that?’
Alex nodded, then, for all her determination not to even look at him, she found herself returning his smile as understanding of Samarah’s opposition became clear.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I did wonder why she was so adamant about it, but if she feels that way, of course she doesn’t want to interfere in what she feels should be beyond her control. Can you persuade her? Could you convince her that she is better off taking mild medication than having to take the really heavy-duty stuff when she has an attack?’
His smile had slipped away, and he looked darkly grave, as if, in his mind, he’d slipped away, and to a not-very-happy place.
‘My brother could have,’ he said quietly, and this time she heard the pain distinctly. ‘My brother could have charmed the birds from the trees so my mother was easy work for him.’
He paused, looking out over the delights of the garden courtyard, and Alex imagined she could feel his pain, throbbing in the air between them.
‘I will try,’ he said, ‘and in the meantime you will stay, care for her, until Maya, her niece, returns?’
Although the invitation sounded forced, as if the man felt he had no alternative but to ask, Alex’s immediate reaction was to agree, for she’d grown very fond of Samarah and certainly wouldn’t leave her without competent medical support, particularly while she was grieving for her son. But money, something Alex had never thought she’d have to worry about, reared its ugly avaricious head, and she hesitated.
As the full extent of Rob’s indebtedness had became obvious, she’d promised her dying mother she’d repay his debts, clearing the family’s name and restoring its honour, but beyond that promise was the fact that her sister-in-law, unable to work herself because of her daughter’s special needs, was relying on her. No way could Alex let these much-loved people down.
An image of the money-lender’s henchman rose up in her mind, clashing with memories of the promise. She’d met him only once and that had been enough. There was no way she could allow that man to terrorise her sister-in-law or her frail little niece.
Alex drew in a deep breath. It was useless. No breath could be deep enough for what she was about to ask, so she blurted out the words she hated having to say.
‘I can stay. I’d be happy to, but personal reasons mean that I can’t stay unless—’
She balked! She couldn’t do it!
‘Unless?’ he prompted, and she knew the coldness and suspicion she’d imagined she’d heard earlier had returned to his voice.
She stood up and did a little pace of her own around the carpet, avoiding the man who now stood close to the steps that led into the garden.
‘Look, this is an embarrassing thing to have to ask and I am ashamed to have to ask it, but if I stay, could I talk to you about some wages? Originally it was just to be two days—fly over with Samarah and fly back—then the stopover and now her niece isn’t here to take over … We’d become friends, Samarah and I, and I was happy to be able to help, but I’ve this obligation—money that is paid out of my bank account regularly—and if I’m not working, not earning, if the money’s not there—’
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, an abrupt movement that seemed to ward her off, although she was back on the settee now, embarrassed—no, utterly humiliated—by having to discuss money with a stranger.
‘Money!’ he snapped. ‘Of course there’ll be money. Do not worry, Dr Conroy, you will be well paid!’
He stalked away, his white robe swirling around him, and what felt like disgust trailing in his wake.
Not that Alex could blame him—she was pretty disgusted herself, but what else could she have done?
Anger pushed Azzam away from the woman. No, not anger so much as an irritated discomfort. At himself for not realising she wasn’t being paid? No, the sensation seemed to have been triggered by the fact that she’d been so obviously uncomfortable at having to discuss it.
By the fact he’d made her uncomfortable?
Of course she should be paid, he’d arrange it immediately. Yet as her words replayed in his head he heard the strain behind them, particularly when she’d said ‘obligation’. Now more questions arose. If the money for this obligation was paid automatically from her bank account, what good would cash be to her here?
He wheeled round, returning to find she’d walked into the garden and was moving from one rose bush to the next, smelling the blooms. The rose she held to her face now was crimson, and it brushed a little colour into her cheeks. For a moment he weakened—his irritation slipping slightly—because there was something special about the sight of that slim, jeans-clad woman standing among the roses.
‘You might give your serving woman your bank details. If, as you say, payments are taken regularly from your account, it is best I transfer the money direct into it rather than give you cash.’
‘If, as I say?’ she retorted, stepping away from the crimson rose and facing him, anger firing the silvery eyes. ‘Do you think I’d lie to you? Or are you just trying to humiliate me further? Do you think that asking a stranger for wages wasn’t humiliating enough for me? Do you think I wouldn’t care for Samarah out of fondness and compassion if I didn’t have financial obligations? Believe me, if I’d had an alternative, I’d have taken it.’
She stormed away, her body rigid with the force of her anger as she slapped her feet against the paving stones.
There’d been a ring of truth in her words, and the anger seemed genuine, and for a moment he regretted upsetting her. But Bahir’s death had brought back too many reminders of Clarice’s arrival in their midst, and suspicion was a bitter seed that flourished in pain and grief.
She shouldn’t have asked, Alex told herself as, on shaking legs, she escaped the man.
She should have told him she had to leave immediately!
But how could she leave the gentle Samarah when she was grieving and ill? How could she, Alex, just walk away from a woman she’d come to admire and respect?
She’d had to ask, she reminded herself, so she may as well stop getting her knickers in a twist over it. So what if the man thought she was a mercenary female?
She kicked off her shoes with such force one of them flew across the paving, disturbing the neat rows of sandals already there. Muttering to herself, she squatted down to restore them all to order and it was there Samarah found her.
‘You will eat with us this evening?’ she asked in her quiet, barely accented English. ‘I am afraid we have neglected you shamefully, but I was tired from the flight and slept until late in the day. In our country we pride ourselves on our hospitality. It comes from the time of our nomad ancestors, when to turn someone away from a camp in the desert might be to send them to their death.’
‘I would be honoured to eat with you,’ Alex told her, standing up and studying Samarah’s face, then watching her chest to check it was moving without strain. ‘You are feeling all right?’
Samarah inclined her head then gave it a little shake.
‘Hardly all right when my first-born is dead, but it is not the asthma that affects me. Only grief.’
She reached out and took Alex’s hands.
‘That you will understand for I read grief in your face as well. It is not so long since you lost someone?’
Alex turned away so she wouldn’t reveal the tears that filled her eyes. It was tiredness that had weakened her so much that a few kind words from Samarah should make her want to cry. Weakness was a luxury she couldn’t afford—like the pride that was still eating into her bones over her request for wages.
Samarah took her hand and led her into the building.
‘I know I gave you little time to pack, but you will find clothes in the dressing room next to your bedroom and toiletries in the bathroom. We will eat in an hour. Hafa will show you the way.’
Alex thanked Samarah and followed Hafa, who had appeared silently in front of them, back to the splendid bedroom.
Clothes in the dressing room?
Alex looked down at her serviceable jeans and checked shirt, then caught up with her guide.
‘Samarah mentioned clothes,’ she said to Hafa. ‘Are my clothes not suitable here?’
Hafa smiled at her.
‘Because you are a foreigner no shame attaches to you, but I think Samarah has chosen clothes especially for you—a gift because she likes you—and she would be pleased to see you wear these things.’
‘Very diplomatically put,’ Alex responded, smiling at the woman, worry over her request to the ‘new highness’ pushed aside by the kindness of the women she was meeting.
Not to mention the thought of a shower and getting into clean clothes. Packing in a hurry, she’d grabbed her passport, a small travel pack, underwear and two clean shirts, thinking her jeans would do until she returned home. At the time, all she’d intended doing was accompanying Samarah home, but the older woman’s asthma attack on the flight had frightened both of them, and Alex had realised she couldn’t leave.
So she’d have to send her bank details to the prince, though her stomach twisted at the thought, and she felt ill remembering the contempt she’d seen in his eyes.
The same contempt she’d seen in David’s eyes when she’d told him about Rob’s debt and offered him back her engagement ring, certain in her heart he wouldn’t take it—certain of a love he’d probably, in retrospect, never felt for her.
His acceptance of it had cut her deeply—the one man she’d been relying on for support backing away from her so quickly she’d felt tainted, unclean in some way.
But David was in the past and she had more than enough problems in the present to occupy her mind.
Inside her room, fearing she’d lose the courage to do it if she hesitated, she dug a notebook out of her handbag and scribbled down the information the prince would need to transfer the money. At the bottom she added, ‘Thank you for doing this. I am sorry I had to ask.’
‘This note needs to go to the prince,’ she told Hafa, who took it and walked, soft-footed, out of the room, the roiling in Alex’s stomach growing worse by the moment.
Forget it. Have a shower.
The thought brought a glimmer of a smile to her face and she pushed away all her doubts and worries. If the bedroom was like something out of the Arabian Nights then the bathroom was like something from images of the future. All stainless steel and glass and gleaming white marble, toiletries of every kind stacked on the glass shelving and a shower that sprayed water all over her body, massaging it with an intensity that had been delicious after the long flight.
She stripped off, undid her plait and brushed it out, deciding to try some of the array of shampoos that lined the shelves and wash her hair. The shampoo she chose had a perfume she didn’t recognise, yet as she dried her hair she realised she’d smelt the same scent here and there around the palace, as if the carpets or tapestries were permeated with it.
She sniffed the air, liking it and trying to capture what it was that attracted her.
‘It’s frankincense,’ Hafa told her when Alex asked about the scent. Frankincense—one of the gifts carried by the wise men! Again the unreality of the situation hit her—this was truly a strange and fascinating place.
By this time she was showered and dressed, in long dark blue trousers and a matching tunic top—the least noticeable set of clothing she’d found among an array of glittering clothes in the dressing room—and Hafa had returned to take her to dinner.
‘I’ve heard of it, of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever smelt it,’ Alex said, and Hafa smiled.
‘It is special to us,’ she replied, but didn’t explain any more than that, simply leading Alex out of the suite of rooms and along new corridors.
What seemed like a hundred women were gathered in a huge room, most of them seated on carpets on the floor, a great swathe of material spread across the floor in front of them, the material loaded with silver and brass platters piled high with fruit and nuts.
Hafa led Alex to where Samarah sat at what would be the head if there were a table. Samarah waved her to sit down beside her, greeting Alex with a light touch of her hands, clasping both of Alex’s hands together.
‘Tomorrow we will bury my son, my Bahir,’ Samarah told her, her voice still hoarse with the tears she must have shed in private. ‘You would feel out of place in the traditional ceremony so Hafa will look after you, but tonight we celebrate his existence—his life—and for this you must join us.’
‘I am honoured,’ Alex told her, and she meant it, for although she’d only known Samarah a short time, she’d heard many tales about this beloved son.
Serving women brought in more silver plates, placing one in front of each of the seated women, then huge steaming bowls of rice, vegetables and meat appeared, so many dishes Alex could only shake her head. Samarah served her a little from each dish, urging her to eat, using bread instead of cutlery.
‘We do eat Western style with knives and forks as you do,’ she explained, ‘but tonight is about tradition.’
And as the meal progressed and the women began to talk, their words translated quietly by a young woman on Alex’s other side, she realised how good such a custom was, for Bahir was remembered with laughter and joy, silly pranks he’d played as a boy, mistakes he’d made as a teenager, kindnesses he’d done to many people.
It was as if they talked to imprint the memories of him more firmly in their heads, so he wouldn’t ever be really lost to them, Alex decided as she wandered through the rose garden when the meal had finished.
She’d eaten too much to go straight to bed, and the garden with its perfumed beauty had called to her. Now, as she walked among the roses she thought of Rob, and the bitterness she’d felt towards him since he’d taken his own life drained away. At the time she’d felt guilt as well as anger about his desperate act. She’d known he was convinced that finding out the extent of his indebtedness had hastened their mother’s death from cancer, but Alex had been too shocked by the extent of the debt and too devastated by David’s desertion to do more to support her brother.
Forget David—subsequent knowledge had proved he wasn’t worth being heartsick over—but now, among the roses, she found she could think of Rob, remembering rather than regretting. Here, in this peaceful, beautiful place, she began to reconstruct her brother in her mind, remembering their childhood, the tears and laughter they had shared. Here, among the roses, she remembered Rob’s ability to make their mother laugh, even when the burden of bringing up two children on her own had become almost too heavy for her to bear.
‘Oh, Rob,’ she whispered to the roses, and suddenly it didn’t matter that she’d had to ask the prince for money. She was doing it for Rob, and for the wife and daughter he’d so loved—doing it for the boy who’d shared her childhood, and had made their mother laugh …
CHAPTER TWO
THE last person Azzam expected to find in the rose garden was the stranger, but there she was, tonight a dark shadow in the moonlight, for her fair hair was hidden by a scarf. He watched her touching rose petals with her fingertips, brushing the backs of her hands against the blooms, apparently talking to herself for he could see her lips moving.
He stepped backwards, not wanting her to see him—not wanting to have to talk to anyone—but fate decreed he missed the path, his sandal crunching on the gravel so the woman straightened and whipped round, seeming to shrink back as she caught sight of him.
‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t be here,’ she said, and her voice sounded muted—tear filled?
‘There is no reason why you shouldn’t be here,’ he told her, and although he’d been certain he didn’t want to talk to anyone when he’d sought the solitude of the courtyard, he found himself drawn towards her.
‘You like the roses?’ he asked as he came closer.
‘They are unbelievable,’ she said, voice firmer now. ‘The perfume overwhelms me. At home it’s hard to find a rose with perfume. The new ones seem to have had it bred out of them. Not that we can grow roses where I live—not good ones—the humidity gives them black spot.’
Azzam found himself smiling. How disconcerting was that? Was it simply relief that all the details of the funeral were completed that he found a conversation about perfume and black spot on roses a reason to smile?
‘The same humidity that triggered my mother’s asthma?’ he said, coming closer, smelling the perfume of the roses for himself, breathing in the scented air, releasing it slowly, relaxing, but only slightly, made wary by this unexpected shift in his mood …
She returned his smile as she said, ‘That’s it,’ and made to move away.
He was about to put out his hand to stop her—though why he couldn’t say—when she paused, turned back towards him.
‘I had dinner with your mother and her women friends a little earlier,’ she said quietly. ‘I found it very moving that they all offered her their memories of Bahir, as if giving her gifts to help her grief. He must have been a very special person.’
Azzam knew the women gathered at this time, but offering gifts of memories? He hadn’t thought of their behaviour in quite that way. He studied the woman in front of him, surprised by her perception, and caught, again, in his own memories of his twin.
‘Bahir, the dazzling, the brilliant.’
The words slipped almost silently from his lips, while pain gripped his heart.
‘The dazzling, the brilliant?’
The woman echoed the words and Azzam hauled his mind back into gear. He should have walked away, but perhaps talking to a stranger might ease his pain, whereas talking to his family forced him to carry theirs as well.
‘It is what his name means in our language,’ he told her, and saw her shake her head as if in wonder, then she looked up at him, her eyes a shining silver in the moonlight.
‘And your name?’ she asked. ‘Azzam?’
‘My name is less lofty, Azzam means determined, resolute.’
Her lips curled into a smile, and it was his imagination that the ground seemed to move beneath his feet.
‘I am sure you are that,’ she said. ‘When your mother spoke of you, she made it sound as if you were the one who got things done—as if your brother might have had the vision, but you were the practical one who could make things happen. She spoke of a hospital you were building—a hospital for children.’
She was beguiling him—though it couldn’t be deliberate, for how could she have known he’d seek refuge in the rose garden?
He set his suspicions aside as his disappointment about the hospital flooded his being and forced words from his lips.
‘It was to be a special hospital for children, built to accommodate the families so they do not have to be separated from their sick child. It must be a frightening place, for a child, a large, impersonal hospital, although I know these days all hospitals try to make the children’s wards bright and special. In my mind it needed to be more—low set for a start, maybe two or three levels, not a towering, impersonal, corridor-littered monolith.’
‘It sounds a wonderful idea,’ the woman said. ‘But surely you can still achieve it.’
He hesitated, uncertain why he should be discussing his dream with a stranger.
Or was it because she was a stranger that he found it easy to talk to her?
‘I had hoped to make things happen quickly with the hospital—to make my vision come true—but having to take my brother’s place as ruler will put a stop to that.’
She touched his robe above his arm and he felt the heat of her fingers sear through the fine cotton material.
‘You will do it,’ she said quietly. ‘Determined and resolute—remember that—and although I’m sure you’ll have a lot of pressing duties for a while, surely once you’re used to the job, you’ll find time for your own interests.’
‘Used to the job!’ He repeated the words then laughed out loud, probably for the first time since Bahir’s death. ‘You make it sound so prosaic and just so should I be thinking. I have let all that has happened overwhelm me.’
He took her hand and bowed to kiss it.
‘Thank you, Alexandra Conroy,’ he said. ‘Perhaps now I shall sleep.’
Definitely weird, Alex thought as she watched him move away, the swaying robes making it seem as if he glided just a little above the earth.
Not the burning on her hand where he’d dropped the casual kiss, although that was weird, but the way the man had treated her, like a friend almost, when earlier his voice had held a distinct note of suspicion, and later, when she’d asked about the wages, there’d been a faint note of contempt.
Yet out here in the moonlight it was as if the afternoon’s conversation had been forgotten.
Poor man, he’d be devastated by his brother’s death, and now to have to shoulder the responsibilities of the ruler—no wonder he was confused.
‘And confusing,’ she added out loud as she lifted her hand to her lips and touched them with the skin he’d kissed, the warmth his touch had generated still lingering in her body.
She smiled to herself, delighting, for a moment, in the fantasy in which she’d found herself, alone in a rose garden in a foreign country with a rivetingly handsome sheikh talking to her of his dreams …
What was she supposed to do? Alex had eaten breakfast in her room, checked on Samarah, who’d been pale but stalwart, then returned to what was coming to feel like a luxurious prison cell. Not wanting to get inadvertently caught up in the funeral proceedings, she’d stayed in her room until Hafa had explained that the ceremonies were taking place back in the city, nowhere near the palace.
Now she escaped, drawn by the compulsion of their beauty and perfume, to the rose garden. But wandering there, smelling the roses, reminded her of the strange encounter of the previous evening.
When he’d spoken of his brother, she’d felt Azzam’s pain—felt it and seen it—recognising it because she’d carried a fair load of pain herself over the past few years.
Had that recognition drawn her to the man that he’d stayed in her mind, his almost stern features haunting her dreams? Or was it nothing more than the strange situation in which she found herself, making her wonder about the man and the country he was now ruling?
She wandered the courtyard, drinking in the lush beauty of it, freeing her mind of memories and questions she couldn’t answer. One of the fountains spurted its water higher than the others, and she left the rose gardens to go towards it, ignoring the heat burning down from the midday sun, wanting to hear the splashing of the water and see the rainbows in its cascading descent.
As she approached it seemed to shimmer for a moment, or maybe she was still tired, for her feet faltered on the ground. Soon cries echoing from the buildings surrounding the courtyard and figures emerging out of the gloom suggested that whatever had happened wasn’t tiredness or imagination.
‘An earth tremor,’ Hafa told Alex when she found the woman among the chattering crowd of servants who had remained at the palace. ‘Sometimes we have them, though not bad earthquakes like other countries. Ours are usually gentle shivers, a reminder to people, I think, that there are powers far greater than humans can imagine. For this to happen today … well, there are people who will tell you it is the earth’s response to Bahir’s death—the death of a loved ruler.’
Alex considered this, wondering if it was simply accepted form that every ruler would be a loved one, or if Azzam’s brother had been as dazzling and brilliant as his name.
Certain any hint of danger had passed, the women all returned to the buildings, Alex following Hafa.
‘Samarah has returned,’ the young woman told Alex. ‘The women’s part of the proceedings is done.’
‘I should check on her. I still get lost—can you show me to her rooms?’
Following Hafa along the corridors, Alex felt a surge of regret that she’d probably never get to know her way around this fabulous place. Soon she’d be gone, and Al Janeen would be nothing more than a memory of a storybook bedroom and a white-robed man in a scented rose garden.
Samarah welcomed her, and although the older woman looked exhausted, her lung capacity was surprisingly good.
‘See, I am better in my own land,’ Samarah told her, then, to Alex’s surprise, she turned and introduced a young woman who’d been hovering behind her. ‘And now here is my niece, Maya. She arranged her return as soon as she heard of Bahir’s death so she could care for me. But although she is now here, I would like you to stay for a while as my guest. I would like you to see something of this country that I love, and to learn a little about the people.’
Alex acknowledged the introduction, thinking she’d talk to Maya later about Samarah’s condition, but right now she had to deal with her own weakness—the longing deep inside her to do exactly as Samarah had suggested, to stay and see something of this country. It was so strong, this longing, it sat like a weight on her shoulders but she couldn’t stay if she wasn’t needed—well, not stay and take wages, that wouldn’t be right.
And she had to keep earning money!
Her mind was still tumbling through the ramifications of hope and obligation when she realised Maya was speaking to her.
‘Adult-onset asthma?’ Maya asked, holding up the folder with the information and treatment plan Alex had prepared.
‘It could have been the humidity in Queensland. We’ve had a very hot summer and the humidity has been high,’ Alex explained.
‘That, and the fact that she’s been debilitated since her husband’s death a little over twelve months ago. I ran tests before I went away but found nothing, just a general weakening,’ Maya replied. ‘It was I who suggested a holiday somewhere new—somewhere she hadn’t been with her husband. She was excited about it, and though I suggested a doctor should accompany her, she believed having a doctor in the group would worry her sons and, of course, they must be spared all worry.’
The edge of sarcasm in Maya’s voice made Alex smile. Someone else wondered at Samarah’s attitude towards her sons—the unstinting love that probably hid any imperfections they might have had.
An image of Azzam’s striking features rose unbidden in Alex’s mind.
‘And now?’ she asked, determinedly ignoring the image. ‘Do you think she’s strong enough to get through whatever will be expected of her in the weeks ahead? Is there much for her to do? Will she have duties she has to carry out?’
‘More than she should have,’ Maya replied, moving Alex away from the lounge on which Samarah rested. ‘It is traditional that the wives of the dignitaries who have come for the funeral call on the widow, but this particular widow will make some excuse to avoid anything that might seem like work to her and Samarah will feel duty bound to take her place.’
‘Perhaps the widow is just grieving too much,’ Alex offered, surprised by a hint of venom in Maya’s soft voice.
‘Perhaps!’ Maya retorted, more than a hint this time. ‘But Samarah will find the strength to do what must be done. She is a very determined woman.’
They talked a little longer about the various preventative treatments available, until Alex sensed it was time to leave. She said good-bye to Samarah, promising to see her in the morning, knowing it would be a final good-bye because staying on would be impossible.
The only bright side was that she could send a note to Azzam telling him to forget about the wages, although she’d already been gone three days and if it took a day to arrange a flight and another day to fly home, that made six by the time she got back to work. One week’s wages lost, that was all.
She sighed, thinking how little importance she’d once have placed on one week’s pay. These days she knew to the last cent how much was in her account, her mind doing the calculations of credit and debit automatically. Knowing what went in each week and what went out made it easy, but losing a week’s pay from the two jobs would eat into the small reserve she’d been carefully hoarding.
If the clinic did take her back, all would be well.
And if it didn’t? If they’d replaced her?
She sighed and knew she wouldn’t send a note to the prince. If the job was gone, she’d need a little extra to tide her over until she found something else …
Damn it all! Why was money such a difficulty?
Gloomily Alex followed Hafa back to her room. It wasn’t only for the money she had to return home. Simply put, there was no reason for her to stay. But the thought of leaving the place Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and so obvious a love without ever seeing more of it than a highway and the high-walled building in which she was staying caused disappointment so strong in Alex that it shocked her.
Not that she could go home! Not right now anyway. The prince—Azzam—had said it would be arranged, but he’d hardly be organising her flight home while attending the all-day ceremonial duties of his brother’s funeral, and the state visits that Maya suggested would come after it.
Needing to escape to consider these contrary reactions—wanting to stay yet knowing she couldn’t—Alex retired to her room. But once there, she was uncertain what to do. She didn’t want to sleep again. All the rules of air travel suggested fitting into the local time patterns as quickly as possible, so she’d go to bed at the regular time—Al Janeen time—tonight.
Now the women and maybe the men as well were back at the palace. If she went outside again—to walk around the beautiful courtyard—she might unwittingly offend. So exploration within the walls of her suite was all that remained to her. She opened cupboard doors, discovering a small writing desk, and behind another door a television set. Wondering if the funeral procedures might be televised, she turned it on, not understanding any of the words but guessing from the serious expression of the news-reader that he could be talking of the ceremony.
Huge photos of a man so like Azzam he had to be Bahir appeared to have been erected all along the street, and shots of them were flashing across the screen, interspersed with images of a crowd, no doubt lingering from the funeral. White-garbed men and women, a sea of white, filled the screen, and their cries of grief echoed from the television set, filling the room with their pain.
With the voice droning on in the background, Alex sat at the desk, taking up a pen and finding paper, determined to jot down her meagre impressions of this country she had yet to see.
And probably never would!
She’d barely begun to write when a change in the tone of the talking head’s voice had her turning back towards the screen. Once again she couldn’t understand the words, but now a map was showing on the screen, apparently a map of Al Janeen. The capital—given the airport and the lights, Alex assumed they were somewhere near it—was shown in the bottom right of the picture, and arrows pointed to an area to the north.
‘Great! They’re probably being invaded!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Don’t coups usually happen when the monarchy is unstable—when there’s a change of ruler? Just my luck to be caught in a war in a foreign country! What else can happen?’
Wanting to know more—the timbre of the man’s voice suggested shock and panic—but still worried that if she wandered beyond the building she might end up where she shouldn’t be, Alex left her room, wondering where Hafa disappeared to when she didn’t need her.
Hafa was sitting outside the door, legs crossed, head bent over some intricate embroidery.
She smiled as she stood up and tucked the piece of material into her pocket.
‘I wonder if you could explain something else to me,’ Alex asked. ‘I turned on the television in my room and the announcer sounded very excited about something happening in the north of your country. Is it a war?’
‘A war?’ the young woman repeated, looking more puzzled than anxious by the question. ‘I do not think war. We are a peaceful country and we like and respect our neighbours.’
‘Come and see,’ Alex invited and led her back to her room where the television still showed a map of what Alex assumed was Al Janeen, with arrows pointing to a place in the north.
Hafa listened for a while, a frown gathering, marring her fine, clear skin.
‘It is not war but an earthquake,’ she said, still frowning. ‘This is not good. The town is a not big one, more a village really, but it is a very old place of history in the north, between the mountains, and the reports are saying the quake was very severe.’
‘That must have been the tremor we felt here,’ Alex remembered. ‘I was in the garden.’
The young woman nodded but she was obviously too engrossed in what she was hearing from the television to be taking much notice of Alex.
‘Many people have been injured,’ Hafa explained. ‘There is a school that has collapsed with children inside. The town is in the mountains and landslides have closed the roads in and out, so it will be hard to get help and supplies to it.’
She paused as a new figure appeared on the screen, a familiar figure.
‘It is His Highness, His new Highness,’ she pointed out, her relief so evident Alex had to wonder at the man’s power. ‘He has left his brother’s funeral. He says he will go there now. If the helicopter cannot land, he has been lowered from one before. He will assess the situation and arrange to bring in whatever is needed. He can also give immediate medical help.’
‘Where will he go from?’ Alex asked, as new excitement stirred inside her. This was what she’d been trained for, but it was some time since she’d done this kind of work, the need to earn as much as possible to repay Rob’s debts taking precedence over all else.
‘He will fly from here—his own helicopter is here at the palace. It is used for rescues as well as his private business so it has medical equipment on board. Sometimes it takes people to hospital if there is an emergency. It brought the other Highness, Prince Bahir, to the hospital after the accident.’
Alex had heard enough. What she had to do was find Azzam and offer her services—explain her training and expertise, not to mention her experience.
But finding Azzam might not be the best way to attack this situation. Better by far to find the helicopter and get aboard. Samarah was in good hands with Maya. The hospital would already be on full alert. Arrangements would be under way for other medical staff to get to the stricken area, but she knew from experience that such arrangements took time, while the sooner trained people were in place, the more chance there was of saving the injured.
She wrapped a scarf around her head—downdraughts from helicopters caused havoc with even braided long hair. The helicopter, if it was used for rescues, would have emergency equipment on board, but she grabbed a small plastic pack out of her hand luggage. In it she had waterless hand cleaner, a small toothbrush and toothpaste, a spare pair of undies and a tiny manicure set—experience in emergencies had taught her to be prepared. The pack fitted easily into the wide pockets of her loose trousers. Then she ran out the door, calling to Hafa to show her the way.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU are doing what?’
Azzam stared in disbelief when he saw Alex already strapped into the back of the helicopter, adjusting a helmet over her pale hair.
‘Coming with you to the earthquake region,’ she answered calmly, adding, too quickly for him to argue, ‘and before you get uptight about it, it’s what I’m trained to do. As well as clinic work, I’m an ER doctor, mostly doing night shifts these days, but I’m a specialist major emergency doctor with experience of triage in cyclones, fire and floods. I also know how long it takes to get hospital personnel mobilised, and right now, for the people in that village, two doctors are better than one, so let’s go.’
Was she for real?
Surely she wouldn’t be lying about experience like that, and if she wasn’t lying, she’d certainly be useful.
‘Maya is with your mother, so she is in good hands.’
She sounded genuine, and he knew from his mother that she appeared to genuinely care, but he must have still looked doubtful for she hurried on.
‘I’ve been lowered from helicopters. I’ve done rescues off ships. I am trained.’
‘Cutting my legs out from under me—isn’t that the expression?’ he responded.
She smiled and he realised it was only the second time he’d seen a proper smile from her, but this one, in daylight rather than the dim light of the rose garden, was something special. Her generous lips curved in what seemed like genuine delight, while silver flashes danced in her eyes.
Disturbed in ways he didn’t want to think about, he turned away from her, gave a curt order to his pilot, nodded to the navigator, who would act as winchman if necessary, and climbed into the front seat. He hoped there’d be a patch of flat land where the helicopter could land, but if there wasn’t they’d have to be lowered on a cable.
‘You say you’ve been winched down on a cable?’ he asked, speaking through the microphone in his helmet as the engines were roaring with the power needed for liftoff.
‘Onto the deck of a ship pitching in sixty-knot winds,’ she told him, and he felt an urge to grind his teeth.
‘Wonder-woman, in fact?’ he growled instead.
She glanced his way and shrugged.
‘No, but I believe if you’re going to do something you should do it well.’
He believed the same thing himself, so it couldn’t be that causing his aggravation. Was it nothing more than the presence of the woman in the helicopter?
Impossible question to answer, so he turned to practical matters, taking care to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice as he said, ‘Well, you’ve probably had experience of this before, but unless the chopper lands a fair distance away, dust from the rotors can cause more problems for people who have been injured, or buried beneath the rubble. Dropping in a short distance away is usually safer and if we can establish a drop zone, medical supplies and water can be lowered into the same place as well.’
Azzam realised he’d mostly done training runs and learnt from books and lectures the latest ways to handle mass disasters. He’d even written the hospital’s policy papers for the management of such things. But he’d never really expected it to happen—not in his own country.
Driven by his need to see for himself, and his fear for the people of the northern village, he’d left the funeral feast and rushed straight back to his rooms, issuing orders through the phone to the hospital as he went, speaking to the police department and army officers as he changed into tough outdoor wear, making sure the emergency response teams he had set up, but never yet used, were all springing into action.
‘I don’t know how long the flight will take, but you should try to snatch some sleep.’ Her voice broke into his thoughts as he went over the arrangements he’d already put in place.
‘Sleep?’
He heard the word echo back in his helmet and realised he’d spoken a bit abruptly.
‘I’ve found these emergency situations are a bit like being back in our intern years, and the rule is the same—snatch what sleep you can when you can.’
He realised she was right. There was nothing else to do until they were on the ground, where, together, they would assess the situation and call in whatever help was needed.
He wanted to tell her she was right and that he was grateful to her for being there, grateful that he’d have someone with whom to discuss the situation and work out best options, but it had been a long time since he’d shared any feelings with a stranger—and a female stranger at that.
Yet—
‘I will sleep.’
At least he’d acknowledged her presence, Alex thought as she looked around the interior of the helicopter. She sat in one of two seats fitted against the fuselage, a door beside her and another one opposite it. In the seat behind the pilot, directly opposite her, was another man, who apparently didn’t speak English for he hadn’t been involved in the conversation Alex had had with the pilot when she’d persuaded him to allow her to join the flight.
Alex assumed this second man would play multiple roles—second pilot, navigator, and winchman.
She hoped he was good at his job!
Secured to the walls were familiar-looking equipment backpacks. Some would hold emergency medical supplies, one a special defibrillator and vital-signs monitor. Next to them were two collapsible stretchers, also in backpacks, and she could see where these, once opened out, could be secured to the floor of the aircraft.
‘I understood this was your personal chopper, so why the emergency equipment?’ she said, forgetting she’d told her companion to sleep.
‘It is the prince’s aircraft, he flies it himself at times,’ the pilot replied, ‘but he believes it should have more use than a convenience to get him to and from work in the city, so he had it specially fitted out.’
Knowing how much money was needed to keep the emergency helicopter services afloat at home, Alex could only marvel that one person could have a private aircraft like this at his disposal. Her wages would be chicken feed to him, although even thinking about her request for wages made her stomach squirm.
Forget it! she told herself, and she did, turning instead to peer out the window, seeing for the first time what a desert looked like.
It was like flying over the sea at sunset, something she’d been lucky enough to do, seeing the ocean turned to red-gold, the row upon row of waves like the dunes beneath them now. But shadows were already touching the eastward sides of the dunes and the blackness of those shadows made the colours more vivid.
Up ahead she could see mountains rising from the sands—red mountains with deeper shadows below them, what appeared to be a road or track of some kind disappearing between two ranges.
Used to flying over coastal scenes and greenery and water, the endless red conjured up the magic-carpet image yet again, the patterns of the windswept sand and shadows like the patterns in the carpets back at the palace or whatever it was to which she’d been taken.
‘Ayee!’
The cry came from the man behind the pilot and Alex peered forward, shocked by what had caused his cry. From the air it looked as if large white blocks had been tumbled down a hill but, as they drew closer, Alex realised they were houses.
‘It is a narrow ravine,’ Azzam explained, his bleary voice suggesting he had slept at least for a short time. ‘It was a guard point on an ancient trade route—the frankincense trade, in fact. It was settled because of the oasis there at the bottom, the houses built on the sides of the hills because the wadi—the river bed—floods after rain.’
His voice faded from her earphones but not before Alex had heard shock and deep sadness in it.
Now Alex could see where the mountain looked as if it had sheared in two—as if some giant with a mighty sword had sliced through it. She was trying to make sense of it when the helicopter lifted in the air, turning away from the shattered remains of the town and heading back along the narrow valley.
‘We could cause more disruption with the noise so we will winch down further along the valley,’ Azzam said to her. He had climbed into the back cabin and looked directly into Alex’s face.
‘There is no need for you to do this,’ he said, the dark eyes so intent on hers she felt a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
‘I didn’t come along for the ride,’ she told him, unbuckling her seat belt and standing as steadily as she could. ‘Which backpack do you want me to take?’
His eyes studied her again, assessing her.
‘The medical supplies and stretchers can drop safely, but I would appreciate it if you would take the defibrillator. I don’t anticipate needing it but the monitor could be handy. The pilot will drop us in, lower what gear he can, then return to the capital to bring back more personnel and supplies. He will find a safe place to land further down the valley and the rescuers can walk in. For now I—we—need to assess the damage and get word out about the amount of damage done and the kind of help we will need.’
Alex took the small backpack he passed her.
‘Strap it on your front,’ Azzam told her. ‘We will be winched down together.’
Alex stared at him.
‘I’ve been winched down before, I know the routine!’
‘Together,’ the infuriating man repeated, while Alex added ‘bossy and obstinate’ to the meanings of his name.
It was an exercise drop, nothing more, she told herself as Azzam’s strong arms closed around her. And she was only annoyed because he didn’t trust her to do it on her own!
More annoyed because she felt uncomfortable about the way he was holding her, as if dangling on a line above an earthquake-wrecked valley was some kind of romantic foreplay!
Yet annoyance couldn’t mask the responses of her body, which, through clothes and backpack straps and webbing, still felt the hardness of the man who held her clamped against him.
Still reacted to it, warming so inappropriately she wondered if she was blushing.
Would she have felt this reaction with David holding her? Or was it because she’d known him so well she’d never felt these tingling, tightening sensations along her nerves, or a strange heaviness in her muscles, when he’d held her in his arms.
David had only ever kissed her, nothing more. Anything extra was what he’d kept for the string of other women who, unbeknownst to Alex at the time, had drifted in and out of her fiancé’s life.
‘Ready to roll if we need to?’ Azzam asked, his chin brushing her ear, the words so close she felt as well as heard them. She drew up her knees, unconsciously pressing closer to him so they’d roll together as they hit the ground. But the roll wasn’t needed, the helicopter pilot holding the craft steady and the winchman easing them onto the ground so they stepped from the loop in the cable without even the slightest jar.
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Meredith Webber
Sheikh,
Children’s
Doctor…
Husband
Meredith Webber
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u90790941-600c-5c70-aa7b-364cfa7d1270)
Title Page (#ud04f71a8-1b4d-55c5-a280-91e16ed228ba)
About the Author (#uf78d2e67-cbae-5855-88d0-162905670adc)
Chapter One (#ub37e7be2-2961-52c1-ba2a-ad90b03fe4a7)
Chapter Two (#uf5158381-12e0-552c-9246-bad76a9caa7f)
Chapter Three (#u5b957c0b-a0f0-5fd1-a52d-f75a06daba8b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical ™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’
CHAPTER ONE
HE’D send for her!
No, he’d go himself.
Shouldn’t there be someone else to handle things like this? Monarchs of their country shouldn’t have to check out women who’d intruded themselves into the royal family.
His father certainly hadn’t checked out Clarice.
Perhaps if he had, things would have been different …
His Supreme Highness Sheikh Azzam Ghalid bin Sadiq, newly anointed ruler of Al Janeen, groaned and buried his head in his hands as the random thoughts whirled around inside his head.
As if his father could have done anything to prevent his twin brother’s marriage. Bahir had fallen in love with Clarice the moment he’d laid eyes on her, not noticing that Azzam had already lost his heart to the beautiful woman. But it was the way Clarice had transferred her attention from him to Bahir that had staggered Azzam, and her behaviour since, the pain she’d caused his brother, had left Azzam with a deep distrust of women.
That is a ridiculous bias, the sensible part of his brain told him. You’re judging all such women by one example—totally unacceptable!
Yet deep inside he knew the hurt had never really healed—Clarice’s betrayal had cut deep, leading to him shunning most female company over the last few years and seeking solace in his work.
Which didn’t solve the problem of the stranger in their midst!
He’d see her himself. He’d handle it.
He left his office, his mind churning as he entered the wide colonnade surrounding the courtyard gardens, striding towards his mother’s favourite sitting area.
Striding—but reluctantly.
He’d met his mother off the plane on her return to Al Janeen, but in the cluster of chattering women disembarking with his mother he hadn’t noticed a stranger among them.
Had she deliberately hidden herself among the other women?
He tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing in his head but the parallels with Clarice’s arrival in his country were just too strong to be ignored. Back then, it had been him, not his mother, Clarice had accompanied, him she’d fussed over on the flight, convincing him he’d need a massage therapist once the cast was off the leg he’d broken in a skiing accident.
Not that he’d needed much persuasion. He’d been attracted to the golden beauty from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, fallen in love with her within days, only to find that once she’d met Bahir and realised he was the heir, Azzam had been dropped like a smouldering coal.
Azzam couldn’t say for certain his sister-in-law was responsible for his brother’s death, although he knew her continual and extravagant demands had weighed his brother down. Then there was the talk of fights and arguments that was surfacing among the staff—one story in particular of a loud and bitter altercation before Bahir had driven off in his car that fatal day …
It could all be rumour-mongering, but Azzam had to admit that recently Bahir had been patently unhappy, though he, Azzam, had been too busy with his own interests—with his passion for the new children’s hospital—to seek too closely into the cause.
The pain this knowledge caused outweighed all other—to have failed his brother, his twin, his other half! Although, could he have done anything? Interfered in his brother’s marriage?
Azzam knew he had to stop groaning. Groaning achieved nothing. In fact, it was weak and wimpish—he was behaving like a fool!
He had to pull himself together and behave like the ruler of the country.
He had to check out this woman, for a start. His mother was particularly vulnerable at the moment, and he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her then upsetting her further by letting her down. That, too, had happened in the past …
Straightening his shoulders, he strode on towards the shaded area where his mother sat each afternoon with her friends and female relations.
What was she doing here?
How had she let herself be persuaded to fly off at a moment’s notice to some foreign country?
What about her jobs?
The hospital had assured her, when Alex had phoned them, that they would always have her back. Doctors willing to work nights in emergency rooms were always welcome. But how long would the clinic keep her second job open? She’d thought maybe they’d pay her while she was away, as technically Samarah was their patient, but that idea had been slapped down, the manager telling her if she took time off to accompany Samarah back to her home, it would be without pay.
Pay she desperately needed. But when Samarah had wanted her help, she hadn’t had the heart to refuse.
Alex pondered the situation for the hundredth time as she lay back on the silk-quilted bed. No answers were forthcoming so she looked around the sumptuous surroundings, trying to take it all in so she’d remember this part of the dream in which she found herself.
She was in a room with dark red walls, hung with what looked like very fine carpets—tapestries perhaps—woven into fascinating patterns with jewel colours of emerald, ruby and sapphire, and the shadows on the silk coverlet on which she lay were formed by fretwork across open windows, what looked like marble carved into patterns as intricate as those in the carpets on the wall. More carpets were layered on the floor, so when she stepped off the bed her feet sank into softness. Above her, silk sheets like those on which she lay were draped from a central point in the ceiling so she had the impression of being in an extremely luxurious tent.
Her journey had taken on the aspects of a magic-carpet ride to a fabled world, for here and there around the rooms were huge brass urns like the ones in Ali Baba’s story, and strange-looking lamps Aladdin would have recognised!
It’s an adventure, she told herself.
Enjoy it.
Work will wait.
Oh, how she longed to believe that—to relax and enjoy the thrill of the new—to see something of the world beyond this room, the wide, empty desert, the rising red dunes, the colour and scents of the markets and the noisy delight of the camel auctions Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and obvious love.
Impossible, of course, Alex knew that much! The reason she worked two jobs wouldn’t wait—not for long. Bad enough that her brother had cheated his bosses, but how could he have been so stupid as to get involved with dodgy money-lenders? With people who would have no qualms about threatening his wife and vulnerable daughter?
Alex sighed, then turned her attention to practical matters, like getting out of this country she was yet to see.
Apparently Samarah had a niece who was a doctor. As soon as she returned from overseas, Alex would be free to leave. Samarah’s son, the king, was also a doctor, but Samarah was adamant it was not his highness’s job to look after her.
In the meantime?
For a start, she should get up off the bed, find her way outside, possibly dropping breadcrumbs on the way so she could find her way back, and have a look around. Arriving in the dark of very early morning, she’d gained nothing more than the impression of an enormous building, more like a walled town than a house. She’d been led along dimly lit corridors, past shadowy rooms, then seen Samarah settled into bed, sat with her a while until she slept easily, then slept herself. Now daylight was nearly done and she’d seen nothing—
‘Please, you will come.’
The young woman who’d been fussing over Alex since she’d woken up halfway through the afternoon was hovering in the doorway.
‘Samarah? She’s sick again?’
Alex shot off the bed as she asked the question, looked around for her shoes then remembered she’d left them in the doorway the previous night. She brushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her plait, and followed her guide.
‘Samarah is there but it is the prince who wishes to see you.’
‘The prince?’
‘His new Highness.’
It was all too confusing, so Alex kept walking, trusting that a conversation with this august personage would sort out a lot of things, not least of which was when she could return home.
Her carer led her out of the building, into a covered colonnade that joined all the houses around a beautiful central courtyard, with fancifully shaped trees, and massed roses in full bloom and fountains playing tinkling music, the cascading water catching the sunlight in a shimmer of such brilliance Alex felt her breath catch in her throat.
What a beautiful, magical place …
‘Come, come,’ the woman urged, slipping on her sandals and motioning for Alex to do the same, but although Alex responded, she did so automatically, her mind still lost in the delight of her surroundings.
That all this lush beauty should be hidden behind the high walls she’d glimpsed last night!
They walked around the colonnade, passing another dwelling, eventually reaching the end of the rectangular courtyard. In front of her, Alex could see carpets spread, with fat cushions and a low settee placed on them. Samarah was there, and some of the women who had been in Australia with her, their low-voiced chatter reaching out to Alex, making her feel less apprehensive about this meeting with the ‘new highness’.
But as she drew near, the women moved away, drifting lightly down into the courtyard, Samarah among them, so only a man in a white robe remained on the plush red velvet settee on the vivid carpets.
Azzam looked at the pale, tired woman who appeared in front of him. Not a golden blonde, more a silver ghost, slim and insubstantial, the shadows beneath her grey eyes the only colour in her face.
Was it the strain he read on her neat features—a strain he knew was visible in his own face—that made him pause before he spoke? Or did he have some fundamental weakness—some predilection for blondes—that clouded his judgement?
That suspicion, though he instantly denied it, strengthened his will.
‘I am Azzam,’ he said, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘My mother tells me you have been good to her and I wish to thank you.’
‘Alexandra Conroy,’ she replied, her voice soft but firm, her handshake equally solid. ‘And I’ve done no more for your mother than any doctor would have done. Adult onset asthma is not only very distressing for the patient, it can be extremely serious.’
She paused and the grey eyes, made paler by their frame of dark lashes, studied his face for a moment before she added, ‘But of course you’d know that. You’re the doctor, your brother was the lawyer.’
Another pause and he saw her chest rise as she drew in a deep breath.
‘I am sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose a sibling, doubly hard, I would imagine, to lose a twin.’
The simple, quietly spoken words pierced his soul, the pain of losing Bahir so acute that for a moment he couldn’t speak.
Had it been the wrong thing to say? Alex wondered. She found the man’s silence discomforting, but more distracting was the glimpse she’d had of his eyes—a startling green, gleaming out of his olive-skinned face like emeralds set in old parchment.
‘Please, sit,’ he eventually said, his voice cooler than the evening air, making Alex certain she’d breached some kind of protocol in mentioning his brother’s death. She eyed the cushions, then the settee, which had taken on the appearance of a throne as she’d approached. But he waved his hand towards it, so she sat, then regretted it when he remained standing, putting her at an immediate disadvantage.
‘My mother’s asthma? It came on suddenly?’
If a discussion of his mother’s health was all he wanted of her, why was she feeling uneasy?
Because there’s an undertone in his voice that sounded like—surely not suspicion …
She was imagining things.
Yet the sense that this man was judging her in some way persisted, making her feel uncomfortable, so her reply was strained-hurried.
‘I work for a clinic that does—I suppose you’d say house calls—to hotels on the tourist strip of the Gold Coast. About four weeks ago, the clinic had a call from the hotel where your mother was staying. I was on duty and I found her breathless and fatigued, and very upset, which wasn’t so surprising as it was her first such attack.’
‘You treated her?’
An obvious question, yet again she heard some underlying emotion in it.
Putting her silly fancies down to tiredness, not to mention an inbuilt distrust of men as handsome as this one, she explained as concisely as she could.
‘I started with an inhalation of salbutamol, then a corticosteroid injection. Her breathing became easier almost immediately, but I put her on oxygen anyway, and stayed with her. The next day, when she was rested, I talked to her about preventative measures she could take to prevent another attack. I explained about having a management plan for the condition.’
‘I can imagine how well she took that,’ the man said, and Alex thought she caught the suggestion of a smile lifting one corner of his lips. Unfortunately, it drew attention to his lips, so well shaped an artist might have drawn them. Something that wasn’t apprehension fluttered inside her. ‘Not one to take even a mild painkiller for a headache, my mother.’
Alex nodded, and forgot her suspicions, and the flutter, enough to smile herself, remembering the battle she’d been waging with Samarah to convince her that prevention was better than suffering the attacks.
‘You’re right, although after the second attack I think I was gaining some ground.’
Her smile changed her face, Azzam realised. It lifted the tiredness and smoothed out the lines that creased her brow, making her not exactly pretty but—
She was speaking again. He had to concentrate.
‘Unfortunately, when the news of her son’s death came, it triggered the worst attack. She was desperate to return home, but I couldn’t in all conscience let her travel without medical care. A competent nurse could have handled it, but Samarah had come to know me as I’d called in most days over the weeks since I first saw her. I suppose she felt safer with me beside her, so I flew here with her and her friends. As you know, we broke the journey in Singapore, stopping over for the night so she could rest.’
‘And now?’
Azzam knew he’d spoken too abruptly, his voice too cold, too remote, but once again the past seemed to be colliding with the present—Clarice’s insistence she fly to Al Janeen with him—this woman coming with his mother.
The woman’s smile gave way to a frown as she responded.
‘February is our most humid month at home. Although your mother was in a hotel, she’d had the air-conditioning turned off in her suite and she insisted on walking on the beach beside the surf every day. I am assuming it was the humidity that triggered the attacks and now she’s back in the dry air here, she should be all right, although with adult onset, the asthma could persist, and she did have a mild attack on the first stage of the flight.’
Again Alex paused. A woman who thought before she spoke …
‘I believe she has a niece who is a doctor and who normally takes care of her health, but apparently she is away.’
Was she angling to stay on?
His mother would like her to—he already knew that—but previous experience suggested the sooner the stranger was gone the better. His mother would settle down with her friends, he’d get on with the mammoth task of learning his new role, and everyone would be happy.
No, happy was definitely the wrong word, but life could begin to return to normal—a new normal, but still …
‘So?’
The word came out like a demand, unintended, but she was disturbing him in ways he couldn’t understand. So quiet, so shadowy.
Insidious?
But if his mother needed someone to keep an eye on her, which she obviously did, then this woman …
‘I suppose it’s up to you,’ she said. ‘But I won’t leave Samarah without competent care. Is there someone else who could keep an eye on her until her niece returns?’
Alex wanted to suggest he do it himself, despite Samarah’s protestations, but there was something forbidding in the stern features of this man.
And what features! They drew her mesmerised gaze as a magnet drew iron filings—the high sculpted cheekbones, the deep-set eyes, the slightly hooked nose—a face that looked as if the desert winds she’d heard of had scoured it clean so the bones stood out in stark relief.
Hard as weathered rock …
She was still cataloguing his features when he replied so she missed the early part of his sentence.
‘I’m sorry?’ She was so embarrassed by her distraction the words stumbled out and seemed to drop like stones onto the carpet where Azzam was pacing.
‘I asked if you feel my mother should stay on preventative medication now she has returned home.’
Was it suspicion she could hear in his voice? Was that the note bothering her?
Or was it pain? He’d lost his brother, his twin—his world had been turned upside down …
Realising she should be speaking, not thinking, and relieved to have an easy question to answer, Alex now hurried her reply.
‘Probably not in the long term, but for a while perhaps it would be best if she continued to take leukotriene modifiers. I’ve been monitoring her lung capacity with a peak-flow meter daily and prescribing preventative medication as needed, but she is reluctant to use the meter herself and to take control of the illness.’
To her astonishment, the man smiled. Smiled properly, not just a lip quirk. And it was a smile worth waiting for, because it lip up his stern face the way sunrise lit the highest peaks of a cold mountain.
Alex gave a little shake of her head, unable to believe the way her mind—not to mention the fluttering thing inside her chest—had reacted! Sunrise on a mountain indeed! She was losing it!
Tiredness, that was all!
She looked at a point a little above his right shoulder so she didn’t have to see his face again, and concentrated on his words.
‘You are asking her to do something against what, she believes, is meant to be. She would see, and accept, her illness as the will of God. Can you understand that?’
Alex nodded, then, for all her determination not to even look at him, she found herself returning his smile as understanding of Samarah’s opposition became clear.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I did wonder why she was so adamant about it, but if she feels that way, of course she doesn’t want to interfere in what she feels should be beyond her control. Can you persuade her? Could you convince her that she is better off taking mild medication than having to take the really heavy-duty stuff when she has an attack?’
His smile had slipped away, and he looked darkly grave, as if, in his mind, he’d slipped away, and to a not-very-happy place.
‘My brother could have,’ he said quietly, and this time she heard the pain distinctly. ‘My brother could have charmed the birds from the trees so my mother was easy work for him.’
He paused, looking out over the delights of the garden courtyard, and Alex imagined she could feel his pain, throbbing in the air between them.
‘I will try,’ he said, ‘and in the meantime you will stay, care for her, until Maya, her niece, returns?’
Although the invitation sounded forced, as if the man felt he had no alternative but to ask, Alex’s immediate reaction was to agree, for she’d grown very fond of Samarah and certainly wouldn’t leave her without competent medical support, particularly while she was grieving for her son. But money, something Alex had never thought she’d have to worry about, reared its ugly avaricious head, and she hesitated.
As the full extent of Rob’s indebtedness had became obvious, she’d promised her dying mother she’d repay his debts, clearing the family’s name and restoring its honour, but beyond that promise was the fact that her sister-in-law, unable to work herself because of her daughter’s special needs, was relying on her. No way could Alex let these much-loved people down.
An image of the money-lender’s henchman rose up in her mind, clashing with memories of the promise. She’d met him only once and that had been enough. There was no way she could allow that man to terrorise her sister-in-law or her frail little niece.
Alex drew in a deep breath. It was useless. No breath could be deep enough for what she was about to ask, so she blurted out the words she hated having to say.
‘I can stay. I’d be happy to, but personal reasons mean that I can’t stay unless—’
She balked! She couldn’t do it!
‘Unless?’ he prompted, and she knew the coldness and suspicion she’d imagined she’d heard earlier had returned to his voice.
She stood up and did a little pace of her own around the carpet, avoiding the man who now stood close to the steps that led into the garden.
‘Look, this is an embarrassing thing to have to ask and I am ashamed to have to ask it, but if I stay, could I talk to you about some wages? Originally it was just to be two days—fly over with Samarah and fly back—then the stopover and now her niece isn’t here to take over … We’d become friends, Samarah and I, and I was happy to be able to help, but I’ve this obligation—money that is paid out of my bank account regularly—and if I’m not working, not earning, if the money’s not there—’
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, an abrupt movement that seemed to ward her off, although she was back on the settee now, embarrassed—no, utterly humiliated—by having to discuss money with a stranger.
‘Money!’ he snapped. ‘Of course there’ll be money. Do not worry, Dr Conroy, you will be well paid!’
He stalked away, his white robe swirling around him, and what felt like disgust trailing in his wake.
Not that Alex could blame him—she was pretty disgusted herself, but what else could she have done?
Anger pushed Azzam away from the woman. No, not anger so much as an irritated discomfort. At himself for not realising she wasn’t being paid? No, the sensation seemed to have been triggered by the fact that she’d been so obviously uncomfortable at having to discuss it.
By the fact he’d made her uncomfortable?
Of course she should be paid, he’d arrange it immediately. Yet as her words replayed in his head he heard the strain behind them, particularly when she’d said ‘obligation’. Now more questions arose. If the money for this obligation was paid automatically from her bank account, what good would cash be to her here?
He wheeled round, returning to find she’d walked into the garden and was moving from one rose bush to the next, smelling the blooms. The rose she held to her face now was crimson, and it brushed a little colour into her cheeks. For a moment he weakened—his irritation slipping slightly—because there was something special about the sight of that slim, jeans-clad woman standing among the roses.
‘You might give your serving woman your bank details. If, as you say, payments are taken regularly from your account, it is best I transfer the money direct into it rather than give you cash.’
‘If, as I say?’ she retorted, stepping away from the crimson rose and facing him, anger firing the silvery eyes. ‘Do you think I’d lie to you? Or are you just trying to humiliate me further? Do you think that asking a stranger for wages wasn’t humiliating enough for me? Do you think I wouldn’t care for Samarah out of fondness and compassion if I didn’t have financial obligations? Believe me, if I’d had an alternative, I’d have taken it.’
She stormed away, her body rigid with the force of her anger as she slapped her feet against the paving stones.
There’d been a ring of truth in her words, and the anger seemed genuine, and for a moment he regretted upsetting her. But Bahir’s death had brought back too many reminders of Clarice’s arrival in their midst, and suspicion was a bitter seed that flourished in pain and grief.
She shouldn’t have asked, Alex told herself as, on shaking legs, she escaped the man.
She should have told him she had to leave immediately!
But how could she leave the gentle Samarah when she was grieving and ill? How could she, Alex, just walk away from a woman she’d come to admire and respect?
She’d had to ask, she reminded herself, so she may as well stop getting her knickers in a twist over it. So what if the man thought she was a mercenary female?
She kicked off her shoes with such force one of them flew across the paving, disturbing the neat rows of sandals already there. Muttering to herself, she squatted down to restore them all to order and it was there Samarah found her.
‘You will eat with us this evening?’ she asked in her quiet, barely accented English. ‘I am afraid we have neglected you shamefully, but I was tired from the flight and slept until late in the day. In our country we pride ourselves on our hospitality. It comes from the time of our nomad ancestors, when to turn someone away from a camp in the desert might be to send them to their death.’
‘I would be honoured to eat with you,’ Alex told her, standing up and studying Samarah’s face, then watching her chest to check it was moving without strain. ‘You are feeling all right?’
Samarah inclined her head then gave it a little shake.
‘Hardly all right when my first-born is dead, but it is not the asthma that affects me. Only grief.’
She reached out and took Alex’s hands.
‘That you will understand for I read grief in your face as well. It is not so long since you lost someone?’
Alex turned away so she wouldn’t reveal the tears that filled her eyes. It was tiredness that had weakened her so much that a few kind words from Samarah should make her want to cry. Weakness was a luxury she couldn’t afford—like the pride that was still eating into her bones over her request for wages.
Samarah took her hand and led her into the building.
‘I know I gave you little time to pack, but you will find clothes in the dressing room next to your bedroom and toiletries in the bathroom. We will eat in an hour. Hafa will show you the way.’
Alex thanked Samarah and followed Hafa, who had appeared silently in front of them, back to the splendid bedroom.
Clothes in the dressing room?
Alex looked down at her serviceable jeans and checked shirt, then caught up with her guide.
‘Samarah mentioned clothes,’ she said to Hafa. ‘Are my clothes not suitable here?’
Hafa smiled at her.
‘Because you are a foreigner no shame attaches to you, but I think Samarah has chosen clothes especially for you—a gift because she likes you—and she would be pleased to see you wear these things.’
‘Very diplomatically put,’ Alex responded, smiling at the woman, worry over her request to the ‘new highness’ pushed aside by the kindness of the women she was meeting.
Not to mention the thought of a shower and getting into clean clothes. Packing in a hurry, she’d grabbed her passport, a small travel pack, underwear and two clean shirts, thinking her jeans would do until she returned home. At the time, all she’d intended doing was accompanying Samarah home, but the older woman’s asthma attack on the flight had frightened both of them, and Alex had realised she couldn’t leave.
So she’d have to send her bank details to the prince, though her stomach twisted at the thought, and she felt ill remembering the contempt she’d seen in his eyes.
The same contempt she’d seen in David’s eyes when she’d told him about Rob’s debt and offered him back her engagement ring, certain in her heart he wouldn’t take it—certain of a love he’d probably, in retrospect, never felt for her.
His acceptance of it had cut her deeply—the one man she’d been relying on for support backing away from her so quickly she’d felt tainted, unclean in some way.
But David was in the past and she had more than enough problems in the present to occupy her mind.
Inside her room, fearing she’d lose the courage to do it if she hesitated, she dug a notebook out of her handbag and scribbled down the information the prince would need to transfer the money. At the bottom she added, ‘Thank you for doing this. I am sorry I had to ask.’
‘This note needs to go to the prince,’ she told Hafa, who took it and walked, soft-footed, out of the room, the roiling in Alex’s stomach growing worse by the moment.
Forget it. Have a shower.
The thought brought a glimmer of a smile to her face and she pushed away all her doubts and worries. If the bedroom was like something out of the Arabian Nights then the bathroom was like something from images of the future. All stainless steel and glass and gleaming white marble, toiletries of every kind stacked on the glass shelving and a shower that sprayed water all over her body, massaging it with an intensity that had been delicious after the long flight.
She stripped off, undid her plait and brushed it out, deciding to try some of the array of shampoos that lined the shelves and wash her hair. The shampoo she chose had a perfume she didn’t recognise, yet as she dried her hair she realised she’d smelt the same scent here and there around the palace, as if the carpets or tapestries were permeated with it.
She sniffed the air, liking it and trying to capture what it was that attracted her.
‘It’s frankincense,’ Hafa told her when Alex asked about the scent. Frankincense—one of the gifts carried by the wise men! Again the unreality of the situation hit her—this was truly a strange and fascinating place.
By this time she was showered and dressed, in long dark blue trousers and a matching tunic top—the least noticeable set of clothing she’d found among an array of glittering clothes in the dressing room—and Hafa had returned to take her to dinner.
‘I’ve heard of it, of course, but I don’t think I’ve ever smelt it,’ Alex said, and Hafa smiled.
‘It is special to us,’ she replied, but didn’t explain any more than that, simply leading Alex out of the suite of rooms and along new corridors.
What seemed like a hundred women were gathered in a huge room, most of them seated on carpets on the floor, a great swathe of material spread across the floor in front of them, the material loaded with silver and brass platters piled high with fruit and nuts.
Hafa led Alex to where Samarah sat at what would be the head if there were a table. Samarah waved her to sit down beside her, greeting Alex with a light touch of her hands, clasping both of Alex’s hands together.
‘Tomorrow we will bury my son, my Bahir,’ Samarah told her, her voice still hoarse with the tears she must have shed in private. ‘You would feel out of place in the traditional ceremony so Hafa will look after you, but tonight we celebrate his existence—his life—and for this you must join us.’
‘I am honoured,’ Alex told her, and she meant it, for although she’d only known Samarah a short time, she’d heard many tales about this beloved son.
Serving women brought in more silver plates, placing one in front of each of the seated women, then huge steaming bowls of rice, vegetables and meat appeared, so many dishes Alex could only shake her head. Samarah served her a little from each dish, urging her to eat, using bread instead of cutlery.
‘We do eat Western style with knives and forks as you do,’ she explained, ‘but tonight is about tradition.’
And as the meal progressed and the women began to talk, their words translated quietly by a young woman on Alex’s other side, she realised how good such a custom was, for Bahir was remembered with laughter and joy, silly pranks he’d played as a boy, mistakes he’d made as a teenager, kindnesses he’d done to many people.
It was as if they talked to imprint the memories of him more firmly in their heads, so he wouldn’t ever be really lost to them, Alex decided as she wandered through the rose garden when the meal had finished.
She’d eaten too much to go straight to bed, and the garden with its perfumed beauty had called to her. Now, as she walked among the roses she thought of Rob, and the bitterness she’d felt towards him since he’d taken his own life drained away. At the time she’d felt guilt as well as anger about his desperate act. She’d known he was convinced that finding out the extent of his indebtedness had hastened their mother’s death from cancer, but Alex had been too shocked by the extent of the debt and too devastated by David’s desertion to do more to support her brother.
Forget David—subsequent knowledge had proved he wasn’t worth being heartsick over—but now, among the roses, she found she could think of Rob, remembering rather than regretting. Here, in this peaceful, beautiful place, she began to reconstruct her brother in her mind, remembering their childhood, the tears and laughter they had shared. Here, among the roses, she remembered Rob’s ability to make their mother laugh, even when the burden of bringing up two children on her own had become almost too heavy for her to bear.
‘Oh, Rob,’ she whispered to the roses, and suddenly it didn’t matter that she’d had to ask the prince for money. She was doing it for Rob, and for the wife and daughter he’d so loved—doing it for the boy who’d shared her childhood, and had made their mother laugh …
CHAPTER TWO
THE last person Azzam expected to find in the rose garden was the stranger, but there she was, tonight a dark shadow in the moonlight, for her fair hair was hidden by a scarf. He watched her touching rose petals with her fingertips, brushing the backs of her hands against the blooms, apparently talking to herself for he could see her lips moving.
He stepped backwards, not wanting her to see him—not wanting to have to talk to anyone—but fate decreed he missed the path, his sandal crunching on the gravel so the woman straightened and whipped round, seeming to shrink back as she caught sight of him.
‘I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t be here,’ she said, and her voice sounded muted—tear filled?
‘There is no reason why you shouldn’t be here,’ he told her, and although he’d been certain he didn’t want to talk to anyone when he’d sought the solitude of the courtyard, he found himself drawn towards her.
‘You like the roses?’ he asked as he came closer.
‘They are unbelievable,’ she said, voice firmer now. ‘The perfume overwhelms me. At home it’s hard to find a rose with perfume. The new ones seem to have had it bred out of them. Not that we can grow roses where I live—not good ones—the humidity gives them black spot.’
Azzam found himself smiling. How disconcerting was that? Was it simply relief that all the details of the funeral were completed that he found a conversation about perfume and black spot on roses a reason to smile?
‘The same humidity that triggered my mother’s asthma?’ he said, coming closer, smelling the perfume of the roses for himself, breathing in the scented air, releasing it slowly, relaxing, but only slightly, made wary by this unexpected shift in his mood …
She returned his smile as she said, ‘That’s it,’ and made to move away.
He was about to put out his hand to stop her—though why he couldn’t say—when she paused, turned back towards him.
‘I had dinner with your mother and her women friends a little earlier,’ she said quietly. ‘I found it very moving that they all offered her their memories of Bahir, as if giving her gifts to help her grief. He must have been a very special person.’
Azzam knew the women gathered at this time, but offering gifts of memories? He hadn’t thought of their behaviour in quite that way. He studied the woman in front of him, surprised by her perception, and caught, again, in his own memories of his twin.
‘Bahir, the dazzling, the brilliant.’
The words slipped almost silently from his lips, while pain gripped his heart.
‘The dazzling, the brilliant?’
The woman echoed the words and Azzam hauled his mind back into gear. He should have walked away, but perhaps talking to a stranger might ease his pain, whereas talking to his family forced him to carry theirs as well.
‘It is what his name means in our language,’ he told her, and saw her shake her head as if in wonder, then she looked up at him, her eyes a shining silver in the moonlight.
‘And your name?’ she asked. ‘Azzam?’
‘My name is less lofty, Azzam means determined, resolute.’
Her lips curled into a smile, and it was his imagination that the ground seemed to move beneath his feet.
‘I am sure you are that,’ she said. ‘When your mother spoke of you, she made it sound as if you were the one who got things done—as if your brother might have had the vision, but you were the practical one who could make things happen. She spoke of a hospital you were building—a hospital for children.’
She was beguiling him—though it couldn’t be deliberate, for how could she have known he’d seek refuge in the rose garden?
He set his suspicions aside as his disappointment about the hospital flooded his being and forced words from his lips.
‘It was to be a special hospital for children, built to accommodate the families so they do not have to be separated from their sick child. It must be a frightening place, for a child, a large, impersonal hospital, although I know these days all hospitals try to make the children’s wards bright and special. In my mind it needed to be more—low set for a start, maybe two or three levels, not a towering, impersonal, corridor-littered monolith.’
‘It sounds a wonderful idea,’ the woman said. ‘But surely you can still achieve it.’
He hesitated, uncertain why he should be discussing his dream with a stranger.
Or was it because she was a stranger that he found it easy to talk to her?
‘I had hoped to make things happen quickly with the hospital—to make my vision come true—but having to take my brother’s place as ruler will put a stop to that.’
She touched his robe above his arm and he felt the heat of her fingers sear through the fine cotton material.
‘You will do it,’ she said quietly. ‘Determined and resolute—remember that—and although I’m sure you’ll have a lot of pressing duties for a while, surely once you’re used to the job, you’ll find time for your own interests.’
‘Used to the job!’ He repeated the words then laughed out loud, probably for the first time since Bahir’s death. ‘You make it sound so prosaic and just so should I be thinking. I have let all that has happened overwhelm me.’
He took her hand and bowed to kiss it.
‘Thank you, Alexandra Conroy,’ he said. ‘Perhaps now I shall sleep.’
Definitely weird, Alex thought as she watched him move away, the swaying robes making it seem as if he glided just a little above the earth.
Not the burning on her hand where he’d dropped the casual kiss, although that was weird, but the way the man had treated her, like a friend almost, when earlier his voice had held a distinct note of suspicion, and later, when she’d asked about the wages, there’d been a faint note of contempt.
Yet out here in the moonlight it was as if the afternoon’s conversation had been forgotten.
Poor man, he’d be devastated by his brother’s death, and now to have to shoulder the responsibilities of the ruler—no wonder he was confused.
‘And confusing,’ she added out loud as she lifted her hand to her lips and touched them with the skin he’d kissed, the warmth his touch had generated still lingering in her body.
She smiled to herself, delighting, for a moment, in the fantasy in which she’d found herself, alone in a rose garden in a foreign country with a rivetingly handsome sheikh talking to her of his dreams …
What was she supposed to do? Alex had eaten breakfast in her room, checked on Samarah, who’d been pale but stalwart, then returned to what was coming to feel like a luxurious prison cell. Not wanting to get inadvertently caught up in the funeral proceedings, she’d stayed in her room until Hafa had explained that the ceremonies were taking place back in the city, nowhere near the palace.
Now she escaped, drawn by the compulsion of their beauty and perfume, to the rose garden. But wandering there, smelling the roses, reminded her of the strange encounter of the previous evening.
When he’d spoken of his brother, she’d felt Azzam’s pain—felt it and seen it—recognising it because she’d carried a fair load of pain herself over the past few years.
Had that recognition drawn her to the man that he’d stayed in her mind, his almost stern features haunting her dreams? Or was it nothing more than the strange situation in which she found herself, making her wonder about the man and the country he was now ruling?
She wandered the courtyard, drinking in the lush beauty of it, freeing her mind of memories and questions she couldn’t answer. One of the fountains spurted its water higher than the others, and she left the rose gardens to go towards it, ignoring the heat burning down from the midday sun, wanting to hear the splashing of the water and see the rainbows in its cascading descent.
As she approached it seemed to shimmer for a moment, or maybe she was still tired, for her feet faltered on the ground. Soon cries echoing from the buildings surrounding the courtyard and figures emerging out of the gloom suggested that whatever had happened wasn’t tiredness or imagination.
‘An earth tremor,’ Hafa told Alex when she found the woman among the chattering crowd of servants who had remained at the palace. ‘Sometimes we have them, though not bad earthquakes like other countries. Ours are usually gentle shivers, a reminder to people, I think, that there are powers far greater than humans can imagine. For this to happen today … well, there are people who will tell you it is the earth’s response to Bahir’s death—the death of a loved ruler.’
Alex considered this, wondering if it was simply accepted form that every ruler would be a loved one, or if Azzam’s brother had been as dazzling and brilliant as his name.
Certain any hint of danger had passed, the women all returned to the buildings, Alex following Hafa.
‘Samarah has returned,’ the young woman told Alex. ‘The women’s part of the proceedings is done.’
‘I should check on her. I still get lost—can you show me to her rooms?’
Following Hafa along the corridors, Alex felt a surge of regret that she’d probably never get to know her way around this fabulous place. Soon she’d be gone, and Al Janeen would be nothing more than a memory of a storybook bedroom and a white-robed man in a scented rose garden.
Samarah welcomed her, and although the older woman looked exhausted, her lung capacity was surprisingly good.
‘See, I am better in my own land,’ Samarah told her, then, to Alex’s surprise, she turned and introduced a young woman who’d been hovering behind her. ‘And now here is my niece, Maya. She arranged her return as soon as she heard of Bahir’s death so she could care for me. But although she is now here, I would like you to stay for a while as my guest. I would like you to see something of this country that I love, and to learn a little about the people.’
Alex acknowledged the introduction, thinking she’d talk to Maya later about Samarah’s condition, but right now she had to deal with her own weakness—the longing deep inside her to do exactly as Samarah had suggested, to stay and see something of this country. It was so strong, this longing, it sat like a weight on her shoulders but she couldn’t stay if she wasn’t needed—well, not stay and take wages, that wouldn’t be right.
And she had to keep earning money!
Her mind was still tumbling through the ramifications of hope and obligation when she realised Maya was speaking to her.
‘Adult-onset asthma?’ Maya asked, holding up the folder with the information and treatment plan Alex had prepared.
‘It could have been the humidity in Queensland. We’ve had a very hot summer and the humidity has been high,’ Alex explained.
‘That, and the fact that she’s been debilitated since her husband’s death a little over twelve months ago. I ran tests before I went away but found nothing, just a general weakening,’ Maya replied. ‘It was I who suggested a holiday somewhere new—somewhere she hadn’t been with her husband. She was excited about it, and though I suggested a doctor should accompany her, she believed having a doctor in the group would worry her sons and, of course, they must be spared all worry.’
The edge of sarcasm in Maya’s voice made Alex smile. Someone else wondered at Samarah’s attitude towards her sons—the unstinting love that probably hid any imperfections they might have had.
An image of Azzam’s striking features rose unbidden in Alex’s mind.
‘And now?’ she asked, determinedly ignoring the image. ‘Do you think she’s strong enough to get through whatever will be expected of her in the weeks ahead? Is there much for her to do? Will she have duties she has to carry out?’
‘More than she should have,’ Maya replied, moving Alex away from the lounge on which Samarah rested. ‘It is traditional that the wives of the dignitaries who have come for the funeral call on the widow, but this particular widow will make some excuse to avoid anything that might seem like work to her and Samarah will feel duty bound to take her place.’
‘Perhaps the widow is just grieving too much,’ Alex offered, surprised by a hint of venom in Maya’s soft voice.
‘Perhaps!’ Maya retorted, more than a hint this time. ‘But Samarah will find the strength to do what must be done. She is a very determined woman.’
They talked a little longer about the various preventative treatments available, until Alex sensed it was time to leave. She said good-bye to Samarah, promising to see her in the morning, knowing it would be a final good-bye because staying on would be impossible.
The only bright side was that she could send a note to Azzam telling him to forget about the wages, although she’d already been gone three days and if it took a day to arrange a flight and another day to fly home, that made six by the time she got back to work. One week’s wages lost, that was all.
She sighed, thinking how little importance she’d once have placed on one week’s pay. These days she knew to the last cent how much was in her account, her mind doing the calculations of credit and debit automatically. Knowing what went in each week and what went out made it easy, but losing a week’s pay from the two jobs would eat into the small reserve she’d been carefully hoarding.
If the clinic did take her back, all would be well.
And if it didn’t? If they’d replaced her?
She sighed and knew she wouldn’t send a note to the prince. If the job was gone, she’d need a little extra to tide her over until she found something else …
Damn it all! Why was money such a difficulty?
Gloomily Alex followed Hafa back to her room. It wasn’t only for the money she had to return home. Simply put, there was no reason for her to stay. But the thought of leaving the place Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and so obvious a love without ever seeing more of it than a highway and the high-walled building in which she was staying caused disappointment so strong in Alex that it shocked her.
Not that she could go home! Not right now anyway. The prince—Azzam—had said it would be arranged, but he’d hardly be organising her flight home while attending the all-day ceremonial duties of his brother’s funeral, and the state visits that Maya suggested would come after it.
Needing to escape to consider these contrary reactions—wanting to stay yet knowing she couldn’t—Alex retired to her room. But once there, she was uncertain what to do. She didn’t want to sleep again. All the rules of air travel suggested fitting into the local time patterns as quickly as possible, so she’d go to bed at the regular time—Al Janeen time—tonight.
Now the women and maybe the men as well were back at the palace. If she went outside again—to walk around the beautiful courtyard—she might unwittingly offend. So exploration within the walls of her suite was all that remained to her. She opened cupboard doors, discovering a small writing desk, and behind another door a television set. Wondering if the funeral procedures might be televised, she turned it on, not understanding any of the words but guessing from the serious expression of the news-reader that he could be talking of the ceremony.
Huge photos of a man so like Azzam he had to be Bahir appeared to have been erected all along the street, and shots of them were flashing across the screen, interspersed with images of a crowd, no doubt lingering from the funeral. White-garbed men and women, a sea of white, filled the screen, and their cries of grief echoed from the television set, filling the room with their pain.
With the voice droning on in the background, Alex sat at the desk, taking up a pen and finding paper, determined to jot down her meagre impressions of this country she had yet to see.
And probably never would!
She’d barely begun to write when a change in the tone of the talking head’s voice had her turning back towards the screen. Once again she couldn’t understand the words, but now a map was showing on the screen, apparently a map of Al Janeen. The capital—given the airport and the lights, Alex assumed they were somewhere near it—was shown in the bottom right of the picture, and arrows pointed to an area to the north.
‘Great! They’re probably being invaded!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Don’t coups usually happen when the monarchy is unstable—when there’s a change of ruler? Just my luck to be caught in a war in a foreign country! What else can happen?’
Wanting to know more—the timbre of the man’s voice suggested shock and panic—but still worried that if she wandered beyond the building she might end up where she shouldn’t be, Alex left her room, wondering where Hafa disappeared to when she didn’t need her.
Hafa was sitting outside the door, legs crossed, head bent over some intricate embroidery.
She smiled as she stood up and tucked the piece of material into her pocket.
‘I wonder if you could explain something else to me,’ Alex asked. ‘I turned on the television in my room and the announcer sounded very excited about something happening in the north of your country. Is it a war?’
‘A war?’ the young woman repeated, looking more puzzled than anxious by the question. ‘I do not think war. We are a peaceful country and we like and respect our neighbours.’
‘Come and see,’ Alex invited and led her back to her room where the television still showed a map of what Alex assumed was Al Janeen, with arrows pointing to a place in the north.
Hafa listened for a while, a frown gathering, marring her fine, clear skin.
‘It is not war but an earthquake,’ she said, still frowning. ‘This is not good. The town is a not big one, more a village really, but it is a very old place of history in the north, between the mountains, and the reports are saying the quake was very severe.’
‘That must have been the tremor we felt here,’ Alex remembered. ‘I was in the garden.’
The young woman nodded but she was obviously too engrossed in what she was hearing from the television to be taking much notice of Alex.
‘Many people have been injured,’ Hafa explained. ‘There is a school that has collapsed with children inside. The town is in the mountains and landslides have closed the roads in and out, so it will be hard to get help and supplies to it.’
She paused as a new figure appeared on the screen, a familiar figure.
‘It is His Highness, His new Highness,’ she pointed out, her relief so evident Alex had to wonder at the man’s power. ‘He has left his brother’s funeral. He says he will go there now. If the helicopter cannot land, he has been lowered from one before. He will assess the situation and arrange to bring in whatever is needed. He can also give immediate medical help.’
‘Where will he go from?’ Alex asked, as new excitement stirred inside her. This was what she’d been trained for, but it was some time since she’d done this kind of work, the need to earn as much as possible to repay Rob’s debts taking precedence over all else.
‘He will fly from here—his own helicopter is here at the palace. It is used for rescues as well as his private business so it has medical equipment on board. Sometimes it takes people to hospital if there is an emergency. It brought the other Highness, Prince Bahir, to the hospital after the accident.’
Alex had heard enough. What she had to do was find Azzam and offer her services—explain her training and expertise, not to mention her experience.
But finding Azzam might not be the best way to attack this situation. Better by far to find the helicopter and get aboard. Samarah was in good hands with Maya. The hospital would already be on full alert. Arrangements would be under way for other medical staff to get to the stricken area, but she knew from experience that such arrangements took time, while the sooner trained people were in place, the more chance there was of saving the injured.
She wrapped a scarf around her head—downdraughts from helicopters caused havoc with even braided long hair. The helicopter, if it was used for rescues, would have emergency equipment on board, but she grabbed a small plastic pack out of her hand luggage. In it she had waterless hand cleaner, a small toothbrush and toothpaste, a spare pair of undies and a tiny manicure set—experience in emergencies had taught her to be prepared. The pack fitted easily into the wide pockets of her loose trousers. Then she ran out the door, calling to Hafa to show her the way.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU are doing what?’
Azzam stared in disbelief when he saw Alex already strapped into the back of the helicopter, adjusting a helmet over her pale hair.
‘Coming with you to the earthquake region,’ she answered calmly, adding, too quickly for him to argue, ‘and before you get uptight about it, it’s what I’m trained to do. As well as clinic work, I’m an ER doctor, mostly doing night shifts these days, but I’m a specialist major emergency doctor with experience of triage in cyclones, fire and floods. I also know how long it takes to get hospital personnel mobilised, and right now, for the people in that village, two doctors are better than one, so let’s go.’
Was she for real?
Surely she wouldn’t be lying about experience like that, and if she wasn’t lying, she’d certainly be useful.
‘Maya is with your mother, so she is in good hands.’
She sounded genuine, and he knew from his mother that she appeared to genuinely care, but he must have still looked doubtful for she hurried on.
‘I’ve been lowered from helicopters. I’ve done rescues off ships. I am trained.’
‘Cutting my legs out from under me—isn’t that the expression?’ he responded.
She smiled and he realised it was only the second time he’d seen a proper smile from her, but this one, in daylight rather than the dim light of the rose garden, was something special. Her generous lips curved in what seemed like genuine delight, while silver flashes danced in her eyes.
Disturbed in ways he didn’t want to think about, he turned away from her, gave a curt order to his pilot, nodded to the navigator, who would act as winchman if necessary, and climbed into the front seat. He hoped there’d be a patch of flat land where the helicopter could land, but if there wasn’t they’d have to be lowered on a cable.
‘You say you’ve been winched down on a cable?’ he asked, speaking through the microphone in his helmet as the engines were roaring with the power needed for liftoff.
‘Onto the deck of a ship pitching in sixty-knot winds,’ she told him, and he felt an urge to grind his teeth.
‘Wonder-woman, in fact?’ he growled instead.
She glanced his way and shrugged.
‘No, but I believe if you’re going to do something you should do it well.’
He believed the same thing himself, so it couldn’t be that causing his aggravation. Was it nothing more than the presence of the woman in the helicopter?
Impossible question to answer, so he turned to practical matters, taking care to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice as he said, ‘Well, you’ve probably had experience of this before, but unless the chopper lands a fair distance away, dust from the rotors can cause more problems for people who have been injured, or buried beneath the rubble. Dropping in a short distance away is usually safer and if we can establish a drop zone, medical supplies and water can be lowered into the same place as well.’
Azzam realised he’d mostly done training runs and learnt from books and lectures the latest ways to handle mass disasters. He’d even written the hospital’s policy papers for the management of such things. But he’d never really expected it to happen—not in his own country.
Driven by his need to see for himself, and his fear for the people of the northern village, he’d left the funeral feast and rushed straight back to his rooms, issuing orders through the phone to the hospital as he went, speaking to the police department and army officers as he changed into tough outdoor wear, making sure the emergency response teams he had set up, but never yet used, were all springing into action.
‘I don’t know how long the flight will take, but you should try to snatch some sleep.’ Her voice broke into his thoughts as he went over the arrangements he’d already put in place.
‘Sleep?’
He heard the word echo back in his helmet and realised he’d spoken a bit abruptly.
‘I’ve found these emergency situations are a bit like being back in our intern years, and the rule is the same—snatch what sleep you can when you can.’
He realised she was right. There was nothing else to do until they were on the ground, where, together, they would assess the situation and call in whatever help was needed.
He wanted to tell her she was right and that he was grateful to her for being there, grateful that he’d have someone with whom to discuss the situation and work out best options, but it had been a long time since he’d shared any feelings with a stranger—and a female stranger at that.
Yet—
‘I will sleep.’
At least he’d acknowledged her presence, Alex thought as she looked around the interior of the helicopter. She sat in one of two seats fitted against the fuselage, a door beside her and another one opposite it. In the seat behind the pilot, directly opposite her, was another man, who apparently didn’t speak English for he hadn’t been involved in the conversation Alex had had with the pilot when she’d persuaded him to allow her to join the flight.
Alex assumed this second man would play multiple roles—second pilot, navigator, and winchman.
She hoped he was good at his job!
Secured to the walls were familiar-looking equipment backpacks. Some would hold emergency medical supplies, one a special defibrillator and vital-signs monitor. Next to them were two collapsible stretchers, also in backpacks, and she could see where these, once opened out, could be secured to the floor of the aircraft.
‘I understood this was your personal chopper, so why the emergency equipment?’ she said, forgetting she’d told her companion to sleep.
‘It is the prince’s aircraft, he flies it himself at times,’ the pilot replied, ‘but he believes it should have more use than a convenience to get him to and from work in the city, so he had it specially fitted out.’
Knowing how much money was needed to keep the emergency helicopter services afloat at home, Alex could only marvel that one person could have a private aircraft like this at his disposal. Her wages would be chicken feed to him, although even thinking about her request for wages made her stomach squirm.
Forget it! she told herself, and she did, turning instead to peer out the window, seeing for the first time what a desert looked like.
It was like flying over the sea at sunset, something she’d been lucky enough to do, seeing the ocean turned to red-gold, the row upon row of waves like the dunes beneath them now. But shadows were already touching the eastward sides of the dunes and the blackness of those shadows made the colours more vivid.
Up ahead she could see mountains rising from the sands—red mountains with deeper shadows below them, what appeared to be a road or track of some kind disappearing between two ranges.
Used to flying over coastal scenes and greenery and water, the endless red conjured up the magic-carpet image yet again, the patterns of the windswept sand and shadows like the patterns in the carpets back at the palace or whatever it was to which she’d been taken.
‘Ayee!’
The cry came from the man behind the pilot and Alex peered forward, shocked by what had caused his cry. From the air it looked as if large white blocks had been tumbled down a hill but, as they drew closer, Alex realised they were houses.
‘It is a narrow ravine,’ Azzam explained, his bleary voice suggesting he had slept at least for a short time. ‘It was a guard point on an ancient trade route—the frankincense trade, in fact. It was settled because of the oasis there at the bottom, the houses built on the sides of the hills because the wadi—the river bed—floods after rain.’
His voice faded from her earphones but not before Alex had heard shock and deep sadness in it.
Now Alex could see where the mountain looked as if it had sheared in two—as if some giant with a mighty sword had sliced through it. She was trying to make sense of it when the helicopter lifted in the air, turning away from the shattered remains of the town and heading back along the narrow valley.
‘We could cause more disruption with the noise so we will winch down further along the valley,’ Azzam said to her. He had climbed into the back cabin and looked directly into Alex’s face.
‘There is no need for you to do this,’ he said, the dark eyes so intent on hers she felt a shiver of apprehension down her spine.
‘I didn’t come along for the ride,’ she told him, unbuckling her seat belt and standing as steadily as she could. ‘Which backpack do you want me to take?’
His eyes studied her again, assessing her.
‘The medical supplies and stretchers can drop safely, but I would appreciate it if you would take the defibrillator. I don’t anticipate needing it but the monitor could be handy. The pilot will drop us in, lower what gear he can, then return to the capital to bring back more personnel and supplies. He will find a safe place to land further down the valley and the rescuers can walk in. For now I—we—need to assess the damage and get word out about the amount of damage done and the kind of help we will need.’
Alex took the small backpack he passed her.
‘Strap it on your front,’ Azzam told her. ‘We will be winched down together.’
Alex stared at him.
‘I’ve been winched down before, I know the routine!’
‘Together,’ the infuriating man repeated, while Alex added ‘bossy and obstinate’ to the meanings of his name.
It was an exercise drop, nothing more, she told herself as Azzam’s strong arms closed around her. And she was only annoyed because he didn’t trust her to do it on her own!
More annoyed because she felt uncomfortable about the way he was holding her, as if dangling on a line above an earthquake-wrecked valley was some kind of romantic foreplay!
Yet annoyance couldn’t mask the responses of her body, which, through clothes and backpack straps and webbing, still felt the hardness of the man who held her clamped against him.
Still reacted to it, warming so inappropriately she wondered if she was blushing.
Would she have felt this reaction with David holding her? Or was it because she’d known him so well she’d never felt these tingling, tightening sensations along her nerves, or a strange heaviness in her muscles, when he’d held her in his arms.
David had only ever kissed her, nothing more. Anything extra was what he’d kept for the string of other women who, unbeknownst to Alex at the time, had drifted in and out of her fiancé’s life.
‘Ready to roll if we need to?’ Azzam asked, his chin brushing her ear, the words so close she felt as well as heard them. She drew up her knees, unconsciously pressing closer to him so they’d roll together as they hit the ground. But the roll wasn’t needed, the helicopter pilot holding the craft steady and the winchman easing them onto the ground so they stepped from the loop in the cable without even the slightest jar.
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Meredith Webber
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Sheikh, Children′s Doctor...Husband, электронная книга автора Meredith Webber на английском языке, в жанре современные любовные романы