The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZAHIR was unusually silent on the trip out into the desert but, when he stopped the big four-wheel drive, he told Diana to close her eyes before he killed the engine. Turned off the lights.

‘Keep them closed,’ he warned, as he opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air. She heard him walk around the vehicle, then he opened the door beside her.

‘Here, take my cloak, you’ll need it,’ he said, dumping something heavy in her lap, before lifting her clear of her seat.

‘Zahir!’ she protested. ‘I’m not helpless. I can walk!’

‘Not if your eyes are closed.’ Then, ‘You might want to hold on.’

Obediently, she wrapped one arm around his neck, clutching the cloak to her with the other, while he carried her surely and safely over ground that crunched beneath his feet. Cheating a little, lifting her lids a fraction so that she could watch his face, the way his breath condensed in little clouds in the faint light from the stars.

‘Can I look now?’ she asked when he set her on her feet.

‘I’ll tell you when,’ he said, taking the cloak and wrapping it around her. Then, standing behind her, his hands on either side of her shoulders as if afraid she might fall, he said, ‘Now!’

She would have gasped if she could have caught her breath. Instead, soundlessly, she reached out, first to the sky, then back for his hand. As if he knew exactly how she would react, he was there, waiting for her, taking her hand in his.

How long they’d been standing there when the cold finally penetrated her brain, she could not have said.

‘You must be freezing,’ she said and, half turning, she opened the cloak, inviting him to share the warmth. When he hesitated, she said, ‘Come on, before I freeze too.’

He joined her, slipping his arm around her waist to bring them close enough to fit in together and they stood, wrapped up in its warmth, for the longest time, her head on his shoulder, looking at the heavens. Diana knew, just knew, that this would be the moment she would remember when she was dying.

‘I never dreamed,’ she said at last, ‘that there were so many stars.’

‘They say that if you took a handful of sand from a beach and each grain of sand was a star you can see-’

‘-the rest of the beach would represent the stars that are out of sight. I read that somewhere, but when you see it, really see it, it’s…incomprehensible.’

‘In the face of such vastness it is impossible not to feel…humble.’

‘Yes,’ she said. Then, lifting her head, turning to look at him, ‘But how great too! We’re standing here, looking up into the unimaginable vastness of space, and our imagination isn’t crushed by that; it soars!’

In the starlight she could see a frown pucker in the space between his eyes.

‘All through history we’ve looked up there and made stories, strived to know the unknowable. We’re less than grains of sand in the cosmic scheme of things, no more than the tiniest particles of dust, and yet we’re huge. Giants.’ She turned and stretched her arms up to the stars. ‘We’re the star-gatherers, Zahir! We can do anything, be anyone. Only our own fears hold us back…’ And she’d spent too many years afraid to step out of the shadows. Afraid to grab the world by the throat. Seize the dream. ‘Thank you. Thank you for showing me that…’

And then, because one dream was all she had, because they both knew that this was goodbye, she leaned into him, kissed him briefly on the lips, before saying, ‘I need to go home.’

When Diana called James Pierce it was still dark at Nadira. By the time her mother was awake, she had packed.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home.’ Her mother looked doubtful. ‘It’s okay. According to Mr Pierce, some supermodel had a furniture-throwing fight with her boyfriend in a nightclub and they both got arrested. Our little story can’t begin to compete with that.’

‘Well, that’s good, but do you have to rush back to London? You’re on leave, anyway.’

‘There are things I have to do, but you’re all staying until Saturday. Mr Pierce is sorting flights for you. Hamid will have all the details.’

‘And Zahir?’

‘He’s been more than generous with his time, but he’s got a business to run. He won’t have time to come out here again.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ She blinked away the sting of a tear. No tears…‘No regrets.’ She hugged her. ‘Give Freddy a hug from me. See you at the weekend.’

And two hours after that she was on her way to London, this time flying business class on a scheduled flight.

She suspected James Pierce would have put her in economy if he’d dared and actually she didn’t blame him. She’d messed up his boss’s big week. Had made extra work for him.

The only thing they’d both agreed on was that Zahir should not be told until she was home. She’d scarcely expected to find James himself waiting to meet her, drive her home. A journey accomplished in almost total silence.

It was barely dark, just on nine, when he pulled up in front of Aunt Alice’s. She didn’t believe for a minute that anyone would be hanging around the house, but someone in the street would undoubtedly have taken the tabloid shilling to call in the moment she put in an appearance. She didn’t blame them for that, but she wasn’t prepared to make it easy for them either.

‘Thank you, Mr Pierce. I’m very grateful-’

He dismissed her gratitude with a gesture. Then, ‘I don’t understand.’ She waited. ‘Why didn’t you sell your story?’

‘There is no story,’ she said.

‘When did that matter?’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that to anyone, let alone someone I…’ She stopped. ‘Anyone.’

‘No. I’m sorry, Miss Metcalfe. I saw how Zahir looked at you and feared exactly this, but I misjudged you. I thought you were-’

‘A girl on the make?’ She said it before he did.

‘Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered but Sheikh Zahir’s family are in the middle of marriage negotiations on his behalf. It’s a very bad moment to have some sordid story spread all over the media…’

‘Arranged…’ A small sound, as if all the breath had been driven from her, escaped Diana before she could stop it. ‘Now?’

That was why he’d whisked her and her family to Nadira? Not concern for her, as she’d thought, but to keep her isolated? Out of the clutches of the press until the fuss had died down?

‘It’s the way they do things,’ James said, mistaking her reaction for shock. Why would she be shocked? He’d told her how they did things…

But while she’d unburdened herself, had spilled out the secret she hadn’t even shared with her mother, he had kept this from her.

‘If there’s anything you need,’ James continued, clearly anxious to be on his way. ‘If you have any problems, please give me a call.’ He handed her a card. ‘I’ll be staying in London for the foreseeable future.’ He gave the smallest of shrugs and said, ‘Zahir appointed me CEO of the airline before he left.’

She remembered. He’d mentioned it when they’d been at the yacht club. ‘Congratulations.’ Then, pulling herself together, trying to hang on to her sudden elation as she’d looked up at the stars, ‘Maybe there is something. I’m going to need a bank loan to buy my first taxi. The last time I tried, I was shown the door.’

‘You want to buy a taxi? Don’t you have to pass tests to get a licence to drive a London cab?’

‘I was nearly there once.’ Then her dad had a stroke and her life had hit the skids for the second time and it had felt like punishment for her sins…‘I can do it again.’

‘Oh, well, under the circumstances I’m sure Sheikh Zahir would be more than willing to-’

‘No!’ Then, ‘No. That’s not what I’m asking for. I don’t want his money. Not even as a loan. What I want is for the bank manager to treat me with respect. Take me seriously.’

‘I see. Well, in that case you’re going to need a business plan and an accountant.’ And wonder of wonders, he smiled. ‘In fact you might try the Prince’s Trust. They help young people set up in business. I’ll make some enquiries.’

‘No…’

She wasn’t crawling back into her rut. She’d allowed herself to love someone and the world hadn’t fallen apart. She’d seen the universe and she’d been inspired.

‘Thank you, James, but I can do that.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Miss Metcalfe, but the number on the card is a direct line to my office. Give me a call if I can help.’

Zahir found his mother sitting in her garden. Kissed her cheek, took her hand.

‘Are you well?’ he asked, sitting beside her.

‘By the will of Allah,’ she said. ‘And you, Zahir?’

‘By the will of Allah,’ he replied.

She smiled up at him. ‘You look happy. I can see that you have made your decision.’

‘I have. It was not easy but the woman who has won my heart has warmth, sweetness, honour. She has courage too. And family is everything to her.’

‘Then it seems that I have found you a paragon!’

‘No man could…’ or would, he thought ‘…live with a paragon. Except my father,’ he added swiftly. ‘The women you chose were all equally charming and any one of them would make a perfect wife. For someone else.’

Her smile faded. ‘Zahir…’

‘When I was young, I had Hanif to speak for me, talk to my father, persuade him to let me take my own path, even though it was not the one chosen for me. Have I failed you, have I brought dishonour on my family?’

‘My son…’ She shook her head. Laid a hand over his.

‘Now I am a man and I must speak for myself. I honour you and my father, as I have always honoured you. Will you not trust me in this greatest of all decisions to know my own heart?’

Alone in the house, Diana hadn’t put the light on but had curled up in bed, hugging the cat for comfort.

She’d woken early-she’d just about adjusted to Ramal Hamrah time-and, because the alternative was lying there thinking about Zahir standing under that canopy with some perfect match his family had found for him, she got up and set about making a plan.

No. Not the canopy. He’d said that traditional weddings took place in the bride’s home. Well, obviously, he’d been thinking about it…

She concentrated on the list of things to do. First thing she’d call the Public Carriage Office and talk to someone about getting back on track with her ‘appearances’-the tests of her knowledge of the quickest routes in London.

Then she’d go to the library and use the computer to follow up the stuff James Pierce had mentioned, check on the possibility of a start-up grant.

A princess.

She’d bet they’d found him a princess to marry.

Well, that was how it was in real life. Princes married princesses while Cinderella…got the frog.

She called Sadie.

‘It’s quiet here. No one at Capitol is prepared to talk and the media was reduced to printing a fuzzy school photograph of you.’

‘Oh, terrific. One minute I’m hanging off the arm of a sheikh in the hat from hell, the next the world sees me in pigtails!’

‘You looked cute.’

‘I’m twenty-three. Cute is not a good look!’ Then, ‘I just hope that whoever sold it to them made them pay through the nose.’

She got a couple of startled looks from the neighbours as she walked down the street, but she just smiled and said, ‘Gorgeous day!’ and walked on. Called in at the bank to make an appointment. Visited the library.

She thought she was home clear when a journalist caught up with her in the supermarket.

‘Nice tan, Diana. Been somewhere nice?’

‘Do I know you?’

‘Jack Harding. The Courier. Ramal Hamrah is very nice at this time of year, I believe.’

‘And you would know that how?’ she asked.

It was surreal but she refused to duck and run. She would not hide. Instead, she carried on shopping, bought cheese, eggs, apples.

By the time she reached the checkout there were three of them.

‘Will you be seeing the Sheikh again?’

‘Can you pass me down that jar of tomato paste.’ she replied.

‘Are you going back to work?’

‘Haven’t you lot got a supermodel to harass?’ she asked, losing patience.

‘She’s in rehab. And Cinderella is a much better story.’

‘It’s a fairy tale,’ she replied. Then, ‘Are you lot going to follow me home?’

‘Will you make us a cup of tea and tell us your life story if we do?’

‘No, but you could make yourself useful,’ she said, pointing at her shopping. ‘Carry that.’ She didn’t wait to see whether any of them picked up her bags, but just walked out.

She let them follow her up to the front door before she retrieved the carriers with a smile. ‘Thank you.’ Then, as she slipped the key into the lock, she glanced back. ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’

‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

‘Nothing. But the grass needs cutting and because of you lot Dad isn’t here to do it.’

They laughed, but with the embarrassment of men who’d been caught out misbehaving.

‘No? Well, sorry guys, but that’s as exciting as it’s going to get around here.’ And with that she stepped inside, closed the door on them and leaned back against it, shaking like a leaf. So much for it all being over.

But she’d survived. And as soon as they realised there really was nothing in it for them, they’d drift away. A week from now no one would even remember that she’d danced with a sheikh in Berkeley Square.

Well, except for whoever made a little cash selling an old school photograph.

And her.

Her fairy tale prince might be unattainable, but he was unforgettable. And he had made the magic happen, had brought the world into focus, had reminded her that dreaming was allowed. That anyone could do it. That she could do anything…

Next year she’d have her own taxi. A pink, sparkly one that would turn heads, make people smile. And every day when she drove it around London, she’d thank him for hauling her out of the deep rut she had been digging for herself, had been hiding in.

She drew in a deep breath and walked through to the kitchen. Dumped her bags on the table.

The cat rubbed against her leg, then crossed to the door and, refusing to submit to the indignity of the cat flap when there was a human on hand to open the door, waited to be let out.

‘You are such a princess,’ Diana said, opening the door with a mock curtsey. And found herself staring at her fantasy.

The desert prince she had expected when she’d dashed to the City Airport. The whole white robes, gold-trimmed cloak, headdress thingy.

But it wasn’t his robes that held her. She’d recognised what he was even in the most casual clothes. Now, as then, it was Zahir’s dark eyes that drained the power of speech as she relived that moment when she’d first set eyes on him. But this time she recognised it for what it was.

The prelude to pain…

Ten minutes ago her life had seemed so simple. Her sights fixed on an attainable goal. Her heart safely back behind locked doors.

Now…

‘Your Aunt Alice was kind enough to let me come through her garden,’ he said, answering the what-the-hell-are-you-doing-here? question she’d been unable to frame. He shrugged. Smiled. Just with his eyes.

Oh, no…

‘Aunt Alice!’ she exploded. ‘Why did you bother coming in the back way if you’re going to come dressed like Lawrence of…’ she struggled to keep the expletive in check ‘…of Arabia?’ She made a wild gesture that took in his clothes. ‘And where did you park your camel?’

‘I hate to disappoint you, Diana, but I came by cab.’

‘Oh, great! The driver is probably calling in the story right now. I’ve only just got rid of three journalists who followed me home…’

And, grabbing his arm, she pulled him into the kitchen, shut the door and leaned back against it, hands pressed to her lips.

‘It was not my intention to sneak in unobserved, but I only had Aunt Alice’s address.’ Then, taking her hands from her mouth, kissing each of them, he said, ‘I suppose I could have walked along this street knocking on doors until I found you-’

‘You might as well have done!’

Then, with a gesture of helplessness, she let it go. What mattered was not how but why he’d come.

‘What are you doing here, Zahir?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve just about got my head around this and you’ve chosen to turn a nine-day wonder into a front page story…’

‘I have nothing to hide and neither have you.’ Then, ‘Freddy asked me to give you this.’ From somewhere in the folds of his robe he produced a small piece of rope. ‘He wanted you to see the reef knot we made.’

Diana took it. It was warm and without thinking, she lifted it to her cheek.

Then, looking up at him, ‘We?’

‘The two of us.’

‘But…You said you wouldn’t be going back to Nadira this week.’

‘Is that why you left?’

‘No…’ Then, because he deserved better than some feeble lie, ‘Maybe. But it was more than that. You listened to my story and you…’ She reached for the words. ‘You set me free, Zahir. Showed me how insignificant we are, but how great too. I’ve spent years expecting nothing. Believing that I was worth nothing-’

‘Believing that you were the frog?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t you know that once you’ve been kissed by a prince all bets are off?’

‘No. The true meaning of the fairy story is that we are all princesses. It’s just that some of us lose the ability to see that. But you treated me like one. Gave me the courage to believe. To gather my own stars.’

There was a long peal on the doorbell. It hadn’t taken long…

‘Speaking of fairy stories, why did you come back, Zahir? Haven’t you got something more important to do? Like arranging your marriage?’

Far from looking like a man caught out, he said, ‘That’s the beauty of a system like ours, Diana. Once I have made my decision, chosen my bride, I don’t have to do a thing. Even as we speak, my mother is negotiating with my bride’s family, drawing up the contract.’

‘I can’t believe you’re saying that. It’s…gruesome.’

‘No, no…I promise you, the women will have a very happy time disposing of my assets. Squabbling over the exact size of the house my bride is to have in London-’

‘A house?’

In London?

‘A woman must have a house of her own. Suitably furnished, of course. An income to maintain it. A car.’ He considered that. ‘Make that two.’

‘For heaven’s sake!’

Tiny lines creased around his eyes in the prelude to a smile. ‘Princesses are high maintenance.’ There was another long peal on the doorbell, followed by an insistent knock. ‘Do you want to get that?’

‘No, thanks.’

He continued to look at her. ‘Where was I?’

‘High maintenance,’ she managed. ‘Two cars.’

‘Oh, yes. Then, once all the practical stuff is out of the way, they get to the really good stuff. The jewels I will give her…’

She clutched her arms tightly around her waist, trying to hold herself together, and, as if to ease her pain, he laid his hand against her cheek, so that without meaning to she was looking up at him.

‘My mother thinks I should give her diamonds, but I disagree. I think nothing would become her throat more than the soft lustre of pearls…’

‘Please, Zahir! Don’t do this to me.’

‘What, ya malekat galbi? What, the owner of my heart, am I doing to you?’

‘You know.’ She moaned as, trapped, she had nowhere to run. No escape from his touch, from her body’s urgent response to the darkening of his eyes, his scent…

‘Tell me.’

‘I can’t be what you want me to be. Maybe an arranged marriage is different. Maybe with her house, income, jewels, your wife won’t care whether you are faithful or not. But I do. I can’t, I won’t be your mistress!’

Even to her own ears, her cry had sounded desperate and he took her hand from her waist, lifting it to lay it over his heart, with the words, ‘Ya rohi, ya hahati. My soul, my life…I believe you.’ And, as if to prove her a liar, her knees buckled and she fell into his waiting arms.

‘Please,’ she begged, her face pressed against his chest so that she could feel the steady, powerful beat of his heart. But what she was begging for, release or thrall, she no longer knew or cared.

He gathered her in and held her for a moment, his arms around her, his cheek resting against her head. And for a moment she felt as if she was in the safest place in the world and she cared. Cared more than anything. That gave her the strength to pull away.

For a moment he resisted, then he kissed the top of her head, eased her into the battered armchair which, since his stroke, her father used when her mother was busy in the kitchen-so that they could be together, talk, as she did the ironing, baked. It seemed to symbolise everything that was good and true and pure about their long marriage.

Everything that she was not…

As she made to move, get up, Zahir stopped her, knelt at her feet. ‘Maybe just one diamond,’ he said. And, opening his palm, he revealed an antique ring, a large emerald cut diamond supported by emeralds. ‘A pledge, my promise, while your mother and mine enjoy themselves squabbling over where your house will be-in Mayfair or Belgravia-whether you should have diamonds or pearls, or both. Arranging our marriage.’ He slipped the ring on to her finger. Kissed the backs of her fingers, kissed her palm. ‘The beauty of a system like yours, twin of my soul, is that I do not have to wait until the contract is signed before I may see you. Talk with you. Be alone with you. Kiss you…’

His kiss was long, lingering, sweet…

The doorbell rang again. Someone hammered on the back door. Then the telephone started ringing.

Zahir drew back.

‘That would be alone with a media circus…’

‘Well, what on earth were you thinking? If you’d worn jeans, you might have got away with it.’

‘When a man asks a woman to be his wife, jeans will not do.’ Then, ‘Shall we make their day and go outside, pose for photographs? You can show them your ring, have your own Princess Diana moment.’

‘I don’t think so! Not until I’ve done my hair. Changed into something to match my prince.’ She drew back, shook her head. ‘How can I do this? I’m no princess.’

‘Believe me, you’re a natural, but if you are concerned about how we will live, your life, talk to Lucy. When she tells you her story, you’ll understand that anything is possible.’

‘Really?’

‘Remember the stars.’

‘And Freddy?’

‘Freddy is your son and when we are married he will be mine, Diana. Ours,’ he said, thumbing a tear from her cheek. ‘Frederick Trueman Metcalfe bin Zahir al-Khatib. The first of our children.’

‘I need to learn Arabic, Zahir. Will you teach me?’

They had stopped on their way from the airport to walk in the desert. A last moment alone before they were plunged into wedding celebrations. To look again at the stars.

He turned to her and she leaned into him for his warmth, for him to hold her. Wrapping his arms around her, he said, ‘Where do you want to start?’

‘Sitti,’ she said. ‘Hamid calls me sitti. What does it mean?’

‘Lady.’

‘Lady? Goodness.’ Then, ‘And Lord?’

‘Sidi.’

‘Tell me more, sidi,’ she said, smiling up at him. ‘What is ya habibati?’

‘You have a good ear for the sound, my beloved. But a woman, if she called her husband “my beloved” would say ya habibi.’

‘Tell me more, sidi, ya habibi.’

‘To a child, to Freddy, I would say ya rohi, ya hahati. My soul, my life.’

She repeated the words. ‘That’s beautiful, but you might be better not telling him what it means.’

‘He is beautiful. You are beautiful, ya malekat galbi. The owner of my heart. Ahebbak, ya tao’am rohi.’ Then, after a slow, searing kiss that heated her body, melted her heart with his love, ‘I love you, the twin of my soul.’

‘Ahebbak, Zahir. I love you.’ Then, as they walked on, ‘I think I’m going to enjoy learning Arabic.’

He stopped. ‘There is one more phrase I must teach you, ya rohi. Amoot feeki. There is no life without you, Diana.’

She took his hands, raised them to her lips. ‘Amoot feeki, Zahir. Is that right?’

He smiled. ‘As good as it gets.’ Then, ‘It’s nearly dawn. ‘Come. I have something for you.’

‘What? What more could I possibly want, dream of? A house in Belgravia, a BMW, more pearls than the ocean. Diamonds like the stars…’

‘This is not something to be written down. This is a gift of the heart. My promise that I will always, before anything, do all I can to make your dreams come true.’

‘Zahir…Every dream, every possible dream…’

‘Shh…Wait…’

Dawn was turning the sky pink and blue as they reached Nadira and, as they drove in through the gates, the sun burst above the horizon to light up a pink, sparkly Metro taxi.