Her Desert Dream

ankle, her hair wrapped in a smaller one, she would have to submit herself to the ministrations of the slightly scary Dena.

But as she lay down and Dena’s hands found the knots in her muscles, soothed away the tension of the last twenty-four hours, all the stress floated away and she surrendered to total pampering.

Wrapped tenderly in a robe, seated in a chair that tilted back, her hair was released and unseen hands massaged her scalp, gently combed out her hair, while a young girl did miraculous things to her feet, her hands.

Painted her nails, drew patterns with henna.

By the time they were finished, she was so utterly relaxed that when one of the girls held out a pair of exquisite French knickers she stepped into them without a flicker of embarrassment.

Slipped into a matching lace bra and left it for someone else to fasten.

Held up her arms as Dena slipped a loose silk kaftan over her head that had certainly not been part of the wardrobe packed by Rose.

It floated over her, a mist of blue, then settled over her shoulders, her arms, falling to the floor before nimble fingers fastened the dozen or more silk-covered buttons that held it together at her breast.

Then she stepped into a pair of soft thong sandals that were placed in front of her.

A week of this and she’d be ruined for real life, she thought, pulling her lips back against her teeth so that she wouldn’t grin out loud.

Wow! Wow! Wow!

Thank you, Rose! I hope you’re enjoying every second of your freedom. Having the most wonderful time.

And, with that thought, reality rushed back as she looked around for the clutch bag she’d been carrying.

A word and it was in her hand and she took out her mobile phone to send the agreed ‘arrived safely’ message, followed by another more detailed message to her mother. Not just to let her know that she’d got to her destination without mishap, but that the apartment was great and she was having a great time.

So far, so true. Unless…Did kissing Kal count as a mishap?

She looked at the message doubtfully, then, with a rueful smile, hit ‘send’, grateful that her mother had insisted that overseas mobile calls were too expensive, that the occasional text was all she expected. She would never be able to bluff her way through an entire week of this, not with her mother. With Kal…

She looked up and realised that everyone was waiting to hear what she wanted to do next.

She slipped the phone into a pocket in the seam of the kaftan and said, ‘May I look around?’

Dena led the way, down a series of steps to a lower level entrance lobby with a two-storey domed ceiling richly decorated in floral designs with tiny ceramic tiles, her helpers following, all anxious to see her reaction. Clearly wanting her to love this place they called home.

They waited patiently while she stopped, turned slowly, looking up in awe at the workmanship.

‘This is a holiday cottage?’ she asked in amazement. ‘It’s so beautiful!’

Dena was unreadable, but the two younger women were clearly delighted.

The tour took in a formal dining room where ornate carved doors had been folded back to reveal a terrace and, below it, set in a private walled garden, a swimming pool.

More steps and then Dena said, ‘This is the room the family use when they are here.’

Furnished with richly coloured sofas and jewel-bright oriental rugs that softened the polished wooden floor, Lydia might have been totally overwhelmed by its sheer size, but then she spotted a fluffy yellow toy duck half hidden amongst the cushions.

It was a reminder that this was someone’s holiday home, a place where children ran and played. She picked it up and held it for a moment and when she looked up she saw that Dena was smiling.

‘It is Jamal’s,’ she said. ‘He left it there to keep his place while he was away.’

‘Bless,’ she said, carefully tucking it back where she’d found it and, looking around, saw the touches that made this unbelievably grand room a home.

The box filled with toys. A pile of books that suggested Lucy’s favourite holiday activity was reading. A child’s drawing of the creek, framed as lovingly as an old master. Children’s books in English and Arabic.

‘You like children?’ Dena asked as she picked up an alphabet colouring book similar to one she’d had as a child. Except that the alphabet was Arabic.

She nodded. ‘Even the little monsters…’

Even the little monsters who whined and nagged their stressed mothers for sweets at the checkout. Their soft little mouths, big eyes that could be coaxed so quickly from tears to a smile with a little attention.

She was so relaxed that she’d completely forgotten to guard her tongue but, while Dena regarded her thoughtfully, the younger women giggled, repeating ‘little monsters’ as if they knew only too well what she meant.

She managed a shrug and Dena, making no comment, folded back doors similar to the ones in the dining room, opening up one side of the room to the garden so that Lydia could step out onto a wide terrace that overlooked the creek.

‘All children love Bab el Sama,’ she said. ‘You will bring your children here.’

It sounded more like a statement than a question and Lydia swallowed.

She had two careers and no time for romance, even if she could ever trust a man again sufficiently to let him get that close.

Maybe Kal was the answer. He, at least, wouldn’t be pretending…

She, on the other hand, would be.

Since the one thing she demanded of a man was total honesty, to kiss with a lie on her lips was not something she could live with, no matter how alluring the temptation.

‘I’m sure they have a wonderful time,’ she said, responding to her first comment, ignoring the second as she walked quickly to the edge of the terrace as if to take a closer look at the beach.

They were much lower here than on the bluff where she’d watched the sunrise, not more than twenty feet above the beach. And, looking around, she thought that the adults must love it too.

There were pots overflowing with geraniums, still flowering in December, the rustle and clack of palm fronds in the light breeze, a snatch of unfamiliar music carrying across the glittering water.

It was peaceful, beautiful, with a delicious warmth that seeped into the bones and invited her to lift her face to the sun and smile as if she were a sunflower.

Even as she did that, a movement caught her eye and below, on the beach, she saw a horseman galloping along the edge of the surf, robes streaming out behind him.

The horse, its hooves a blur in the spray, seemed to be almost flying, elemental, a force of nature. Lydia’s breath caught in her throat and she took a step closer, her hand lifting towards him as if reaching to catch hold, be lifted up to fly with him.

‘It is Bin Zaki,’ Dena said, but Lydia knew that.

He might have shed his designer suit, donned a robe, hidden his dark curls beneath a keffiyeh, but his chiselled face, the fierce hawkish nose were imprinted on her memory and, as he flashed by in a swirl of cloth, hooves, spray, the profile was unmistakable.

‘He is chasing his demons. So like his grandfather.’

For a moment she didn’t respond, scarcely registered what the woman had said, but Kal had gone, lost from sight as the beach curved around massive rocks, the final fling of the mountain range behind them. And already the sea was smoothing away the hoof prints, rubbing out all trace of his passing.

She turned to discover that Dena was watching her and, suddenly coming back to reality, she dropped her hand self-consciously.

‘Demons? What demons?’

‘He will tell you in his own good time. Do you need anything, sitti? ’

Only to be held, enfolded, caressed, but not by some anonymous, faceless figure. All the longings and desires that haunted her had become focused on one man and she turned back to the empty beach as if his spirit was still there for her to reach out and touch.

‘I think I’ll take a walk,’ she said, suddenly self-conscious, certain that Dena knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘Explore a little. Is there anywhere I shouldn’t go?’