some quaint Normandy harbour where she’d be waking in his arms to a French dawn, unaware of the furore…
She shook her head. It would, in the end, only have made things worse. She’d done the right thing. Even if it meant that Zahir thought she was…
Well, he must have a pretty low opinion of a woman who’d responded so fervently to the kisses of someone who was practically a stranger when she was involved with another man.
Had wanted him to do more than kiss her.
No wonder he’d dropped her and run.
She made an effort to stem the flow of tears she had no business shedding. Tidied herself up, directed the hand-drier at her shirt-as shirt days went, this was having a bad one-to dry herself off.
Putting on a front before her mother arrived.
Some hope.
She must have broken some kind of record with her packing, because Diana was still struggling to put on lipstick with a shaky hand when the hostess came for her.
Sadie’s father, Daniel Redford, the man who owned Capitol Cars but now left the day-to-day business to his daughter, had brought her family to the airfield in the back of the old black London cab that he used as a town car. Clever of Sadie. Far less noticeable than one of the burgundy Capitol cars. And kind too, to call on her father to help out an employee who’d given her such a headache.
‘I’m so grateful, Mr Redford…’ Oh, damn, the tears were threatening again.
‘It was no trouble. I enjoyed the cloak-and-dagger. We got away clean as a whistle,’ he said. Such a sweet man. ‘And don’t worry about the yard,’ he added, a reassuring hand to her elbow. The hacks are getting short shrift there. It’ll be nothing but a nine-minute wonder, you’ll see.’
Her mother, who’d apparently rushed home from work when the phone calls had started, was not sweet.
On the contrary, she was livid, and it was only Freddy’s presence that kept her from speaking her mind. Her father, painfully, seemed unable to look at her. Even Freddy-normally the sweetest-natured of boys-had turned sulky because she’d missed the parents’ evening at school.
So much for putting him first…
Maybe it was a good thing that Zahir hadn’t stayed to witness the fact that not one member of her family was talking to her. The ‘not again…’ looks her mother was giving her. At least until they were ushered aboard the private jet, at which point she was too distracted by the kind of luxury that only the super-rich could afford to keep it up.
It was dark, the middle of the night, when they arrived at Nadira Creek. Even so, the air was soft, warm, scented with exotic blooms, and, as she looked up, the stars were like diamonds scattered over black velvet.
Zahir was right. It was awesome.
Like the villa that had been put at their disposal. What she’d seen of it was like something out of a dream. Not that she’d seen much. They were all too shattered by the swift turn of events, the rush, the tension.
But finally Freddy was tucked up and at last she was able to get out of her working clothes and take a shower in a bathroom that was about the size of her bedroom back home, using the kind of soaps that she’d only ever heard of.
Afterwards, wrapped in the softest towelling robe, she checked on her parents. They were already asleep, but, when she tried to follow suit, her mind wouldn’t let go. All she could think about was Zahir. What he was doing. What he was thinking.
Had he been mobbed on arrival at the Mansion House? Probably not. With heads of state and cabinet ministers attending, security would be tight.
At the hotel?
Almost certainly. Not that he would say anything. He’d just have given the waiting photographers one of his show-stopping smiles. The kind that meant nothing.
But what was he feeling?
Anger. With himself, no doubt, for behaving like a fool. But with her too, for what he must feel had been her deceit.
She might not have lied about Freddy and if he’d asked her outright she would have told him the truth. But what she hadn’t said had left him with a contradiction and he would not, could not, think well of her.
When the pale silver edge of dawn filtered through the lattice shutters of the balcony it came as a relief. She pushed one back and caught her first glimpse of Nadira Creek, shimmering, a pale and milky pink in the early morning light.
Shreds of mist clung to cliffs that rose on the far side of the water. Draped itself like silk chiffon amongst the date palms and what, unbelievably, looked like pomegranate trees in the gardens that sloped away from the terrace below her.
If yesterday had ended on a nightmare, today was beginning with something like a dream.
She quickly showered, dressed and, after looking in on Freddy, still dead to the world, she went downstairs to a huge sitting room where sofas, cushions and beautiful rugs were strewn across the dark polished floor.
But she didn’t linger there.
Wide French windows stood open to an arcaded courtyard and she walked out into the misty dawn, drawn by the sound of water trickling down a narrow rill to steps that led down to a lily-covered pool. Beside it, a raised open-sided pavilion was almost hidden beneath a vast fig tree.
Like the house, it was furnished with luxuriously rich carpets and silk cushions, inviting her to curl up and sleep until the world forgot her. Before she gave in to the temptation, a phone resting on a low carved table, the only thing that was out of place in this Arabian Nights fantasy, burbled softly.
She looked around, but there was no one else in sight and, when it rang again, she picked it up. ‘Hello?’
For a moment no one answered and, absolutely certain that she’d done the wrong thing, she was about to hang up when Zahir’s voice said, ‘Diana…’
Just her name, like a sigh, and her legs seemed to buckle beneath her so that somehow she was lying amongst the cushions, for all the world like some pampered houri waiting for her lord.
‘Zahir…’
‘It’s early,’ he said. ‘You could not sleep?’
‘The sun is telling me that it’s early, but my body clock is telling me I should be at work,’ she replied.
‘So you’re exploring?’
‘Nothing so energetic. Just enjoying the view. It’s beautiful, Zahir. Totally wasted on a bunch of journalists…’
She stopped. Not the wisest thing to have said, but when had she ever thought before she spoke?
‘They have their uses,’ he replied, with what sounded like a smile colouring his voice. ‘But rest assured, no journalist will ever enjoy the view from where you are lying now.’
‘Oh.’
Diana swallowed, blushing. What was it about the word ‘lying’ that was so…suggestive? And how did he know…?
She almost felt as if he could see her, touch her. As if he were there with her amongst the silken pillows, his hand cradling her hip, his mouth…
She cleared her throat. Struggled, determinedly, despite the unwillingness of the cushions to let her go, into a sitting position. Then, feeling slightly more in control, said, ‘Do you want me to go and find someone for you? I haven’t seen anyone, but the doors were open so I imagine someone is about.’
‘No need. I just wanted to be sure that you’d arrived safely. That you’re comfortable.’
‘Comfortable is rather understating the case. I know your resort is supposed to be luxurious, but this is something else. Not at all what I’d expected.’
‘Oh?’ He sounded amused. ‘What did you expect?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, looking up at the beautiful house built into the rock. The cool blue tiles of the arcaded courtyard, the wide wooden balcony with its fretwork shutters. Another floor above that. ‘I somehow imagined a series of cottages set in a garden.’
Definitely not this Arabian Nights palace that looked as if it had been there for all time.
‘Maybe I’ve seen too many travel programmes on the television.’
‘Rest assured, Diana. Your imagination is in full working order. The resort is on the other side of the creek.
