There is still work going on there, little privacy. I thought you’d be more comfortable in the house. Hamid, my steward, will take you across the creek in the boat, give you the tour whenever you wish. Does your father enjoy fishing?’
‘I don’t think he’s ever tried,’ she said. ‘But he loves boats.’
‘Which explains the book of nautical knots.’
‘Oh, no, that was for…’ Her hand flew to her mouth, stopping herself from saying the name.
‘I see.’
Did he? Had Freddy been mentioned in the newspapers?
The silence stretched to breaking point until she could no longer bear it.
‘Zahir…’
‘Diana…’
They spoke at the same time, apparently both equally anxious to fill the void.
‘What is it, Diana? Tell me…’
That she wished he were here with her? That she’d wept when he’d left her? That there would always be an emptiness in her heart without him?
For heaven’s sake, she’d only met him days ago.
But then, how long did it take to fall in love? She had no yardstick against which to judge her feelings. And even if it was love, so what?
He didn’t believe in it. He’d told her…
‘It was nothing,’ she said. Nothing that she had any right to say. Nothing that made any sense. ‘How was your Mansion House dinner?’
‘Do you want a blow-by-blow account of what I ate? Or a precis of the Prime Minister’s state of the nation speech?’ he asked. When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘No, I thought not.’
She glanced at her watch, calculated the time difference. ‘Actually, shouldn’t you be on your way to Paris?’
‘Paris will have to wait. I’ve brought my schedule forward to take advantage of the unexpectedly high interest in my affairs. I’m announcing the new airline today.’
‘Oh, well, good luck.’
‘I think I can guarantee that every seat at the press conference will be taken.’ Then, before she could think of a response, ‘I have to go. Just ask Hamid for whatever you want, Diana. Do not be shy.’
About to say, Shy? You’ve got me confused with some other Diana…But, before she could speak, she was listening to the dialling tone.
‘Mu-um!’
Freddy came slowly down the steps, rubbing his eyes, trailing his teddy behind him so that he bumped on every one. A sure sign that he needed a hug.
She replaced the receiver and swept him up in her arms and he clung to her, not too big, too grown-up for a cuddle today. She knew how he felt. She could do with one herself.
He recovered first.
But then her condition was terminal…
‘Is that the sea?’ he asked, perking up as he looked over her shoulder.
‘It certainly is,’ she said, gathering herself, making an effort at brightness.
‘Is there a beach?’ Now he wriggled, eager to get down and explore. ‘Can we make a sandcastle? Does Grandpa know?’ He hit the ground running, teddy abandoned at her feet. ‘Grandpa! Grandpa!’
She picked it up, followed him, was just in time to see him skid to a halt at the sight of Hamid, the white-robed steward who’d shown them to their rooms when they’d arrived.
‘Good morning,
‘We’re very comfortable thank you, Hamid.’
‘Sheikh Zahir wished me to assure you that his house is at your disposal. You are to make yourself completely at home. It is his wish that you enjoy your stay as his guest.’
No wonder he’d sounded amused at her assumption that this was part of the holiday resort.
And he’d already spoken to Hamid. Had his servant put him through to the summer house? Well, of course he had. Why else would the phone have rung there?
Her hand went to her chest to calm the sudden wild beating.
It meant nothing. Nothing…
Hamid folded himself up so that he was on the same level as Freddy. ‘What would the young sheikh like for his breakfast?’
Freddy shrank behind her skirt.
‘His name is Freddy and the shyness won’t last,’ she assured the man. ‘He usually has cereals. Maybe some juice?’ She made it a question, unsure what was on offer.
He smiled at the boy. ‘Maybe you would like to try a fig? Some yoghurt with honey? Or what about pancakes?’
‘Pancakes?’
‘I was with Sheikh Zahir in America. They eat pancakes for breakfast there, did you know?’
Freddy, eyes wide, shook his head.
He certainly knew how to win the heart of a small boy.
‘And the
‘Why don’t you surprise us, Hamid?’ she said. ‘Maybe tea?’
‘Darjeeling? Earl Grey?’
‘Darjeeling. Thank you,’ she said, letting out a silent ‘whew’ as Hamid bowed and left them.
Then, laughing-something that after yesterday afternoon she’d thought she’d never do again-she said, ‘Okay, young sheikh, I think we need to get you washed and dressed before breakfast.’
Zahir tossed the cellphone on the desk and dragged a hand over his unshaven face. It was six in the morning at Nadira, the best time of day, when the sun would be low, turning the rocks and sand pink. The creek deserted but for a few night fishermen returning with their catch.
And today Diana was walking in his garden, stepping where he’d walked, touching things that were precious to him. Lying where he had lain against the silk cushions in his summer house, surrounded by the scent of jasmine. But not with him. He could not go there while she was there. Could never see her again. Must never call her again.
He picked up the little book that lay on the desk in front of him. The book that Diana had thrust into his hand just before he’d fled the airfield, asking him to give it to Ameerah, and for a moment he held it against his lips, as if to transfer her touch to him.
He’d hated leaving her on her own, even though it would only have been for a little while. He’d wished to meet her parents, apologise as a man should, for having put them through such an ordeal. But to do that would have meant witnessing her face lighting up as this Freddy walked through the door. To offer his hand to a man who possessed what he most desired. And keep that desire from his own eyes.
He’d been a fool to ask Hamid to put him through to the summer house, would not have done so if he hadn’t been assured that she was on her own.
What could he possibly say to her when all the words that burned in his heart were forbidden to him? When all they could talk about was a formal dinner he’d attended? His press conference…
‘You’ve got forty minutes, Zahir.’ James looked at his untouched breakfast, the newspapers that lay unopened by his tray, and made no comment. He’d been pointedly not making any comment since he’d arrived back in London yesterday evening. ‘I’ll get you some fresh coffee.’
‘Don’t bother. Just see that this is gift-wrapped and delivered to Ameerah,’ he said, handing James the book.