Towards the end of the meal the conversation turned to Kazim-always King Kahlid's favourite subject.
‘You must be relieved that your grandson has settled so well at the palace, Your Highness,' Jahmela commented. ‘His life here must be very different from the life he led in England.' She paused and looked directly at Erin, a look of undisguised triumph in her eyes. ‘And of course your circumstances have changed enormously too Erin,' she murmured silkily.
Something in her voice caught the attention of everyone sitting at the table, and Erin's heart jerked painfully in her chest. Suddenly she understood. Jahmela was panicking at the possibility she could be pregnant. She feared that if Zahir learned Erin was expecting his child he would change his mind about divorcing her-or at least postpone his plans to replace her until after the child was born. Jahmela had made it clear earlier that she was utterly intent on becoming Zahir's royal bride, and nothing was going to stop her.
‘You must have found the contrast between the deprived housing estate where you grew up and a royal palace quite startling. And presumably now that you have married into money you are no longer tempted to steal-or to follow your mother's … ' Jahmela paused delicately ‘ … profession.' She glanced coolly at Zahir, seemingly unfazed by the frown forming on his brow. ‘Who would have thought that a prince from the Royal Family of Qubbah would marry a common thief and the daughter of a whore?'
The King and Jahmela's father, Sheikh Fahad, both spoke sharply in Arabic, but Erin did not hear them, nor the murmurs from the other guests who had overheard Jahmela's spiteful attack. Her eyes were drawn to Zahir, to his expression that had begun as a puzzled frown and run the gamut of emotions from confusion and shock to anger.
She was conscious of a strange buzzing in her ears as she scraped back her chair and jumped to her feet. Across the sea of curious faces she spied the doors, but as she was about to flee the King's voice stopped her.
‘This cannot be true-can it, Zahir?'
Erin answered before Zahir could reply. ‘I'm afraid it is true, Your Highness. I'm sure I am not the sort of person you would wish to be your daughter-in-law.'
Her insecurity and self-doubt were deeply ingrained. Jahmela was right. How could she, with her background and poor education, possibly be a good mother to a future King?
‘But you know, don't you, that my position as Zahir's wife was only ever temporary? He married me so that he could be a father to the son of the woman he loved six years ago, and now that he has ensured he has custody of Kazim he will marry Jahmela, as was always planned.'
She ignored the King's low murmur and stared at Zahir, who had risen to his feet, his handsome face drawn into a slashing frown. ‘I want you to know that I won't fight the divorce, or … ' she faltered, her throat clogged with tears ‘ … or seek custody of Kazim. You were right-he's better off living here, with his family, than with someone from the gutter like me.'
The blue sky was dotted with cotton wool clouds, and the warm breeze carried a scent of lavender and old-fashioned roses. There was no place on earth more beautiful than Ingledean on a spring day, Erin mused-except an oasis in the middle of the desert, where palm trees provided shade from the scorching sun and an azure pool glinted beneath a cloudless sky.
She had been home a month-although Ingledean no longer felt like home without Kazim. The image of his huge brown eyes and impish smile caused the familiar agonising pain in her chest, and she bit down hard on her lip, tasted blood, and cursed the tears that slid unchecked down her face. She couldn't cry for ever. Somehow she was going to have to find the strength to move on, pick up the threads of her life, or maybe make a new one, far away from Ingledean and all its memories. But since she had left Qubbah a terrible lassitude had settled on her, and she could not plan anything when the only two people she loved were far away on the other side of the world.
Was Kazim missing her? she wondered as she scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and stared down at the stream that gurgled at the bottom of the garden. She couldn't bear to think of him crying for her. But he was surrounded by people who loved him: Zahir and the King, his nanny Bisma, and all the other members of the royal family. And he was young. He would soon forget her. Leaving him had hurt as much as if she had cut her heart out, but she had only ever wanted what was best for him, and while he undoubtedly belonged in Qubbah she did not.
She'd heard Zahir shouting her name as she had raced out of the banqueting hall after Jahmela's denouncement of her, but the anger in his voice had confirmed her belief that their marriage was over and she hadn't looked back. He was fiercely proud, and would have felt humiliated at learning the truth about her in front of the assembled dignitaries at the banquet.
His personal assistant, Omran, had been hovering in the corridor, and had not bothered to disguise his pleasure when she'd told him she wanted to leave the palace immediately.
‘I will instruct Prince Zahir's helicopter pilot to fly you to the international airport. You are already booked onto a flight back to the UK,' he had murmured as she'd emerged red-eyed from the nursery, where she had stood over Kazim's sleeping form and whispered brokenly that she would always love him.
‘Already booked?' she had queried, taken aback by the open dislike in Omran's eyes. ‘Did you know what Jahmela was going to say tonight?'
‘She is my cousin,' Omran had explained coldly. ‘Jahmela has been humiliated not once but twice by the King's sons. It is only right that Prince Zahir should divorce you and marry her.'
Presumably Zahir had already set divorce proceedings in motion, Erin brooded miserably as she wandered aimlessly around the garden.
It was almost two weeks since she had returned his cheque. The sight of his handwriting on the envelope had filled her with a wild and totally unrealistic hope that he had written to ask her to come back to Qubbah. But inside had been a cheque made out for the same ridiculous sum that he had offered her when he had first arrived at Ingledean and tried to buy Kazim. In a furious temper that had preceded a night of tears she had ripped up the cheque and stuffed the pieces back in the envelope with a terse note explaining that she had left Kazim at the palace because she believed it was the best place for him to be. She'd finished by telling Zahir that she hated him, that he Jahmela were welcome to each other, and that she hoped she would never set eyes on him again.
She had been lying, of course, she acknowledged despairingly as she watched a butterfly settle on the lilac bush. Its brown and orange wings were so beautiful. Kazim would love to see it. She actually turned to call him, and then gave a choked sob. He wasn't here. Zahir wasn't here. The pain inside her was so raw that she dropped onto the garden bench, buried her head in her arms and wept.
‘I suppose it isn't so bad here. And the purple heather covering the moors is quite beautiful. But if this is where we're going to live I insist that we have a new central heating system installed before the winter.'
Slowly Erin lowered her hands and pushed her tangled curls out of her eyes. Now she had proof that she was losing her mind. She couldn't have heard Zahir's voice, and he couldn't really be standing beneath the apple tree, looking heart-stoppingly gorgeous in jeans and a cream shirt, with a butter-soft tan leather jacket slung over one shoulder. Her eyes flew to his face and she blinked, but he was still there, a faint smile on his lips, but a curious, haunted expression in his dark eyes and deep grooves on either side of his mouth.