Briefly, he acknowledged the stab of hurt pride that she should be the one to end it. But why shouldn’t he be the one on the receiving end of closure for a change? Mightn’t it do him some good?
‘I think you could be right,’ he said slowly.
‘You do?’ Could he hear the disappointment which had distorted her voice?
He nodded. ‘I do. Maybe it’s better we stop it now before it impacts on our working relationship.’
‘Oh, absolutely,’ she agreed, gritting her teeth behind her smile. Wanting to lash out at him for his naïveté. Did he really think it hadn’t impacted on their working relationship already?
‘And you deserve a break,’ he said, his gaze drifting over her face. ‘Why don’t you get some sun on your cheeks? You look awfully pale, Izzy.’
Dimly, she registered his words, and they gave her all the confirmation she needed. He thought that a short spell in the sun was all she needed to bring her back to normal. Oh, if only it was that easy. A strange dizziness was making her head spin. For a moment she felt icy-cold beads of sweat pricking her forehead and the sudden roar of blood in her ears.
‘Izzy?’ He was grabbing hold of her now, hot concern blazing from his black eyes. ‘For heaven’s sake! What’s the matter?’
His fingers were biting into her arms, but she shook them off and pulled herself away. Gripping onto the edge of the desk, she sucked in deep breaths of air and prayed she wouldn’t pass out.
Tell him.
‘Izzy?’
Tell him.
But the words wouldn’t come—they stayed stubbornly stuck at the back of her throat and she swallowed them down again. I’ll tell him when I know for sure, she thought. When he gets back.
‘I’m fine, Tariq. Honestly. I just feel a little off-colour, that’s all. Must have been something I ate. And now, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’d better see about your jet. And then I’ll ring through to Fiona and have her sit in on our meeting.’
She waited until she’d spoken to the airfield, and then calmed an excited Fiona’s nerves, telling her that of course she could cope with running Tariq’s office.
And it was only then that Isobel slipped along to the thankfully empty sanctuary of the bathroom, where she was violently sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS CONFIRMED.
The blue line couldn’t be denied any longer—and neither could the test Isobel had done the day before, or the day before that. Because all the tests in the world would only verify what she had known all along. And all the wishing in the world wouldn’t change that fact.
She was pregnant with Prince Tariq al Hakam’s baby. The man who had told her in no uncertain terms that he had no desire to have a baby was going to be a father.
Feeling caged and restless, she stared out of the window at the red bus which was lumbering down the road below. It was stuffy and hot in her tiny flat, but she felt too tired to face walking to the nearest park. She’d been feeling tired a lot recently...
Little beads of sweat ran in rivulets down her back, despite the thin cotton dress and the windows she’d opened onto the airless day. Somehow summer had arrived without her really noticing—but maybe that wasn’t so surprising. In the two weeks since Tariq had flown out to Khayarzah she certainly hadn’t been focussing on the weather.
Her thoughts had been full of the man whose seed was growing inside her—and she had a strange feeling of emptiness at being away from work. For once she couldn’t even face going down to the cottage, where the memories of Tariq would have been just too vivid.
She’d always thought there was something slightly pathetic about people who haunted the office while they were supposed to be on holiday, and so she hadn’t rung in to work either. Fiona would contact her soon enough if she needed her help, and so far she hadn’t.
Which made Isobel feel even emptier than she already did. As if she had made herself out to be this fabulous, indispensable addition to the Al Hakam empire when the reality was that she could quite easily be replaced.
And she had heard nothing from Tariq. Not even an e-mail or text to tell her he was alive and well in Khayarzah. If anything proved that it was all over between them, it was the terrifying silence which had mushroomed since his departure.
There had been times when she’d been tempted to pick up the phone, telling herself that she had a perfect right to speak to him. Wasn’t he still her boss, even if he was no longer her lover? But she wasn’t a good enough actress for that. How could she possibly have a breezy conversation with him, as if nothing was happening, when inside her body their combined cells were multiplying at a frightening speed?
And what would she say? Would she be reduced to asking him whether it was really over between them—and hearing an even bigger silence echoing down the line?
No. She was going to have to tell him face to face. She knew that. And soon. But how did you break the news that he was going to be a father to a man who had expressly told you he didn’t want children? And not just any father—because this wasn’t just any baby. It was a royal baby, with royal blood coursing through its tiny veins—and that would have all kinds of added complications. She knew enough history to realise that the offspring of ruling families were always especially protected because royal succession was never certain. Wouldn’t that make Tariq feel even more trapped into a life he had often bitterly complained about?