‘It is a gift,’ the other woman stopped her. ‘Please.’ She turned and picked up a loose wraplike cloak in the same shade of dusky pink. ‘There is a little more before you are ready. This we call a thub and you wear it over the dishdasha.’
‘The tunic’s called a dishdasha? I thought that was for men?’
‘Similar, but a little more fitted,’ Bahiyaa said with a laugh. ‘Women here are not so very different from those in your country. And men are the same the world over. These,’ Bahiyaa said, pointing at the loose-fitting trousers, ‘we call sirwal.’
‘Sirwal,’ Polly repeated obediently.
‘And finally,’ Bahiyaa continued, reaching behind her for a long length of fine pink silk, slightly darker than either the sirwal or the dishdasha but picking out some of the embroidery in the over jacket, ‘you have a lihaf.’
‘Lihaf not hijab?’
Bahiyaa smiled and gently arranged the lihaf in place. ‘Arabia is made up of many countries and there are many tribes within each of those. Each tribe has its own traditions, its own way of dressing and distinctive dialect.’
‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You are looking beautiful. All we need now is sandals. I thought that since we are a similar size you might be able to manage with a pair of mine? I am a European size thirty-nine.’
Polly was beginning to feel so overwhelmed by the whole situation she’d have put on anything—and it was magical to be given the chance to wear something so romantic and feminine. She slipped her feet into Bahiyaa’s high gold sandals, a size too big but perfectly manageable.
‘Perfect.’ Bahiyaa stepped back to admire the effect. ‘Now come.’
Polly found it hard to pull herself away from the mirror. She looked completely different. Transformed. Bahiyaa laughed as though she knew exactly what Polly was thinking. ‘I never understand why some Amrahi women adopt Western dress. Our traditional clothes are…deceptively seductive, don’t you think?’
Sexy, Polly amended silently. Layers of finest silk that skimmed the body were very sexy.
‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘Come. I thought you would enjoy eating in the cool of the gardens.’
Reluctantly Polly let Bahiyaa lead her away from the mirror. She’d never been one for admiring herself, but she couldn’t quite believe she could look so different. Even more amazingly she felt different.
Bahiyaa led her through a maze of narrow corridors. Polly’s eyes snagged on the intricately carved archways and a fleeting glimpse of a small courtyard filled with lemon trees in pots. Then they were back in the room in which she’d fainted.
‘The rose garden is one of my favourite places,’ she said, leading her outside. ‘Rashid’s, too.’
Polly could understand why. If anything the scent of roses was stronger now than in the heat of the day. And there were other unfamiliar smells. Jasmine, maybe?
‘It is a romantic place, I think.’
Like something out of an old Hollywood version of Arabian Nights, a real mix of East and West. Polly followed, acutely conscious of how the heels of her borrowed sandals tapped on the mosaic-tiled floor and charmed by the creamy candles placed in large ornate holders.
Bahiyaa walked on in a jangle of gold bangles. ‘These gardens were here in the time of your great-great-grandmother.’
Were they? Really? Polly looked around with new eyes. Was she looking at something Elizabeth would have seen?
‘You must ask Rashid to tell you something of their history.’
‘Yes, I…’ will. That was what she’d meant to have said, but the single word dried in her throat as Rashid came out of the shadows to meet them.
Unlike her, he was no longer in traditional Amrahi clothes. He wore jeans and a light cotton shirt open at the neck, his dark hair uncovered…
‘He is something of an authority.’
Sexier even than she’d thought him at Shelton. More intimidating than he’d ever been before.
‘Bahiyaa.’ He spoke his sister’s name on a breath.
Polly glanced back over her shoulder as the suspicion Bahiyaa had orchestrated this ‘accidental’ meeting took hold and that her brother was not happy about it.
‘I have brought your guest to see you, Rashid, now Polly is feeling so much better. Please,’ his sister instructed, gesturing towards a sumptuous pile of cushions on a raised dais, ‘sit with Rashid for a while. He will love to tell you about these gardens while I organise for your food to be brought out here.’
Then, with a mischievous smile at her brother, she was gone.
Rashid’s eyelids quickly came down to cover his expression, but Polly was sure he didn’t want her here. She was intruding. What was more she felt a little as though she’d been caught dressing up.
When she was in her own clothes, in her own country, Rashid made her feel uncomfortable enough. Here it was almost unbearable. And, face to face with Rashid again, it didn’t take any thought to understand why she’d fainted. Around him she found it difficult to remember to breathe. He was scarily beautiful in an aggressive, masculine way.
And not at all likely to be interested in her. Best she remember that. A man who lived a life completely different from hers. With a very different moral code.
‘Would you prefer to be alone? I—’
‘No,’ Rashid stopped her. ‘I’m glad of your company.’ He, too, indicated the richly coloured cushions. ‘Please join me.’
Polly didn’t believe him, but she sank down as gracefully as she could manage and carefully tucked her feet beneath her. Soles pointing away from him, as instructed in Minty’s manual.
Polly looked up to find Rashid’s eyes were glinting down at her. He was laughing. Heat washed over her face and with it a sudden, unexpected flash of anger. Polly tilted her chin. ‘Am I doing this wrong?’
‘No.’
‘Then why are you laughing at me?’
The smile in Rashid’s eyes intensified. ‘You are charming. I wish all visitors to Amrah were as courteous and considerate of our customs.’
‘I-I’m trying to follow the rules. There’s no point coming here if you aren’t…’ her voice trailed off as he sat down beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body ‘…aren’t going to make the effort.’
‘I agree. I try to follow them myself.’
‘You do?’
‘I drink alcohol, but not when I’m in Amrah because it offends so many. Moving between cultures requires dexterity.’ Rashid smiled.
His eyes moved over the fine fabric of her dishdasha, setting her on fire. He made her feel…out of control. As though she were entirely made up of hormones. ‘B-Bahiyaa said I’d be more comfortable in something of hers.’
‘And are you?’
‘Yes.’
If it weren’t for the way he was looking at her. At Shelton she prided herself on being able to handle any situation, but here…she couldn’t. But it wasn’t being in Amrah that made the difference. It was the garden. The night. Rashid. Mostly Rashid.
His clever face concealed so much more than it showed, but when his eyes danced they seduced her. They melted her from the inside out. And every now and then she fancied they hovered on her lips as though he might be thinking what it would be like to kiss her.
Her breath seemed to dry in her throat at the thought of what it would be like to have him kiss her. In her entire twenty-seven years she’d never felt her body wouldn’t respond to the instructions of her brain before. She wasn’t sure she liked him, but he was the most compelling man she’d ever met.
‘You look very beautiful.’
Polly’s eyes flew up to meet his. It would be so easy to believe he meant that. Seduced by the moment into doing goodness knew what.
If she wasn’t sensible. If she didn’t remember Rashid was known in the West as Amrah’s playboy sheikh for a reason. Presumably women often dissolved in a pool of oestrogen at his feet. It would be much better for her self-esteem if she didn’t become another conquest.
‘I am glad you have recovered,’ he said softly.
‘So am I.’ Polly’s hands pleated the end of her lihaf, watching the silver threads glint in the candlelight.
‘The heat can be punishing.’
Polly moistened her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘I—I bet the guys are dreading going with me into the desert. They must think I’m a complete liability now.’
‘I doubt that.’
Polly dragged her eyes away from his. She’d had six years of making ‘small talk’. She could do this. If she just kept breathing in and out he need never know she felt as though a million tiny ants had been let loose inside her. ‘Are they joining us here?’
‘Baz and John intended to swim here at the palace before having an early night. Graham, Pete and Steve have gone into Samaah. I suspect in search of alcohol in one of the international hotels. Do you wish you could have gone with your friends?’
Polly gave a sudden nervous laugh. ‘If I said “yes” that would be a little rude, wouldn’t it? And the guys aren’t “friends”. I met them for the first time at the airport.’
‘Colleagues,’ he amended.