“Khalid.”
“Ah, the restless one.”
“Restless?”
“She said you hadn’t found your place yet. You were seeking, traveling to the interior, along the coast, everywhere, looking for your place.”
“Indeed. And Rashid?”
“He’s the consumed one—trying to improve the business beyond what his father and uncles did. She worried about you both. Afraid—” Ella stopped suddenly. She was not going to tell him all his grandmother had said. It was not her business if neither man ever married and had children. Or her place to tell him of the longing the older woman had had to hold a new generation. Which never happened and now never would.
“Afraid of what?” he asked.
“Nothing. I have to go back now.” She began walking quickly toward home. How was she to know the mysterious stranger on the beach was her new landlord? She almost laughed. He might hold the lease, but he was nothing like a landlord. He hadn’t even visited the estate in more than a year. She knew, because she’d never seen him there and she’d live here for over a year and had heard from his grandmother how much she wished to see him beyond fleeting visits in the capital city.
He easily caught up with her. Reaching out to take her arm, he stopped her and swung her around.
“Tell me.”
“Good grief, it’s not that big a deal. She was afraid neither of her grandsons would marry and have children. She was convinced both of you were too caught up in your own lives to look around for someone to marry. She wanted to hold a great-grandchild. Now she never can.”
“She told you this? A stranger.”
Ella nodded. “Yes. We became friends and had a lot of time to visit and talk. She came to the guest cottage often, interested in what I was doing.” And had been a rock to lean against when Ella was grieving the most. Her gentle wisdom had helped so much in those first few months. Her love had helped in healing. And the rental cottage had been a welcomed refuge. One guarded by the old money and security of the al Harum family. Ella had found a true home in the cottage and was forever grateful to Alia al Harum for providing the perfect spot for her.
Sheikh Khalid al Harum came from that same old money. She hadn’t known exactly what he did but it certainly wasn’t for money. No wonder his grandmother had complained. It was a lucky thing he was still alive.
“And what were you doing?” he asked, still holding her arm.
“Working. You could call her a patron of the arts.”
“You’re a painter?”
“No, glassblower. Could you let me go?”
Ella felt his hold ease. His hand dropped to his side. She stepped back and then headed for home. So much for the excitement of meeting the stranger. She could have just waited until she heard him at the main house and gone over to introduce herself.
Now she wanted to get home and close the door. This was the grandson who was always roaming. Was he thinking of using the house when in the capital city?
“Oh.” She stopped and turned. Khalid bumped into her. She hadn’t known he was right behind her. His hands caught her so she didn’t fall.
“Are you planning to sell the estate?” she asked.
“It’s something I’m considering.”
“Your grandmother wanted you to have it. She’d be so hurt if you just sold it away.”
“I’m not selling it away. It’s too big for one man. And I’m not in Alkaahdar often. When I am, I have a flat that suits me.”
“Think of the future. You could marry and have a huge family someday. You’ll need a big house like that one. And the location is perfect—right on the Gulf.”
“I’m not planning to ever marry. Obviously my grandmother didn’t tell you all about me or you’d know the thought of marriage is ludicrous. So why would I want a big house to rattle around in?”
Ella tried to remember all her sponsor had said about her grandsons. Not betraying any confidences, not going into detail about their lives, she still had given Ella a good feel for the men’s personalities. And a strong sense that neither man was likely to make her a great-grandmother. The longing she’d experienced for the days passed when they’d been children and had loved to come to her home had touched Ella’s heart. Alia had hoped to recapture those happy times with their children.
“Don’t make hasty decisions,” she said. Alia had died thinking this beloved grandson would live in her home. Ella hated the thought he could casually discard it when it had meant so much to the older woman.
“My grandmother died last July. It’s now the end of May. I don’t consider that a hasty move.”
Ella didn’t know what tack to use. If he wanted to sell, the house was his to do so with as he wanted. But she felt sad for the woman who had died thinking Khalid would find happiness in the house she’d loved.
“Come, I’ll walk you back. You didn’t use the path last night that leads to the house or guesthouse,” he said.
“I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t want to indicate where I lived,” she said, walking back. The night seemed darker and colder. She wanted to be home. So much for looking forward to the evening walk. Now she wished she’d stayed in the cottage and gone to bed.
“Wise. You don’t know who might be out on the beach so late at night.”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. I know this beach well.” She was withdrawing. There was something liberating about walking with a stranger, talking, sharing. But something else again once actually knowing the person. She’d be dealing with him in the near future. She didn’t know this man. And until she did, she was not giving out any personal information.
A blip of panic settled in. If he sold the estate, where would she go? She had made a home here. Thought she’d be living in the cottage for years to come. She had to review the lease. Did it address the possibility of the estate being sold? She knew Madame al Harum had never considered that likelihood.
As soon as she reached the path, she walked even faster. “Good night,” she said. She wasn’t even sure what to call him. Sheikh al Harum sounded right, or did she use his first name, as well, to differentiate him from his brother who also was a sheikh? She was not used to dealing with such lofty families.
When she reached her house, she flipped on the lights and headed for the desk. Her expenses were minimum: food, electricity and her nominal rent. It wasn’t as if the al Harum family needed her money. But she had needed to pay her way. She was not a charity case. It wasn’t a question of money; it was a question of belonging. Of carrying out her dreams. Madame al Harum had understood. Ella doubted the sheikh would.
She read the Arabic script, finding it harder to understand than newspapers. She could converse well, read newspapers comfortably. But this was proving more difficult than she expected. Why hadn’t she asked for a copy translated into Italian?
Throwing it down in disgust, she paced the room for a long time. If she had to leave, where would she go? She studied the cream-colored walls, the soft draperies that made the room so welcoming. Just beyond the dark windows was a view of the gardens. She loved every inch of the cottage and grounds. Where else would she find a home?
The next morning Ella was finishing her breakfast when one of the maids from the main house knocked on the door. It was Jalilah, one who had also served Alia al Harum for so many years.
“His Excellency would like to see you,” she said. “I’m to escort you to the main house.”
So now he summoned her—probably to discuss her leaving. “Wait until I change.” She’d donned worn jeans and an oversize shirt to work around the studio. Not the sort of apparel one wore to meet with a sheikh. Especially if doing battle to keep her home.
Quickly she donned a dress that flattered her dark looks. It was a bit big; she’d lost weight over the last few months. Still, the rose color brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.
Her dark eyes looked sad—as they had ever since losing Alexander. She would never again be the laughing girl who had grown up thinking everything good about people. Now she knew heartache and betrayal. She was wiser, but at a price.
Running a brush through her hair, she turned to face the future. Was there a clause in the lease that would nullify her claim if the estate was sold? As they walked across the gardens, she tried to remember every detail about the terms Madame al Harum had discussed.
She entered the house and immediately remembered her one-time hostess. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d visited. It was cool and pleasant. The same pictures hung on the walls. Her first vase from her new studio still held a place of honor on the small table in the foyer, holding a cascading array of blossoms. She’d been so happy it had been loved.
The maid went straight to the study. Ella paused at the doorway for a moment, her eyes widening in shock as she got a good look at Sheikh Khalid al Harum. He looked up at her, catching the startled horror in her expression. His own features hardened slightly and she felt embarrassed she’d reacted as she had. No one had told her he’d been horribly burned. The distorted and puckered skin on his right cheek, down his neck and obviously beneath his shirt, disfigured what were otherwise the features of a gorgeous man. She’d been right about his age—he looked to be in his prime, maybe early thirties. And he was tall as she noted when he rose to face her.