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Desert Fantasies(69)

By:Trish Morey


She turned and he caught her hand, pulling her to a stop. She looked up at him. The moon was a sliver on the horizon, the light still dim, but she could see him silhouetted against the stars.

“What?”

“My mother is hosting a reception on Saturday. I need to make an appearance. I want you to go with me.”

Ella shook her head. “I don’t do receptions,” she said. “Actually I don’t go away from the estate much.”

“Why?”

“Just don’t,” she murmured, turning to walk toward home.

He still held her hand and fell into step with her.

“Consider it payment for using the salon,” he said.

“You already agreed to my using the salon. You can’t add conditions now.”

“Sure I can—it’s my salon. You want to use it, consider this part of the payment. It’s just a reception. Some people from the oil company, some from the government, some personal friends. We circulate, make my mother happy by being seen by everyone, then leave. No big deal.”

“Get someone else.”

He was silent for several steps.

“There is no one else,” he said slowly.

“Why not?”

“I’ve been down that road, all right? I’m not going to set myself up again. Either it’s you, or I don’t go. My grandmother helped you out—your turn to pay back.”

“Jeeze, talk about coercion. You’re sure it’ll only be people who live here in Quishari?”

“Yes. What would it matter if foreigners came? You’re one yourself.”

“I am trying to keep a low profile, that’s why,” she said, hating to reveal anything, but not wanting to find out her hiding place had been found.

“Why?”

“I have reasons.”

“Are you hiding?” he asked incredulously.

“Not exactly.”

“Exactly what, then?” He pulled her to a stop again. “I want to hear this.”

“I’m in seclusion because of the death of my husband.”

“That was over a year ago.”

“There’s a time limit on grieving? I hadn’t heard that.”

“There’s no time limit, but by now the worst should be behind you and you should be going out and seeing friends. Maybe finding a new man in your life.”

“I see my friends,” she protested. “And I’m not going down that road again. You’re a funny one to even suggest it.”

“When do you see friends?”

“When they come to visit. I’m working now and it’s not convenient to have people over. But when I’m not in the midst of something, they come for swimming in the sea and alfresco meals on my terrace. Did you think I was a hermit?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. I never see these friends.”

“You’ve lived here for what, almost a week? No one has come in that time. Stick around if you’re so concerned about my social life.”

“Mostly I’m concerned about your going with me to the reception this weekend.”

“No.”

“Yes. Or no salon photos.”

Ella glared at him. It missed the mark. He couldn’t see her that well. And she suspected her puny attempts at putting him in the wrong wouldn’t work. He did own the estate. And she did need permission to use the salon. Rats, he was going to win on this one. She did not want to go. She was content in her cottage, with her work and with the solitude.

Only sometimes did it feel lonely.

Not once since Khalid had arrived.

Dangerous thoughts, those. She was fine.

“All right, we’ll go, greet everyone and then leave.”

“Thank you.”

They resumed the walk, but Ella pulled her hand from his. They were friends, not lovers. No need to hold hands.

But her hand had felt right in his larger one. She missed the physical contact of others. She hadn’t been kissed in ages, held with passion in as long. Why did her husband have to die?

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Saturday,” he said.

“Fine. And first thing tomorrow, I’m coming to take photographs. I don’t want to miss my chance in case you come up with other conditions that I can’t meet.”

He laughed.

Ella looked at him. She’d never even seen him smile and now he was laughing in the darkness! Was that the only time he laughed?

“I expect I need to wear something very elegant,” she mumbled, mentally reviewing the gowns she’d worn at university events. There were a couple that might do. She hadn’t thought about dressing up in a long time. A glimmer of excitement took hold. She had enjoyed meeting other people at the university, speaking about topics far removed from glass making. Would the reception be as much fun? She felt a frisson of anticipation to be going with Khalid. She always seemed more alive when around him.

“You’ll look fine in anything you wear,” he said easily.

Just like a man, she thought, still reviewing the gowns she owned.


The next morning Ella carefully took two of her pieces, wrapped securely in a travel case, and went to the main house. Ringing the doorbell, she was greeted by Jalilah.

“I’ve come to take pictures,” she said.

“In the salon, His Excellency has told me. Come.” The maid led the way and then bowed slightly before leaving.

Ella put the starburst bowl on one of the polished mahogany tables.

Khalid appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the jamb and watched.

“What do you want?” she asked, feeling her heartbeat increase. Fussing, she tried pictures from different angles. She could hardly focus the lens with him watching her.

“Just wanted to see how the photo shoot went.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“No.”

She tried to ignore him, but it was impossible. She lifted the camera and framed the bowl. She snapped the picture just as the doorbell sounded. She looked at Khalid. “Company?” she asked. Maybe someone who would take him away from the salon.

He looked into the foyer and nodded. “Rashid and Bethanne. Good timing. They can help.”

“Help what?”

“You get the best pictures. You want to appeal to the largest number of buyers, right?”

“Of course.” The sooner she started earning money, the sooner she might move.

“Hello,” Rashid said, coming into the room with a tall blond woman. “Ella, this is my fiancée, Bethanne Sanders. Bethanne, this is Ella Ponti. Now, can you two talk?” he asked in Arabic.

“I also speak Italian and French and English,” Ella said, crossing the room to greet the pair.

Switching to English, Rashid said, “Good, Ella speaks English.”

“I’m so delighted to meet you,” Bethanne said, offering her hand.

Ella shook it and smiled. “I’m happy to meet you. My English is not so good, so excuse me if I get things mixed.”

“At least we can communicate. And you speak Arabic. I’m learning from a professor at the university. That’s not easy.”

“And the maid,” Rashid said softly.

Bethanne laughed. “Her, too.”

“Would that be Professor Hampstead?” Ella asked.

“Yes, do you know him?” Bethanne asked with a pleased smile.

“My husband worked at the university in language studies. I know the professor and his wife quite well. He’s an excellent teacher.”

“We came to see your work,” Rashid said. “I see you’ve started on the pictures.”

“Photographing some pieces for a preliminary catalog. I’d like to see if I can move up my timetable for a showing. Once I have enough pictures, I can make a small catalog and circulate it.”

“Why are you taking pictures here?” Bethanne asked, walking over to look at the bowl. “Oh, this is exquisite. You made this? How amazing!” She leaned over and touched the edge lightly but made no move to pick it up.

“I think the ambiance of the other furnishings here will show it off better. I want the background to be blurry, with only the glass piece in clear focus, but to give the feel that it would fit in any elegant salon.”

“And Khalid was all for the project, obviously,” Rashid said with a glance at his twin.

“Obviously—she’s here, isn’t she?” Khalid said. “You two can help with the project. Give us an unbiased perspective and select the best pictures.”

“I’d like to see the other pieces you’ve made,” Bethanne said.

“I’m happy to show you. Shall we go now?”

“Finish the pictures of these, then when you go to your studio, you can bring some more over,” Khalid suggested.

The next couple of hours were spent with everyone giving opinions about the best angle for pictures and which of the different art pieces Ella had created should be included. Rashid said he’d see if his mother had some recommendations on art galleries who would help.

Ella felt as if things were spinning out of control. She and Alia al Harum had discussed the plans, but they’d been for years down the road. Now so much was happening at once.

Khalid looked over at her at one point and said, “Enough. We will return to the main house and have lunch on the terrace. Bethanne, you haven’t told Ella what you do. I think she’ll be interested.”

Ella threw him a grateful smile. “I’ll just tidy up a bit and join you.”