And there was only one way to achieve that feat. For the first time in his life he would tell a lie to his people, he reflected grimly, but it would be a relatively harmless lie that would pull a mantle of respectability over their predicament. And by the mere voicing of that single lie, all the sleazy speculation and undertones would miraculously die a natural death. Molly would then go home. The episode would be forgotten and her good name would remain unblemished because he would announce that they were married. A few months down the road there would be a discreet mention in the press that he had obtained a divorce.
Impervious to Azrael’s brooding silence, Molly splashed her face in the pool and dried it again on the soggy towel before digging her feet into her shoes. Freshened up, she hurried back to Azrael. He reached for her hand and she shot him a startled look.
‘All you do is smile and in minutes we will be leaving,’ he assured her bracingly.
‘And I’ll be going home?’ she pressed.
‘Within a few days...once we get your passport problem sorted out,’ Azrael extended smoothly.
Nothing could have prepared Molly for the sheer melodramatic behaviour of the crowd waiting outside the cave. People fell down on their knees and wailed to the heavens; people wept with relief at the very sight of Azrael and had to be restrained by the soldiers from surging forward and embracing him. She had never seen such a fevered public demonstration of emotional attachment in her life. Throughout cameras flashed, questions were shouted and ignored and commentators stood by talking into microphones. Molly was so taken aback by the extravagant furore that Azrael need not have worried that she might say something inappropriate: shock had completely silenced her.
Silence fell when Azrael spoke in his own language and she saw surprise and other unrecognisable emotions cross faces in rapid succession. Smiles broke out. Heads were dipped. Eyes flew in Molly’s direction and lingered and she froze. Whatever Azrael was saying appeared to be welcome news that both soothed and pleased his audience.
‘Well, whatever you said went down very well. Everyone seemed to lighten up,’ Molly commented as they trudged towards a helicopter, literally surrounded by a phalanx of heavily armed soldiers.
Azrael shot her a warning glance and she heaved a sigh and mimicked a zip being drawn across her lips. Well, Azrael hadn’t lightened up any, which was no surprise to her. His conscientious little assistant, Butrus, was talking rapidly and very quietly on his mobile phone, a troubled expression stamped on his face. It seemed that the emergency as such was not yet quite over as far as he was concerned. Molly leapt up into the helicopter and settled in the seat Azrael indicated. He had rescued her, she reminded herself resolutely, so she could be quiet and biddable in public...as long as she could still shout at him in private.
Of course, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for that now, she registered. Or any need. After all, she had agreed not to report Tahir to the police, which meant that Azrael had no further need to have any more personal or private meetings with her. She would be stowed in a guestroom until the passport business was sorted out and then conveyed home. Her sojourn in Djalia would soon just be an exotic memory of her brief visit to another world. And it definitely was another world, she acknowledged, staring out at the sweeping golden sand dunes interspersed by craggy rock formations sculpted into weird shapes by the elements. Azrael had called the elements violent and perverse and those words reminded her of the feelings he inspired in her.
It would be good to get away from all the emotional and physical turmoil Azrael had unleashed in her, she told herself firmly. She hadn’t been sensible, she hadn’t been practical, hadn’t thought of yesterday or tomorrow or even next week. She had almost had unsafe sex even though she knew that that would be a mistake. Wasn’t that a lesson in itself? She had never realised how overwhelming sexual hunger could be. Involuntarily her head turned and found Azrael’s bold bronzed profile.
Black stubble outlined his aggressive jawline, highlighting the sculpted perfection of his lips, luxuriant black lashes low over his eyes. Her mouth ran dry and her heartbeat thumped and hurriedly she snatched her gaze away again, mortified by her susceptibility. She was acting like an infatuated teenager, she conceded in exasperation. Yes, it was past time she went home, time to go back to serving drinks with a smile, emptying waste-paper bins and seeking another client who wanted to improve their spoken English. That would all be real world enough to set her feet back firmly on the ground.
Azrael strove not to listen to Butrus dealing with an obstreperous member of the Djalian Council, the tribal leaders who acted as Azrael’s official advisors and support and, if need be, his critics. And right now the council was shouting up a storm because they wanted a public occasion for his wedding, a day of celebration, a big show. They didn’t care how long he had been married, he had to be seen to be married. Azrael had not foreseen that outpouring of demands and expectations, but he supposed he should have done and perhaps he would have had he not been so tired. Molly had kept him awake all night and he had not slept the night before that either, troubled as he had been by his conscience. Now his conscience was clear. He had done what he could to protect Molly and now that connection was also almost at an end. He shut his eyes, refusing to think about that.