How the heck had she travelled from the Djalian Embassy in London to...? And then she remembered the sweet coffee, her strange symptoms and then what must have been her collapse. She had been drugged. Was that too melodramatic an assumption? Molly was a very down-to-earth young woman and the concept of being drugged and kidnapped initially struck her as too fantastic an explanation to be possible. But then there was the unusually sweet coffee, she recalled, along with Prince Tahir watching her and telling her that she would be fine even though she had patently not been fine. Molly breathed in deep and slow.
‘Mees Carlisle?’ a soft female voice enquired, making her jump and spin in dismay. A young woman, clad in a long dress, was anxiously peering at her through a doorway. ‘I am Gamila and I am to tell you that you are safe. Safe,’ she repeated the word with emphasis. ‘No English,’ she completed apologetically.
‘Safe?’ Molly whispered shakily, suddenly realising that what had happened to her was real and not the result of a waking dream or her imagination. ‘Where am I?’
But the young woman was busy spreading open the door to display a bathroom and Molly was too grateful to see one to persist in enquiries that her companion seemed unable to answer. She closed the door, discovering a new toothbrush awaited her as well as soap and other necessities. Had Tahir kidnapped her? And if so, where was he now? Dear heaven, was he a madman? A sex offender? Had she been teaching English to a seriously dangerous man all these weeks?
Filled with horror and conjecture on worst-case scenarios, Molly ran herself a shallow bath, there being no shower, which surprised her because the bathroom suite and the tiling looked brand new. She was safe, she reminded herself doggedly. Someone had taken the time and trouble to coach Gamila into repeating that message...she was safe. But telling herself that even as she towelled herself dry did not make her feel remotely safe in such a strange environment.
She was abroad without a passport, she thought fearfully. She didn’t own a passport because she had never travelled abroad. Her father had not been a fan of foreign holidays and she had never had enough money to plan such a trip for herself. But when she had studied for her TEFL qualification, it had been her dream to work and live abroad. The only grandfather I ever knew was a monster, Tahir had said. Maybe she should have listened harder because it seemed to her that Tahir took after him. Only a monster with a nasty agenda would drug and carry off a woman to a foreign country. Where were the police? Molly wanted to see a policeman and report her abduction...then she would feel safe from all threat.
A long dress like Gamila’s hung on a hook on the wall. Since her own clothing was nowhere to be seen and Molly felt too exposed in the thin nightie she wore, she put on the dress after ascertaining that it at least smelled as if it was new. Even so, she had no underwear and Molly winced at the lack of a bra because she was extra curvy in the breast department. She had always hated that about her body, she reflected ruefully. Overly generous curves at breast and hip had bloomed as soon as she reached puberty. All very well had such curves been grafted onto a taller body, she conceded, but not so welcome a gift for a girl who barely passed five feet in height.
She emerged from the bathroom to find Gamila waiting for her with a tray of food. Molly studied the tray with distrust. Tahir had drugged her. How did she know the food was harmless? She shook her head in refusal although she was very hungry, and went back into the bathroom to use the tumbler by the sink to drink some tap water, simply praying that the source was hygienic. Gamila, looking puzzled by that demonstration, set the tray down and left the room.
Molly stood at the window staring out at that unbelievable view of the sand dunes. The sun was lower in the sky, turning them a toasty gold shade which was unexpectedly beautiful. It was time for her to find out where she was and when she was getting home, after she had reported Tahir to the authorities. As she stalked to the door in a fine temper a knock sounded on it. She flung it wide.
‘I...’ and then her tongue simply glued to the roof of her mouth because it was Mr Gorgeous from the portrait in the embassy hallway.
There he stood, in his pristine white robes and red chequered head cloth, those stunning features even more arresting in the flesh. It was as if a famous actor had stepped out of a movie screen into her presence. She was deeply shaken and she could barely breathe for nerves. In discomfiture, she backed away fast until her legs hit the very solid wooden bed frame behind her.
‘Miss Carlisle? I am Azrael, Tahir’s half-brother,’ Azrael proffered, rigid in bearing and stilted in speech from the sheer shame of what his little brother had done. ‘I must offer you my most profound apologies for what has happened to you and I assure you that you will be taken home as soon as possible.’