Lucy and the Sheikh(14)
She swallowed, trying to control the quickened thudding of her heart. His words were ambiguous, given what little she knew of Maia's last movements.
“What exactly is it you want from me?”
He shook his head, smiling and released her robes. “There, you are free from the thorn now.” But he didn’t step away. “And as to what I want from you?” He hesitated as he searched her face, as if looking for an answer to his own question. “That is an interesting question. And probably irrelevant.”
It was her turn to show confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“My dear Lucy, what I want and what I allow myself are two different things. I am a ruler of a country; my life is not as simple as yours.”
“Mine, simple?” she half-laughed. “Now I know you don’t know me.”
“No, of course. However, what I’d like from you is just as we’d discussed earlier. I need to bring my country into the twenty-first century and I need help to do it. Your knowledge of tourism, your magazine articles could prove invaluable.”
“Surely you have experts who can help. I don’t claim to be an authority.”
“It’s not only your experience. You are also the demographic we hope to entice here. It’s one thing talking to an expert with theoretical knowledge, it’s another talking to a young woman who’s worked at the top dive spots in the world.”
“Alex told you that?”
“Yes. Last night, before I met you, he told me about you, about your desire to stay for a few weeks to look around. So I was interested in you working for me.” He paused. “But that was before I met you.”
“And now?”
“After last night? I don’t want you just for your expertise. I’d like to get to know you better. If that’s also what you want?”
She wanted to scream two contradictory answers. Instead she opened her mouth to speak but no words came. She simply nodded her agreement.
“Good. Now, perhaps I can offer you a cold drink and you can tell me more about yourself, about why you’re here.”
Again, all she could do was nod and follow him to the al fresco seating area where he poured her a glass of lemonade. “There’s not much to tell, nothing interesting.”
“Believe me, I’m interested. First, tell me, why did you come to Sitra?”
She was suddenly jolted back into reality. She could be honest and tell him straight answer, ask him outright if he knew were Maia was. But what if he was implicated and his answer was a blank “no”? She’d have lost her advantage. He’d throw her out of the country and she’d never be allowed back in. If he wasn’t implicated and he was willing to help, he’d still be willing after she’d made some preliminary enquiries. She couldn’t afford to lose her advantage. But she knew he wouldn’t believe anything that had absolutely no foundation of truth.
“I’ve traveled a lot, catering on yachts, and love diving, especially in unspoiled places like here. When I saw the advert for working on Alex’s expedition I was drawn to it. I knew entry into the country was impossible otherwise; I thought I might never get another chance.”
“Hopefully you will. And others will too, if my plans work out.”
“And what are your plans exactly?”
“Develop a few heavily protected diving resorts away from the capital city. The work Alex and his crew are doing will provide the ground work so we can both protect and promote the reefs.”
“You’ve certainly got the beautiful beaches that will attract people. And the waters, they’re so clear and warm. You’ll have more problems keeping people away, I should think.”
“Possibly. But Alex seems to think the coral is robust enough to sustain low to moderate tourism ventures.”
“But you don’t want people in the city?”
“No doubt some will venture into the city but I certainly don’t wish to promote it. We don’t have the infrastructure. But, yes, controlled tours into the interior are a possibility—we have ancient ruins that will be of interest. But it’s the diving you’ll be interested in going to first, I imagine.”
He imagined right. But this wasn’t about her. This was about her sister. And her sister liked the glamorous life.
“I’d love to see everything the average reader of the magazine I write for is interested in. The long, white, sandy beaches, the glamour of the desert, Bedouin tents, that sort of thing…” She glanced at him from under her lashes, suddenly aware that her mind had drifted at the thought of a tent, and Razeen. She cleared her throat. “Got anywhere like that? Where a girl, not exactly wanting authentic culture, but an ‘experience’ might want to go?”