Yes, she did love Zahir, further than the falcon could fly. But she would not be going to dinner, would not be saying good-bye to him. She couldn’t stand to see him looking at another woman as he’d once looked at her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Zahir watched the dust billow and settle from the trail of vehicles that marked the end of the visit from distant relatives and the lovely Aisha. Despite his firm denials of interest his family had encouraged their visit and it had ended, predictably, in disaster. They meant well and he’d never met anyone more beautiful than the young woman, or anyone who left him more cold.
All through the interminable dinner he’d sat surrounded by talk that he couldn’t bear to listen to. His thoughts were of a woman who was as prickly as Aisha was placid; as feisty as Aisha was submissive and as complex as Aisha was straightforward. He should want Aisha. Any sensible man would. But, instead, his mind was focused on a woman who played his body and mind like a virtuoso, creating a magic that he found he craved more with each passing day.
But what could he—a destroyer of love and life—possibly give to anyone? Especially someone like Anna? He’d given her the only thing she wanted and the only thing he could give her. She’d never told him she loved him, never said she wanted anything different to her dreams of freedom.
And, despite specifically asking her to dine with them, Anna hadn’t joined them in the dining hall that had been full of people and laughter but had felt empty without her. He’d given her the opportunity to say whatever it was on her mind. But it couldn’t have been as important as preparing for her return trip to Paris. She’d left at first light, leaving a message that she needed to do some shopping in Riyadh and would meet Matta there before going on to Paris. And she disappeared without trying to see Zahir again.
“Ab Zahir! Look.”
Zahir turned to his son, a welcome diversion from the pain he felt at his loss, a distraction that numbed the pain into a dull heaviness from which he could never escape.
Matta held out his arm, steady and strong, with the small hawk perched on top. The pride on the boy’s face at his achievement reminded him of Anna. The set of the face was the same: determination and courage despite a sensitive nature. If Matta looked like him physically, he was proud to see that he possessed his mother’s charm and essentially happy nature. He was someone who showed exactly what he was thinking and feeling in his expressive body and face.
“Excellent, but be sure to be steady for her. Any nervousness or doubt will betray itself in your arm and she will become agitated.”
“I’m strong, Ab Zahir. Mom says so. It will be fine. How far will she fly?”
“She is young and not so strong as the peregrine.”
Matta was absorbed in the bird, watching each movement of its eyes, every flicker of its feathers. “Not as far as mom’s love for you then.”
Zahir froze. “What did you say?”
Matta held up his bird aloft, shifting it in the light still distracted and absorbed by its beauty and the sense of ownership. “Nothing.”
“You said something about your mom. Matta, tell me.”
Zahir’s sense of urgency got through to Matta who turned his head to Zahir. “Nothing much. Just that mom said she loved you beyond where we could see the falcon fly. That’s big isn’t it?”
Zahir followed Matta’s gaze to the distant horizon. It was big. It was also impossible. Perhaps Matta had heard wrong. But no, it wasn’t the kind of thing the boy would invent. The falcon could fly forever, find its freedom anywhere.
For the first time in months the heaviness that weighed him down lifted and he felt light with possibility. Swiftly followed by doubt. Was her love big enough to encompass his shortcomings? The extreme swoops of doubt and happiness echoed the uncertain, erratic movements of Matta’s young hawk taking its first flight. It was the complete opposite of how Zahir liked to be. It was out of control, erratic. But that wasn’t life, was it? He’d learnt that through letting Abduallah down. If there was the remotest possibility that Anna might want him then he needed to know. And there was only one way to find out.
The wind whipped away the leaves that were only just turning brown, tearing them prematurely from their precarious hold. Paris was alive with the roaring of the wind and the slapping of rain on her window. Each day passed more slowly than the last as the world abruptly turned into an autumn that Anna couldn’t consider yet. Her mind seemed to have slipped into some kind of stasis, unable to move on and unable to let go of the life that summer had brought.
But she had to. Zahir was moving on with his life and so must she. She sighed and re-read the letter from Zahir’s solicitor that she’d received. She’d been sorting out her papers rather than gaze at the ravaged trees that twisted and turned in the blustery wind outside her window, but kept coming back to the letter. It had asked her to attend a meeting. About what, it didn’t say. But there was only one thing it could mean. Zahir wanted a divorce. She couldn’t face it. Her morning sickness was worsening rather than improving. It looked like she’d be ill the whole nine months, just as she had been with Matta. But what she really couldn’t take was the finality of the end of their relationship. She couldn’t bear to discover he was going to marry someone else. She didn’t think she could go on if he were.