So she’d missed the meeting that she should have attended that morning and had stayed, instead, determined to clear through the mass of papers that she’d somehow accumulated. She forced herself to read through another paper before tossing it in the bin. Then another and then her mind drifted back to the tossing trees and the leaden sky, imagining it as the desert sky: so big and brilliant. She snapped out of her reverie and continued to sort through her papers, wondering how she could have found the strength to study as hard as she had.
She sat back suddenly in her chair. Truth was, it was a Godsend that she had something to distract her from the man who had stolen her heart and left her a few precious memories. Her hand moved to her stomach and a sense of deep sadness swept her, swiftly followed by anger. She swept all the papers into a basket. She’d continue with her studies but they were no longer her life. They’d only been her life when she had no love in it. But now she had experienced love, everything else was secondary.
Since her return to Paris life had resumed some sort of normalcy. This was where she lived now. Not her home, never her home, but simply where she lived. Matta went to school, albeit an exclusive one where he rubbed shoulders with the rich and the royal and had already settled well after one short week. He missed Zahir but Zahir had promised Matta he would visit him soon. To see only Matta, thought Anna ruefully.
She’d tried to discover more about Zahir from Matta, tried to weave into their talk and play anything that would reveal how Zahir felt for her. But it seemed there was nothing to say. Zahir kept his feelings close to his chest, as always. All she knew was that he had not yet sought divorce proceedings and nor had she. But times had changed and it appeared that he wanted to move on. Well he’d have to move on without help from her. Was there a someone else like he’d inferred? Was it the young woman whom she’d seen at the palace only a few weeks ago?
If Matta knew he wasn’t telling.
She looked at her watch. One of Zahir’s men should be returning Matta now from school. She shrugged on the dishdasha, hanging loose in folds down her slender frame, hiding her gently rounded stomach. No-one must know. Matta didn’t know—he thought mom was just eating too much.
There was a knock at the door. She waited for the housekeeper to open it. She didn’t want to meet any of Zahir’s men face to face. But then she remembered her housekeeper was in the middle of baking. Anna walked down the tiled hallway to the door, pulling her robe around her.
“Mom!” Matta hugged Anna’s legs. Only then did Anna look up, straight into Zahir’s eyes—black, cold and distant. It hurt to see the cold directed to her: eyes that had been so hot for her, but now—nothing.
“Anna.”
“Zahir.” She clutched her chest, willing herself to keep breathing. “Matta. I think there are fresh cookies in the kitchen. Why don’t you go and see?”
Making airplane noises rather than a simple reply, Matta hummed his way out of the room, banging the door behind him.
“What are you doing here?”
“You missed the meeting I requested with you this morning so I’ve come to you. I want to talk to you about Matta’s schooling. I’m not happy with it.”
She indicated that he should sit, showing she could be as formal and as icy as he. “Is that right?”
Zahir continued to stand. “His schooling is all wrong.”
“In what way?”
“Because it is here in Paris, and not with me in Qawaran.”
“Ahh, a good concrete academic reason then.”
“He has to come back with me.”
“Please take a seat.”
Zahir sat where indicated and Anna carefully sat opposite, her spine ramrod straight so as not to reveal the curves of her stomach.
“Thank you.”
“Matta has excellent school reports. He is doing very well and the school has an excellent reputation.”
“He is to return with me.”
“No. He stays with me.” She didn’t raise her voice. She wasn’t the same, desperate, scared woman as before. And Zahir was to thank for that. “You seem to like playing this game.”
“It’s no game.”
“Then you won’t mind if you don’t win.”
“You know I always win.”
Anna decided to ignore the challenge. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Thank you.”
She also knew how to play his games now—with decorum but always getting what she wanted. She rose, careful to make sure the gown shrouded her figure and rang the bell before returning, with the same care, back to her hard-backed chair.
“You’ve been well?” She knew the words, the form to take, whether the questions were required or not. And in this case they weren’t. He looked as strong and as handsome as always.