The Sheikh's Prize(25)

Saffy decided that she would pretty much come to like and accept any   place Zahir called home. Besides, their baby had been conceived in a   tent. A palatial tent, to be sure, but a tent nonetheless. Her lush   mouth quirked at the recollection. That was a secret that would probably   never be shared.

The domestic staff greeted them at the end of the long hall and she was   given more flowers, which were in turn taken from her as if she could   not be expected to carry anything for herself. Zahir closed a relaxed   hand round hers and walked her into a big reception room where a man and   a woman awaited them.

'Hayat...' Saffy greeted his sister, several years his senior, warmly,   registering that the delicate youthful brunette she had once met was now   a more rounded woman in her thirties, but she still had the same warm,   friendly smile. Hayat was quick to kiss her on both cheeks and offer   good wishes. Saffy had never got to know the older woman that well   because when she had first been married to Zahir, Hayat and her husband   had been living in Switzerland.

'And since he was only a boy when you last met him, this is my younger brother Akram.'

She would have known Zahir's brother immediately by his close   resemblance to her husband, but she was not impervious to the look of   hostility in his rather set face as he murmured a strictly polite   welcome that was neither sociable nor encouraging. But Saffy kept the   smile on her face, reminding herself that it was early days and that,   after the divorce five years earlier, Akram might consider her a   particularly bad match for his brother, the king. Or maybe Akram was   less than impressed by the fact that she was already pregnant, although   if that was the case he ought to remember that conception took two   people, not one, she thought ruefully.

Zahir carried her off again, one hand closed round hers as if he was   keen to retain physical contact and, certainly, she had no objection   retaining that connection. She had never been in the wing of the palace   he took her to, was happy to be invited to explore and was pleasantly   surprised by how contemporary the décor was there. Back in the old dark   days of King Fareed's occupation, the parts of the palace she had known   had rejoiced in a preponderance of over-gilded furniture, brightly   coloured wallpaper, fussy drapes and half-naked statues. But now all   that was tasteless and garish had been swept away as though it had never   been.

'Did your father ever live here?' she asked awkwardly.

'No,' Zahir said succinctly. 'I didn't want to occupy his wing at the   front...too many bad memories. It's government offices now.'

'This is beautiful,' Saffy confided, brushing back filmy drapes and   opening French windows that led out into a spacious garden courtyard   full of lush colourful plants. 'It will be perfect for the baby to play   in.'

'One last place to show you,' Zahir murmured, tugging her impatiently   back indoors to walk her down the corridor, while she tried to compute   the sheer number of rooms that she now had the right to regard as part   of her new home. He flung open the double doors at the foot like a   showman. 'Our room. I had it freshly decorated.'                       
       
           



       

Our room, she repeated inwardly, thinking that phrase, which once had   unnerved her, now had a good, solid, reassuring sound to it. The big   room was breathtaking in the morning sunshine, furnished with a simply   huge bed dressed in white and covered with more pillows and cushions   than anyone would ever want to move before slipping between the sheets.   Masses of white flowers filled several vases and perfumed the air with   their abundance. The effect was light, bright and designer chic. Twin   bathrooms led off the bedroom, one with a family-sized Jacuzzi in the   corner.

'I'm already picturing you in there,' Zahir muttered huskily from behind   her, his breath warming her cheek as he settled his lean hands on her   rounded hips.

'Are you indeed?' Sliding round to look up at him, Saffy lifted her   hands to his face and curved them to his exotic cheekbones. Dear heaven,   those eyes of his got to her every time, she conceded dizzily as he   bent his handsome dark head and circled her lush mouth slowly, teasingly   with his own and her heart skipped a beat. 'I'll only get in with   company.'

His cell phone hummed and Zahir winced. 'Hold that thought,' he urged,   digging it out of his pocket to speak in his own language.

And that fast the moment of intimacy was over. He inclined his head at   an apologetic angle and told her that something needed his attention and   he would see her later. Saffy suppressed her disappointment, conceding   that their lives would often be interrupted by his duties and knowing   she would have to get used to the fact. She returned to exploring their   wing of the palace. A manservant brought her luggage. There was a   complete dream of a clothing closet installed in the room next door and   she smiled, smoothing shoe shelves and glancing into what could only be   custom-built units. Knowing Zahir must have ensured that so much was   prepared for her in advance gave her a warm feeling deep down inside.

A maid brought her tea and tiny cakes and she sat out in the tranquil   courtyard garden below the shade of the palm trees, enjoying the fading   afternoon heat and the play of shadows through the palm fronds. For the   first time in a long time she felt at peace. Acknowledging her  feelings  for Zahir had eased her worst insecurities and put paid to her  frantic  changes of mood because now she knew what lay behind her  reactions. They  were husband and wife and she was carrying their first  child and she  was happy. Happy, she thought wryly, unable to recall  when she had last  felt so happy or indeed an intensity of any emotion:  only around Zahir.  Had she always still loved him? Had it been his  haunting image that  prevented her from ever experiencing a strong  attraction to another man?  Regardless of what had happened between  them, she had retained past  memories of Zahir that were still clear as  day in her mind. He had  referred to her once as his 'first love' and  she knew she wanted to be  his first and only love, but the clock still  couldn't be turned back.  And nor in many ways would Saffy have wanted  to achieve that  impossibility, not if it meant returning to the  uninformed, bewildered  teenager she had been, incapable of consummating  her marriage and having  to live within the confines of the repressive  regime of the late King  Fareed.

Zahir phoned her full of apologies to say that he could not join her   before dinner. He reappeared, vital and startlingly handsome, to study   her where she sat reading on the terrace. She smiled at him, blue eyes   sparkling, and his winged brows pleated in surprise. 'I thought you'd be   furious with me for leaving you alone all afternoon,' he admitted   ruefully.

And Saffy laughed. 'I'm not eighteen any more,' she reminded him gently.   'And I understand that you have responsibilities you can't escape.'

'But not the very first day you arrive. In that spirit, I have blocked   off two weeks at the end of the month purely for us,' Zahir told her,   his features suddenly very serious in cast. 'We can travel, stay here,   do whatever you like, but there will no other demands on our time.'

Saffy was impressed that he had already foreseen the necessity for them   to formally make space in their schedules to spend time together as a   couple. It was an effort and an opportunity he had not tried to organise   five years earlier and she appreciated it. A pretty fabulous   three-course meal was served to them in the dining room. There was   evidently a chef in charge of the kitchens and one out to impress. While   they ate, Zahir shared his ambition to promote Maraban as a tourist   destination and he asked her if she would be interested in helping to   put together a public relations film to show off some of Maraban's main   attractions.                       
       
           



       

'We have beaches, archaeological sites, mountains,' Zahir told her   persuasively. 'You could present it. You're accustomed to being in front   of the cameras.'

'Not in a speaking role, at least only occasionally.' But Saffy was   pleased to be offered the chance to do something useful. 'I haven't been   to any of those places though.'