He caught her close as he chided, “Be honest. Have you ever seen anyone that uncomfortable for two solid hours? It was painful. Wasn’t it, Zafir?”
“You don’t realize how intimidating you are! Zafir, too. And she’s not a talkative person. That’s why I like her. There’s no gossipy ‘Did you hear this or that?’ She talks about real things.”
“Such as?” Zafir asked, trying to keep his tone idle as he mentally castigated his son for stealing his one valid excuse to seek her out.
“The girls and their progress, mostly. But she wants to learn about our culture. We both agree the world would be a better place if women ran it,” she taunted with a grin up at her husband.
“Goes without saying,” Ra’id agreed, kissing her nose.
“You’re not bonding over unwed parents, then,” Zafir said, recognizing the nuzzling as his cue to make himself scarce.
“Okay, that was awkward,” Amineh agreed, sitting up a little. “And no, we don’t. I gather her mother was a bit of a hard case, but she doesn’t go on about it or pry. She’s very earnest.”
“I’ll give you that,” Ra’id said, reaching to drain his cup of tea. “I have stacks of picture books awaiting my approval before she reads them to our children. How dangerous a political message could be hidden in a story that wishes the moon a good-night? When she started, she asked me how much of her curriculum she should devote to British history and suggested twenty-five percent because the girls are one quarter English.”
Zafir didn’t want to laugh at her, but he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he considered the contradiction of the laced-up schoolmistress and the woman who had broken all the rules with him this afternoon. His ego soared with triumph at how much she had let go with him.
“Stop,” Amineh insisted to Ra’id. “Or I’ll tell her you want to mark all their written work yourself.”
They started to snog openly so Zafir pushed to his feet and went to his tent. There he discovered that Tariq had taken his charging unit, but left all the attachments.
His mind said don’t. His fingers gathered up the velvet bag of adaptors and weighed the package in his palm.
He managed to resist going to her until Tariq came to say good-night. The boy was riding a streak of independence these days, insisting he could scrub his own teeth and put himself to bed. As he rushed off to do so, Zafir stepped outside.
Ra’id was carrying his daughters like rolled carpets, one giggling girl under each of his arms, to where their mother waited near the children’s tent.
Fern stood alone near her own, tablet in hand, face turned to the sky as she moved from beneath the canopy of palms.
As Zafir debated lame excuses to go to her, like asking if he could help her find a particular constellation, without any word to anyone, Fern made a decisive turn and headed up the path he’d taken her and the children a few days ago.
CHAPTER FOUR
FERN’S ANTENNAE PICKED UP his presence before she heard or saw him. All the hairs on her body lifted and a jolt of such electric awareness shot through her, she expected her tablet to short out.
She kept walking, heartbeat picking up speed under the sense of being pursued, but she wasn’t frightened. Not exactly. He wouldn’t hurt her.