'Oh, of course.' Evie nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, a bed with one half that had not been slept in. Hassan had not come back last night, and Leona was glad that he hadn't.
'I hate men,' she announced huskily.
'You mean you hate one man in particular.'
'I'll be glad when this is over and he just lets me go.'
'Do you really think that is likely?' Evie mocked. 'Hassan is an Arab and they give up on nothing. Arrogant, possessive, stubborn, selfish and sweet,' she listed ruefully, it is the moments of sweetness that are their saving grace, I find.'
'You're lucky, you've got a nice one.'
'He wasn't nice at all on the day I sent him packing,' Evie recalled, in fact it was the worst moment of my life when he turned to leave with absolutely no protest. I knew it was the end. I'd seen it carved into his face like words set in stone...'
'I know.' Leona whispered miserably. 'I've seen the look myself...'
Evie had seen the same look on Hassan's face at the breakfast table. 'Oh, Leona.' She sighed. 'The two of you have got to stop beating each other up like this. You love each other. Can't that be enough?"
Raschid was not in agreement with Hassan's timing. 'Think about this,' he urged. 'We have too much time before we reach dry land. Time for them to fester on their disappoint-
'I need this settled,' Hassan grimly insisted. 'Leona is a mess. The longer I let the situation ride the more hesitant I appear. Both Abdul and Zafina Al-Yasin are becoming so over-confident that they think they may say what they please. My father agrees. It shall be done with today. Inshallah,' he concluded.
'Inshallah, indeed,' Raschid murmured ruefully, and went away to prepare what he had been brought here specifically to say.
An hour later Evie was with her children, Medina and Zafina were seated quietly in one of the salons sipping coffee while they awaited the outcome of the meeting taking place on the deck below, and Leona and Samir were kitting up to go jet-skiing when Sheikh Raschid AI-Kadah decided it was time for him to speak.
'I have listened to your arguments with great interest and some growing concern,' he smoothly began. 'Some of you seem to be suggesting that Hassan should make a choice between his country and his western wife. I find this a most disturbing concept-not only because I have a western wife myself, but because forward-thinking Arabs might be setting such outmoded boundaries upon their leaders for the sake of what?'
'The blood line,' Abdul said instantly.
Some of the others shifted uncomfortably. Raschid looked into the face of each and every one of them and challenged them to agree with Sheikh Abdul. It would be an insult to himself, his wife and children if they did so. None did.
'The blood line was at risk six years ago, Abdul.' He smoothly directed his answer at the man who had dared to offer such a dangerous reason. 'When Hassan married, his wife was accepted by you all. What has changed?'
'You misunderstand, Raschid,' Jibril Al-Mahmud quickly inserted, eager to soothe the ruffled feathers of the other man. 'My apologies, Hassan, for feeling pressed to say this.' He bowed. 'But it is well known throughout Rahman that your most respected wife cannot bear a child.'
'This is untrue, but please continue with your hypothesis,' Hassan invited calmly.
Flustered, Jibril looked back at Raschid. 'Even in your country a man is allowed, if not expected, to take a second wife if the first is-struggling to give him sons,' he pointed out. 'We beg Hassan only take a second wife to secure the family line.' Wisely, he omitted the word 'blood'.
'Hassan?' Raschid looked to him for an answer.
Hassan shook his head. 'I have the only wife I need,' he declared.
'And if Allah decides to deny you sons, what then?'
'Then control passes on to my successor. I do not see the problem.'
'The problem is that your stance makes a mockery of everything we stand for as Arabs,' Abdul said impatiently. 'You have a duty to secure the continuance of the Al-Qadim name. Your father agrees. The old ones agree. I find it insupportable that you continue to insist on giving back nothing for the honour of being your father's son!'
'I give back my right to succession,' Hassan countered. 'I am prepared to step down and let one or other of you here take my place. There,' he concluded with a flick of the hand, 'it is done. You may now move on to discuss my father's successor without me...'
'One moment, Hassan...' It was Raschid who stopped him from rising. Worked in and timed to reach this point in proceedings, he said, 'I have some objections to put forward against your decision.'
Hassan returned to his seat. Raschid nodded his gratitude for this, then addressed the table as a whole. 'Rahman's land borders my land. Your oil pipeline runs beneath Behran soil and mixes with my oil in our co-owned holding tanks when it reaches the Gulf. And the old ones criss-cross our borders from oasis to oasis with a freedom laid down in a treaty drawn up and signed by Al-Kadah and Al-Qadim thirty years ago. So tell me,' he begged, 'with whom am I expected to renegotiate this treaty when an Al-Qadim is no longer in a position to honour his side of our bargain?'
It was an attack on all fronts. For Rahman was landlocked. It needed Behran to get its oil to the tankers that moored up at its vast terminals. The treaty was old and the tariffs laid down in it had not been changed in those thirty years Raschid had mentioned. Borders were mere lines on maps the old ones were free to ignore as they roamed the desert with their camel trains.
'There is no question of altering the balance of power here in Rahman,' It was Sheikh Jibril Al-Mahmud who declaimed the suggestion. He looked worried. Crown Prince Raschid AI-Kadah was not known as a bluffing man. 'Hassan has our complete loyalty, respect and support.'
'Ah,' Raschid said. 'Then I am mistaken in what I have been hearing here. My apologies.' He bowed. 'I believed I was hearing Hassan about to step down as his father's natural successor.'
'Indeed no such thing ever crossed our minds.' You could almost see Sheikh Jibril shifting his position into the other camp as he spoke. 'We are merely concerned about future successors and question whether it is not time for Hassan to consider taking steps to-'
'As the old ones would say,' Raschid smoothly cut in, 'time is but a grain of sand that shifts in accordance with the wind and the will of Allah.'
'Inshallah; Sheikh Jibril agreed, bringing Sheikh Abdul's house of cards tumbling down.
'Thank you,' Hassan murmured to Raschid a few minutes later, when the others had left them. 'I am in your debt.'
'There is no debt,' Raschid denied. 'I have no wish to see the spawn of Sheikh Abdul Al-Yasin develop in to the man who will then deal with my son. But, as a matter of interest only, who is your successor?'
'Rafiq,' Hassan replied.
'But he does not want the job.'
'He will nonetheless acquire it,' Hassan said grimly.
'Does he know?'
'Yes. We have already discussed it.'
Raschid nodded thoughtfully, then offered a grim smile.
'Now all you have to do, my friend, is try to appear happy that you have achieved your goal.'
It was Hassan's cue to begin smiling, but instead he released a heavy sigh and went to stand by the window. Outside, skimming across the glass-smooth water, he could see two jet-skis teasing each other. Leona's hair streamed out behind her like a glorious banner as she stood, half bent at the knees, turning the machine into a neat one-hundred-and-eighty-degree-spin in an effort to chase after the reckless
'The victory could be an empty one in the end,' he murmured eventually. 'For I do not think she will stay."
Raschid's silence brought Hassan's head round. What he saw etched into the other man's face said it all for him. 'You don't think she will, either, do you?' he stated huskily.
'Evie and I discussed this,' Raschid confessed. 'We swapped places with you and Leona, if you like. And quite honestly, Hassan, her answer made my blood run cold.'
Hassan was not surprised by that. East meets west, he mused as he turned back to the window. Pride against pride. The love of a good, courageous woman against the-
'In the name of Allah,' he suddenly rasped out as he watched Leona's jet-ski stop so suddenly that she was thrown right over the front of it.
'What?' Raschid got to his feet.
'She hit something,' he bit out, remaining still for a moment, waiting for her to come up. It didn't happen. His heart began to pound, ringing loudly in his ears as he turned and began to run. With Raschid close on his heels he took the stairs two at a time, then flung himself down the next set heading for the rear of the boat where the back let down to form a platform into the water. Rafiq was already there, urgently lowering another jet ski into the water. His taut face said it all; Leona still had not reappeared. Samir had not even noticed; he was too busy making a wide, arching turn way out.