The sheikh's chosen wife(33)

A blatant plucking of her heartstrings though it was, Leona could see  the concern in his eyes. On a sigh, she laid the book aside, got up to  go and sit down beside him and picked up one of his cool, dry, skeletal  hands to press a gentle kiss

'Don't fret so, old man,' she pleaded gently. 'You know I will look after your two sons for you. I have promised. haven't I?'

'But you are unhappy. Do you think this does not fret me?' 'I-struggle  with the reasons why I am here,' she explained, because she wasn't going  to lie. It wasn't fair to lie to him. 'You know the problems. They are  not going to go away just because Hassan wants them to.'

'My son wants you above all things, daughter of Victor Frayne,' he said,  using the Arab way of referring to her, because by their laws a woman  kept her father's name after marriage. 'Don't make him choose to prove  this to you...'



CHAPTER ELEVEN

Don't make him choose... The next day, those words played inside Leona's  head like a mantra, because she had just begun to realise that Hassan  might not be forced to choose anything.

Sickness in the morning, sickness in the evening, a certain tenderness  in her breasts and other changes in her body that she could no longer  ignore were trying to tell her something she was not sure she wanted to  know.

Pregnant. She could be pregnant. She might be pregnant. She absolutely  refused to say that she was most definitely pregnant. How could she be  sure, when her periods had never been anything but sporadic at best?  Plus it had to be too soon to tell. It had to be. She was just wishing  on rainbows- wasn't she?

A month. She had been back in Hassan's life for a tiny month-and not  even a full month! Women just didn't know that quickly if they had  conceived, did they? She didn't know. At this precise moment she didn't  know anything. Her brain was blank, her emotions shot and she was  fighting an ever-growing battle with excitement that was threatening to  turn her into a puff of smoke!

It was this morning that had really set her suspicions soaring, when  she'd climbed out of bed feeling sick and dizzy before her feet had  managed to touch the floor. Then, in the shower, she'd seen the changes  in her breasts, a new fullness, darkening circles forming round their  tips. She'd felt different too-inside, where it was impossible to say  how she felt different, only that she did.

Instinct. What did she know about the female instinct in such situations?

Doubt. She had to doubt her own conclusions because the specialists had given her so little hope of it ever happening for them.

But even her skin felt different, her hair, the strange, secret glint  she kept on catching in her own eyes whenever she looked in a mirror.  She'd stopped looking in the mirror. It was easier not to look than look  and then see, then dare- dare to hope.

I want Hassan, she thought on a sudden rocketing rise of anxiety.

I don't want Hassan! She then changed her mind. Because if he saw her  like this he would know something really drastic was worrying her and  she couldn't tell him-didn't dare tell him, raise his hopes, until she  was absolutely sure for herself.

She needed one of those testing kits, she realised. But, if such a thing  was obtainable, where could she get one from without alerting half of  Rahman? There was not a chemist's in the country she could walk into and  buy such an obvious thing without setting the jungle drums banging from  oasis to oasis and back again.

But I need one. I need one she thought agitatedly.                       
       
           



       

Ring Hassan, that tiny voice inside her head persisted. Tell him your  suspicions, get him to bring a pregnancy testing kit home with him.

Oh, yes, she mocked that idea. I can just see Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim walking into a chemist's and buying one of those!

Rafiq, then. No, not Rafiq! she all but shouted at herself. Oh, why  could there not be some more women in this wretched house of Al-Qadim?  Why do I have to be surrounded by men?

Maids. There were dozens of maids she could call upon- all of whom would  be just as proficient at belting out the message across the whole  state.

As if she'd conjured her up a knock sounded on the door and one of the  maids walked into the room. She was carrying a dress that Leona had  ordered to be delivered from one of her favourite couturier's in the  city.

'It is very beautiful, my lady.' the maid said shyly.

And very red, Leona thought frowningly. What in heaven's name had made  her choose to buy red? Made by a local designer to a traditional Arabian  design, the dress was silk, had matching trousers and robe, and  shimmered with beautifully embroidered golden threads. And she never,  ever wore red!

'The sheikha will shine above all things tomorrow night,' the maid approved.

Tomorrow night, Leona repeated with a sinking heart as the maid carried  the dress into her dressing room. For tomorrow night was the night of  Sheikh Kalifa's anniversary celebration, which meant she had a hundred  guests to play hostess to when really all she wanted to do was-

Oh, she thought suddenly, where is my head? And she turned to walk  quickly across the room towards the telephone which sat beside the bed.

Pregnant.

Her feet pulled to a stop. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot then  sprang free again, catching at her breath. It was a desperate sensation.  Desperate with hope and with fear and a thousand other things that-

The maid appeared again, looked at her oddly because she was standing  here in the middle of the room, emulating a statue. 'Thank you, Leila,'  she managed to say.

As soon as the door closed behind the maid she finished her journey to  the telephone, picked up her address book, flicked through its pages  with trembling fingers, then stabbed in a set of numbers that would  connect her with Evie Al-Kadah in Behran.

Hassan was fed up. He was five hours away from home, on his way back  from Sheikh Abdul's summer palace, having just enjoyed a very  uncomfortable meeting in which a few home truths had been aired. He  should be feeling happy, for

the meeting had gone very much his way, and in his possession he now had  the sheikh's copy of one ill-judged contract and the satisfaction of  knowing the man and his wife now understood the error of their ways.

But it had required a five-hour drive out to mountains of Rahman to win  this sense of grim satisfaction, which meant they now had to make the  same journey back again. And Rafiq might feel he needed the physical  exercise of negotiating the tough and challenging terrain but, quite  frankly, so did he. He felt tense and restless, impatient to get back to  Leona now that he could face her with an easy conscience.

So the fiat tire they suffered a few minutes later was most unwelcome.  By the time they had battled in soft sand on a rocky incline to jack the  car up and secure it so they could change the wheel time was getting  on, and the sun was beginning to set. Then, only a half-mile further  into their journey, they became stuck in deep soft sand. And he couldn't  even blame Rafiq for this second inconvenience because he had taken  over the driving for himself. Proficient though they were at getting  themselves out of such difficulties, time was lost, then more time when  they were hit by a sandstorm that forced them to stop and wait until it  had blown past.

Consequently, it was very late when they drove through the gates of the  palace. By the time he had washed the sand from his body before letting  himself quietly into the bedroom he found Leona fast asleep.

Did he wake her or did he go away? he pondered as he stood looking down  on her, lying there on her side, with her glorious hair spilling out  behind her and a hand resting on the pillow where his head should be.

She murmured something, maybe because she sensed he was there, and the  temptation to just throw caution to the wind, slide into the bed and  awaken her so he could confide his suspicions then discover whether she  felt he was making any sense almost got the better of him.

Then reality returned, for this was not the time for such an emotive  discussion. It could backfire on him and deeply hurt her. And tomorrow  was a day packed with strife enough for both of them, without him adding  to it with what could be merely a foolish dream.

Anyway, he had some damage limitation to perform, preferably before this new development came into the open- just in case.

So, instead of waking her, he turned away, unaware that behind him her  eyes had opened to watch him leave. The urge to call him back tugged at  her vocal cords. The need to scramble out of the bed and go after him to  confide her suspicions stretched nerve ends in every muscle she  possessed.                       
       
           



       

But, no, it would not be fair to offer him hope where there might be  none. Better to wait one more day until she knew for sure one way or  another, she convinced herself.