The Sheikh and the Virgin

CHAPTER TWO

‘ARE you all right, miss?’

It required a supreme effort, but Bea forced a smile as she turned to the concerned-looking silver-haired man who had stopped to make the anxious enquiry. Concerned people who gave a damn were rare commodities nowadays, and in her opinion deserved at least a smile.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she promised.

He didn’t look entirely convinced, and if she looked anything like she felt, Beatrice wasn’t surprised.

‘Perhaps you should sit down …? A glass of water.?’ He glanced towards the large impressive-looking building Beatrice had just emerged from.

‘Really, I’m fine,’ she insisted, able to hide her shaking hands in the pockets of her jacket, but unable to control the emotional quiver in her voice.

In truth, she had never felt less fine. She was, in fact, furious. A laid-back, easygoing person, Beatrice rarely lost her temper—but when she did she lost it big time!

She remained so angry that her furious long-legged stride got her back to Emma’s flat in record time. Turning the key in the lock, she pushed open the door and stepped into the sitting room.

‘You’ll never guess what—’ She stopped abruptly. The room was empty, but a muffled sound from the bedroom indicated her friend was home.

‘That didn’t take long,’ Emma said, belting a robe around her waist as she emerged from the bedroom, her blonde curls tousled and her cheeks flushed. ‘Well, what was your meeting all about? Has a rich relative left you a fortune?’

Bea, struggling to control her anger, barely registered her friend’s breathless voice as she gritted her teeth. ‘A fortune was involved,’ she admitted, kicking off her shoes and flopping down onto the sofa. ‘But, like I told you, I don’t have any relatives—rich or otherwise.’

Neither, after living in foster care after her mother’s death, did she have Emma’s romantic imagination.

Bea had responded to the mysterious invitation that had arrived in the post with curiosity and an open mind, but no great expectations. Definitely not the expectation of being insulted so comprehensively!

‘Neither did I bump into a white knight at the corner shop.’

‘Don’t be like that, Bea. There’s someone out there for you … a soul mate.’

Sometimes Emma’s incurable romanticism could be irritating. ‘I won’t hold my breath—’ She stopped, tilting her head in a listening attitude. ‘Did you hear that? It sounded as if it came—’

Emma threw a nervous look at the closed bedroom door, before perching on the arm of a chair and asking quickly, ‘What on earth did the lawyer say to put you in this mood?’

‘It wasn’t the lawyer I spoke to. The man I did speak to offered me a small fortune.’

Actually, Beatrice thought, not so small! The number of noughts on the paper he had handed her had looked like a misprint, but apparently it wasn’t.

Emma looked bemused. ‘And that made you angry?’

‘The money was conditional on me … I warn you, Emma, you’re not going to believe this.’ She unclenched her fists, sucked in a deep breath and tried to smile—it really was absurd. ‘It was conditional on me not marrying Khalid!’

She paused, fully expecting Emma’s incredulous laughter, but not expecting to see the colour seep from her friend’s face.

‘What did he say when you told him you weren’t engaged to Khalid?’

‘He didn’t give me the chance. And then I got so mad, because he was so utterly detestable and smug, and … Well,’ she admitted ruefully, ‘I lost my temper and told him I fancied the idea of being a princess. Princess Bea …’ She struck a pose and chuckled. ‘What do you think? Shall I suggest it to Khalid? Incidentally, I must give him a ring and warn him what his brother is up to.’

‘Oh, God, Bea!’ Emma moaned, looking if it was at all possible, even paler. ‘Why did you say that to him …?’

Beatrice was perplexed by her friend’s attitude. ‘Could it have had something to do with the fact the man treated me like some cheap little tart? I don’t think you understand, Emma.’ Beatrice spelt it out. ‘Poor Khalid must have fallen in love with some girl. His brother is trying to buy this girl off, and for some weird reason he thinks it’s me.’ She laughed, lifting her hair from the back of her neck and stretching with feline grace. ‘Weird doesn’t really cover it.’

‘Oh, Emma understands, Bea.’

At the sound of the rueful voice Beatrice jumped up—in time to see Khalid emerge from the bedroom, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his bronzed torso.

‘Khalid …?’ She looked blankly from the man in the doorway to her friend and back again. ‘But you’re …’ Colour flooded her face as comprehension dawned. ‘How long?’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘Never mind. It’s none of my business.’

Emma looked stricken. ‘We wanted to tell you, Bea, but …’

Khalid put a protective hand on Emma’s shoulder. ‘Tariq and my family have very traditional views on this matter.’

Things were slowly beginning to sink in for Beatrice. ‘I knew something was going on, but I never—’ She stopped, her eyes widening. ‘SO you and Emma—you’re getting married?’

Beatrice watched her friend struggle with tears as she glanced at her lover. ‘It’s difficult,’ she said unhappily.

‘Yes, we are getting married,’ Khalid contradicted her, sounding firm. He sounded less firm as he added bleakly, ‘Somehow.’

How difficult could it be?

Beatrice bit her tongue and forced a smile. ‘That’s …’ She was still finding it hard to get her head around the situation, but now she thought about it, it made perfect sense. Khalid and Emma made a perfect couple. ‘It really is fantastic news.’

Well, it would be if you took one apparently oppressive and old-fashioned sibling out of the picture.

Frowning, she expressed her bewilderment and indignation out loud. ‘What is your brother’s problem anyway? He’s the one who’s going to be King, isn’t he? Why does it matter who you marry?’

‘Tariq is King in all but name. Since our father had his stroke he isn’t seen in public.’

‘If it was me you were going to marry I could understand.’ Beatrice could see realistically that she wasn’t anyone’s idea of a royal bride. ‘But Emma. Well … if I said you could do better, Khalid, I’d be lying. Emma is perfect.’

‘I think so,’ Khalid agreed.

The glow in his eyes as he looked at his prospective bride brought a lump to Beatrice’s throat. She had to do something for them. They were meant to be together.

‘Tariq has strong views about marriage. He thinks we shouldn’t marry—’

‘Beneath you?’ Beatrice cut in, unable to repress the bitter retort. ‘Yes, I sort of got that.’

‘It’s not that … Our mother was English, and when our parents’ marriage broke up it was pretty rough. I was small, so I don’t really remember, but I think that it made a big impact on Tariq. When they finally split up she came back to England. She wasn’t allowed to take us with her.’

‘That must have been terrible for her.’ And pretty tough on the boys, deprived of their mother, she privately conceded.

‘We saw her in the holidays or I did. Tariq always refused to see her and our half sister—then there was the accident.’

‘He blamed her,’ Emma, who clearly knew the story, explained.

‘You said the accident …?’

‘A car smash on the motorway. She was killed instantly.’

‘I’m sorry, Khalid,’ Beatrice said, her tender heart touched by the story.

Not that it offered any excuses for the dreadful brother’s behaviour. She too had lost her own mother, at a similar age, but it didn’t make her feel she could go around sitting in judgement on total strangers!

Khalid took Emma’s hand. ‘And I’m sorry, Bea—that you had to go through that with Tariq.’

‘Better me than Em,’ Beatrice retorted, adding with a shrug, ‘I was mad, not hurt.’

‘Tariq will love Emma once he meets her. It just has to be the right time.’

Beatrice’s heart went out to the unhappy lovers. From her experience that morning, she was pretty certain that the right time would be of the ‘when hell freezes over’ variety, and from Khalid’s expression she was sure that he knew it too.

She felt a surge of frustration. She’d been hoping that she could laugh off this morning, but that was before she knew what was at stake.

‘There must be something I can do or say to this brother of yours.’ A brother who seemed to live in another century and who thought everyone had a price. Then it hit her. The solution was right under their noses and so blindingly simple that they couldn’t see it!

‘He’ll never accept me,’ Emma retorted bleakly. ‘Khalid would have to choose between me and his family, and I couldn’t let him do that.’

‘What if there was another way?’

The lovers looked at her with a mixture of doubt and hope.

‘He might see you, Em, in a entirely new light if he’s just endured a visit from the bride from hell.’ Bea’s green eyes, dancing with devilish excitement, were at stark variance with her butter-wouldn’t-melt expression. She smiled at the bemused-looking couple. ‘It’s perfect,’ she enthused as she warmed to the idea forming in her head.

‘What are you talking about, Bea?’ Khalid asked impatiently.

‘Don’t ask,’ Emma advised. ‘Look at her face—she’s got one of her crazy plans.’

‘Not crazy—perfect!’ Beatrice insisted, punching the air in a triumphant gesture. ‘It can’t fail. And the beauty is that it was his idea, so we’re just going along with it. Take me home with you, Khalid.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll be the fiancée your brother thinks I am, and when you dump me they’ll be so relieved that anyone else you bring home will seem perfect,’ she promised grimly.

And the other beauty of her plan was that she would be able to exact revenge first-hand on the wretched man.

‘She’s serious?’ Khalid said, looking to Emma for confirmation.

‘Totally,’ Beatrice promised them both. She arched a feathery brow and looked at Khalid. ‘Unless you have a better idea?’

‘It’s hard. Family is …’

Hearing the defensive note in her young friend’s voice, Beatrice smiled and admitted readily, ‘Something I know zilch about.’ At times like this that didn’t seem such a bad thing, even though when she was growing up a family and roots had been the only things she’d dreamt of.

‘If we do this crazy thing and it backfires … Tariq realises what we’re up to … it will only make things worse,’ Khalid said, shaking his head.

‘How?’ Emma said in a small voice.

Khalid looked at her.

‘How can it be worse than this?’ she asked in a stricken whisper. ‘Tell me, Khalid, what is worse than sneaking around as though we’re doing something wrong? Not even able to tell my best friend or my family?’

Khalid stood there for a moment and watched the tears sliding down Emma’s pale cheeks. Then he heaved a sigh and turned to Beatrice.

‘You would really do this?’

Beatrice smiled, anticipating her revenge. ‘Absolutely.’

CHAPTER THREE

BEATRICE put a lot of effort into her choice of outfit for her second meeting with Tariq Al Kamal. She was rewarded for her efforts by Khalid’s look of total horror at the lime-green and orange Lycra mini-dress she had squeezed her voluptuous curves into during their plane journey.

‘You’re not seriously going like that?’

‘I was aiming for tacky and tasteless.’ Maybe, she conceded, catching her own reflection, she had gone too far.

‘You achieved it,’ Khalid promised, lifting his eyes from the exposed upper slopes of her breasts and wiping the beads of sweat from his brow.

‘Thank you. I’m just hoping I don’t fall off the heels,’ Beatrice admitted.

‘This is never going to work,’ Khalid groaned suddenly.

‘Not if you go into it with such a defeatist attitude,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘Look, if we’re going to do this we’re going to have to do it properly.’

She had spent most of their journey bolstering Khalid’s flagging resolve, and this fresh crisis of confidence when her own nerves were jangling was not what she needed. She controlled her impulse to tell him to show a little backbone and forced a coaxing smile.

‘I know you think this brother of yours is omnipotent, or something.’

In Beatrice’s opinion he was nothing but a control-freak bully, and she was looking forward to taking him down a peg or two.

‘But the fact is he was the one who thought we were an item …’ She was encouraged to see Khalid smile.

‘Is it always this hot?’ she asked, flexing her shoulderblades to ease the clingy cloth of her dress away from her sticky skin as they crossed to the waiting helicopter.

The heat had hit her like a solid wall as they had left the air-conditioned comfort of the private jet with the royal logo emblazoned on its wings.

‘No, there’s usually a breeze from the mountains. Bea, are you sure you want to do this?’ Khalid asked suddenly.

Beatrice wasn’t, but she knew it was too late to turn back now. ‘I’m looking forward to giving your brother a headache. I was actually wondering if there are any other male relatives other than him I can try and seduce.’

Khalid’s expression grew seriously worried. ‘Look, Bea, I know you think this is some sort of joke, but you can’t play games with Tariq. You’ll get hurt.’

‘I really don’t know why you’re so afraid of this man.’

‘I’m not afraid of him,’ Khalid protested. ‘He’s actually a great person, and I can’t tell you how many times he’s bailed me out of trouble,’ he admitted, looking sheepish. ‘It’s just when he decides something …’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you should understand—you’ve got some pretty strong views too.’

‘Are you saying I’m like your brother?’ Beatrice was appalled at the suggestion she bore any similarity to him.

Khalid grinned. ‘No, you’re much prettier. Now, have you been in a helicopter before?’ he asked as they reached their waiting transport.

‘Never, but I’m always up for a challenge.’

As the helicopter hovered Khalid pointed out the cave homes carved into the same red rockface from which the royal palace rose. It was magnificent, and looked like something a special effects artist had created, Bea thought.

‘They were actually lived in as recently as the sixties,’ he said.

Bea gave up trying not to be impressed.

‘Now,’ Khalid explained, ‘they are preserved—like a sort of museum.’

‘For the tourists?’

‘Tariq,’ he told her earnestly. ‘He thinks it is important to remember where we come from.’

For a split second she felt a stab of envy. It must be nice to know exactly where you came from, to have a place and people you identified with—to have roots. Then she pushed aside the wistful thought. She might not have roots, but at least she had her freedom, and no brother telling her how to live her life.

This wasn’t the first time Khalid had quoted his brother. It seemed to Beatrice that the biggest favour she could do Khalid was to get him out from under his brother’s thumb—though maybe it might not be as easy as she had first thought. It was never easy to break the habit of a lifetime, and thinking his brother’s opinion on any subject was the definitive one was clearly not a recent development.

There was an air-conditioned limo waiting to whisk them the short distance inside the walls of the palace compound, and Beatrice welcomed the luxury and brief respite from the heat.

‘Sir …’

The deferential manner everyone here adopted towards Khalid was going to take a bit of getting used to, Beatrice decided as she waited for this man to finish talking. She didn’t understand a word that was being said, though the manner of both the man and Khalid suggested urgency.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, when the older man bowed low and vanished down the long marble-floored corridor, which resembled the several other marble-floored corridors they had already walked along.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Khalid admitted with a rueful grimace. ‘There’s a problem with the new irrigation project up in the southern desert and they need me. Tariq is waiting.’

Beatrice placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. ‘Go, Khalid—I’ll be fine.’ Lost, but fine, she thought, looking down the seemingly endless corridor.

‘Really?’ Khalid smiled his gratitude. Still he hesitated. ‘I hate to leave you like this.’

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