Monarch of the Sands

Refusing pudding and the brandy which Simon accepted with alacrity, Frankie was relieved when at last the dinner was over and it was time to leave—though she noticed that they weren’t presented with anything as vulgar as a bill. She saw one of the bodyguards speaking to the maître d’ and assumed that he had dealt with the financial transaction.

‘Th-thanks very much, Zahid,’ said Simon as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

But the sheikh’s attention was focused solely on Frankie. ‘You’re sure you’re going to be okay getting home?’ he questioned, with a frown.

‘I’ve only had water all night,’ she said.

‘It’s dark. I can have one of my aides drive the car for you?’

She smiled. How old-fashioned he could be! ‘I’m perfectly capable of driving home, thank you, Zahid—and I’m fine in the dark. My eyesight is perfect and it’s only just down the road!’

But Zahid wasn’t happy. Not happy at all. He watched while Francesca was handed her coat by the cloakroom attendant. It was a cheap-looking thing, in his opinion—and as she slid it over her shoulders it covered up the milky-pale flesh of her arms, which had drawn his eye throughout the meal.

Would Simon be removing the coat and then the dress later? he wondered—and a spear of some unknown emotion shot through him. It made his blood feel thick and his groin heavy. It felt like desire but it was underpinned with something else. Something dark and bitter and unpalatable. Surely … He shook his head. Surely it wasn’t jealousy? Why on earth would he be jealous of little Francesca O’Hara’s lover—when he could have any woman he wanted?

Except that she wasn’t so little any more, was she? Not in any sense. Not in height, or … He swallowed. Surely the last time he’d seen her, she’d been completely flat-chested? Or had the slouchy clothes she used to favour done her no favours?

‘Thanks so much for the meal, Zahid.’

She was smiling up at him now—the curve of her lips putting deep dimples in her cheeks the way it had done all those years ago, and he was hit by a renewed wave of protectiveness.

He found himself remembering the time when, as a lively ten-year-old, she had scrambled into a huge tree looking for a lost shuttlecock and managed to get herself stranded there. He had climbed up into the branches and rescued her, quietening her teeth-chattering fear with a few teasing words of admonishment. And she had put her arms around his neck and clung to him like a little monkey.

He should have been there for her when her father had died. Why the hell hadn’t his brother reported back to him that she was vulnerable? And she was vulnerable. Even now. Anyone could see that.

He saw Simon giving a young waitress an easy smile, the careless crinkling of his eyes the tell-tale sign of the practised flirt. But Francesca didn’t seem to have noticed.

Zahid watched as she buttoned up her thin coat, the ostentatious engagement ring glittering on her finger, and his mouth tightened. A man would have to spend a lot of money to buy a diamond that size, he thought suddenly. A man who was a lot more committed than her pretty-boy fiancé seemed to be.

‘You’re going back home soon, are you, Zahid?’ Francesca was asking.

She was leaning towards him and he caught an elusive drift of her scent—which smelt of rain-washed rose petals—and a distracting shiver began to whisper its way over his skin.

‘Mmm?’ he questioned distractedly.

She dimpled him another smile. ‘I feel so guilty— we’ve hardly said a word about you all evening, and I love hearing about Khayarzah.’

‘Please don’t feel guilty,’ said Zahid as he nodded over at one of his bodyguards to indicate that they were ready to leave. ‘We shall be meeting very soon and I will tell you everything you wish to know.’

Frankie smiled uncertainly. Was he just making polite conversation? Unlikely. Yet they both knew how uncommon his visits to England were, especially these days. But suddenly, she could see that it was probably a good thing that their paths didn’t cross very often. Too much of Zahid Al Hakam could make a woman feel very discontented with her lot. ‘What, you mean next year?’ she joked.

‘No, not next year, but next week,’ he corrected silkily. ‘I have business in mainland Europe all this week—but after that, I’ll come back.’

‘Come back?’ questioned Frankie nervously, turning her head to look for Simon and wondering what that waitress could be saying to him, which was making him look so engrossed. ‘Come back where?’

‘Don’t look so scared, Francesca—I just meant that we still have a lot of catching up to do.’ Zahid’s eyes flicked over to Simon, who was now leaning even closer to the young waitress. ‘I’m sure your fiancé won’t object if I visit you again on my return.’

Like a goldfish, Frankie opened her mouth and shut it again. Because how could she possibly object? Even if Zahid hadn’t been a king whose requests could not be turned down from a protocol point of view—she could hardly tell him that she thought it was a bad idea, because she found him dangerous and unsettling as a man. Why, he would probably laugh in her face.

So she nodded obediently and hoped her misgivings didn’t show. ‘Okay. I’ll … I’ll look forward to it.’ ‘So will I,’ promised Zahid softly.

CHAPTER FOUR

IN THE days which followed the awkward restaurant meal Frankie tried to convince herself that the sheikh’s promise to return must have been made on the spur of the moment. He probably hadn’t meant it. It was the kind of flippant thing which people always said when they were leaving—“oh, we must meet up soon”—and then you didn’t see them for years.

But she was wrong. One of his aides rang and told her that he would be arriving on Saturday afternoon and that he wished to see her, alone.

Alone?

Uncomfortably, she touched her shiny new engagement ring—as if expecting it to suddenly disappear in a puff of smoke. Her conscience was making her feel slightly awkward and she had been worried what Simon would say. Was it wrong for her to have made an arrangement to see the king?

Nervously, she’d asked her fiancé about Zahid’s proposed visit, but it seemed that Simon didn’t mind at all. In fact, to Frankie’s surprise he seemed inordinately pleased by the idea.

‘Maybe he’s planning to give you a wedding present —hopefully in the form of some whacking great cheque,’ he said, when she told him.

‘That’s a very mercenary thing to say,’ objected Frankie.

‘I’m a businessman, sweetheart—being mercenary goes with the territory!’ He fiddled with his gold signet ring and shot her a sly glance. ‘Maybe you could get him to invest in some property while you’re at it? That colossal eyesore at the top of the hill could do with a big injection of Middle Eastern cash.’

‘I don’t think so.’ With a wan smile, she walked out of Simon’s office, wishing that she could shrug off the restlessness which had haunted her since the night they’d had dinner with Zahid. Up until that point, she had been relatively contented with her lot. She’d been anticipating being a new wife, with a new life ahead of her—but now everything had changed and, deep down, she knew exactly why. It was all because she had seen the dashing desert king again, after years of absence.

Images of his hawklike features kept flashing into her mind at the most inopportune moments. She had found herself filling up her car at the petrol station and wondering if Khayarzah might have supplied the fuel. Last night she’d even dreamt about him—some stupid, schoolgirlish fantasy which seemed to involve him riding in the desert on one of his favoured black stallions and scooping her into the saddle in front of him …

And this morning she had woken up with her heart racing and an odd, squirmy feeling at the pit of her stomach—plus a terrible feeling of guilt that she could feel that way about him, when she was planning to marry Simon.

She prepared for Zahid’s visit with the same care she’d employed when she’d been growing up and he and his father used to stop by. Nowadays she was rather more efficient at cleaning the house, and the home-made cake which filled the kitchen with the smell of lemons didn’t have a great big crater in the centre.

The pale roses which Simon had bought were already dead and so Frankie put on her old raincoat and went outside to look for something to replace them. Although she hadn’t dared tell her fiancé, she much preferred home-grown flowers to the forced, hothouse variety—and you could always find something suitable which was already growing in the garden.

Especially this garden, she thought as she looked around and breathed in the damp, autumnal air. How she loved this garden—and how she would miss it when she moved into the town house which Simon had his eye on, where they all had nothing but a small, paved ‘easy-care’ patio area.

The misty atmosphere of the November day had created diamonds on the cobwebs and fallen leaves lay like scattered toffee wrappers on the wet grass. Taking out her pair of secateurs, she began to snip at some of the hips and berry laden branches and soon her basket was half-full. She would cram them in that big copper pot and the dark green foliage and scarlet berries would contrast against it quite perfectly and brighten up the kitchen.

The sound of a powerful engine disturbed her thoughts and, turning round, she saw Zahid’s sports car growling its way up the drive before coming to a halt next to her own, rather beaten-up old car.

Frankie watched as he got out—and once again she was reminded of his chameleon-like capacity. Today’s look was casual and expensive and very, very compelling. Faded blue jeans clung to his powerful legs and beneath his leather jacket she could see a dark cashmere sweater, which echoed the coal-black of his hair. She let her gaze linger on his stern expression and her heart gave a curious little flutter before her fingers curled tightly around the secateurs she was holding. What kind of a disloyal and horrible woman was she, if the sight of a man who wasn’t her fiancé should fill her with an overwhelming sense of excitement? What was the matter with her?

Putting her basket down, she went across the damp grass to meet him, her smile feeling forced. ‘Hello, Zahid.’

‘Francesca.’ He looked down at her, thinking how young and innocent she looked today. And much more like the Francesca he knew of old, with that big old raincoat and a pair of wellington boots which had seen better days. But the dark, mist-sprinkled hair still hung in a silken fall over her shoulders and her eyes were still that newly discovered shade of blue. And she was no longer young, he thought grimly. Nor innocent. He felt an odd twist of his heart and a sense of anger building inside him, but he forced himself to control it. ‘Has Simon recovered after the other night?’

‘Yes, he was fine. Had a bit of a headache the next day. He says to say thank you for dinner—and hopes he wasn’t out of order.’

Black eyes bored into her. ‘Does he always drink that much?’

‘Of course he doesn’t!’ She saw the look of censure on his face and wondered why he had to be so judgemental—had he never had a few drinks too many? She supposed he hadn’t—for none of the Al Hakam family drank alcohol, did they? ‘He was probably just nervous, meeting you. You must be used to that, Zahid—it’s not every day that someone like Simon gets to have dinner with a real-live sheikh.’

‘Maybe not—but it was naïve and inappropriate behaviour in the circumstances. Especially for a man of—how old is he, Francesca?’

‘He’s twenty-eight—he’s hardly about to start drawing his pension!’ Frankie frowned when he gave no answering smile. ‘Have you come here today just to talk about Simon?’

‘Actually, yes. I have.’

She stared at him. ‘Well, if we’re talking inappropriate—then wanting to discuss my fiancé with me behind his back surely falls into that category? Okay, so he got a little drunk—big deal! These things happen sometimes—they probably happen in Khayarzah, if you only knew it!’

‘But nobody there would dare to get drunk in front of the king!’ Zahid snapped, before drawing in a deep breath, reminding himself that he had come here today with a purpose. Not a particularly palatable one, it was true—but he needed to muster up every diplomatic atom in his body if he was to limit the emotional damage his discovery was going to have on Francesca. ‘Shall we take a walk around the garden?’

At this, she smiled. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to go inside, into the warmth? I’ve made you a cake.’

He felt the unfamiliar stab of guilt. She’d spent the morning making him a cake—just like old times. While he had spent the morning accruing information which would …

‘No cake, thank you.’ He saw the brief look of hurt which flitted over her pale face and forced himself to breathe out a platitude. ‘I’m sorry if you went to any trouble.’

‘Not even your favourite lemon?’

‘Francesca—’ He paused, reluctant to open the can of grotesquely wriggling worms he was in possession of. ‘Tell me how you met Simon.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Couldn’t he let this go? ‘Does it really matter?’

‘Yes.’ His gaze was steady. ‘It matters a lot.’

She stared at him, remembering about what he’d said the other day. Something about it being his ‘duty’ to meet Simon. And if that was the case, then wasn’t he taking duty a little too far? ‘Is this another quasi-paternal question?’ she questioned.

Paternal? Zahid winced. God help him but he didn’t feel in the least bit paternal at the moment—not when those wide-spaced eyes looked so blue and so deep that he felt he might be able to dive into them. ‘Just answer the question,’ he said unevenly.

She sighed, giving into the inevitable—sensing that he wouldn’t give her any peace until she provided him with the information he wanted. ‘I met him when he came to the house after my father died.’

Zahid nodded. ‘So he knew your father? He came to pay his respects?’

Francesca bit her lip because the next piece of information had never sat very easily with her—even when Simon had explained that people in the business world needed to be outgoing in order to keep themselves afloat.

‘Not really,’ she said slowly. ‘He’d read about his death in the papers and so he came … he came …’

‘He came to see whether you needed to sell the house?’

Frankie flushed under the black glare of his fierce scrutiny. ‘I suppose so.’

‘Like some low-life lawyer chasing an ambulance, touting for business?’ The words were out before he could stop them.

Frankie froze. ‘Don’t you dare judge him! How would you know what it’s like, Zahid? You’re a sheikh and even when your country was broke, you still lived in a palace and had servants all over the place—while Simon has had to fight to make his way in the world!’

‘My heart bleeds for him.’

Something about the way he said it made a queer kind of frustration bubble up inside her and for a moment Frankie actually took an angry step towards him, until he halted her with a voice like ice.

‘I think you forget yourself!’ he snapped. ‘I allow you the kind of leeway which I wouldn’t tolerate from anyone else, Francesca—but there really are limits.’

‘What, so you think you can stand there and insult my fiancé and I’m just expected to take it?’

His eyes lanced her a piercing question. ‘You aren’t even interested why I’ve brought the subject up?’

Something in the way he asked it unsettled her enough to hide behind defiance. ‘To cause trouble?’

‘Funnily enough, my schedule is usually too tight to indulge myself with random acts of interference—especially towards people I care about. I want you to tell me what happened next—after Simon came to see you that first time.’

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