could sense from the quality of silence that her response was not the one her aunt had been expecting, and immediately she felt guilty and uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted to do was upset or offend her aunt, who had been unstintingly kind to her—but she knew just what her grandfather’s real plans for her were, Petra firmly reminded herself.
Her aunt was smiling, but Petra could see that her smile was a little strained.
‘Your grandfather will be disappointed, Petra,’ her aunt told her quietly. ‘He has been looking forward to meeting you, but of course if you are busy…’
‘I… I have arranged to take a trip into the desert tomorrow,’ Petra heard herself explaining, almost defensively, ‘and there are things I need to do beforehand…’
A little gravely her aunt inclined her head in acknowledgement of Petra’s explanation.
Her aunt insisted on accompanying Petra back to her hotel, but once there refused Petra’s suggestion of a cup of coffee.
Her aunt was on the verge of stepping into the taxi the concierge had summoned for her when, on some instinct she couldn’t begin to understand, Petra suddenly hurried after her, telling her huskily, ‘I’ve changed my mind. I… I will come and see my grandfather…’
Petra sank her teeth into her bottom lip, mortified by her own weakness as her aunt beamed her approval and gave her a warm hug.
‘I know this cannot be easy for you, Petra, but I promise you your grandfather is not an ogre. He has your best interests at heart.’
A tiny little trickle of warning ran down Petra’s spine as she absorbed her aunt’s unwittingly ominous words. But it was too late for her to recall her change of mind now.
‘Your grandfather rests after lunch, but I shall arrange for a car to collect you and bring you to the villa to see him. The driver will pick you up here at four thirty, if that is convenient?’
There was nothing Petra could do other than nod her head.
She had been half expecting that Blaize would try to make contact with her—after all she had as yet still not paid him anything for his services—but there were no messages waiting for her, and no Blaize either!
Petra tried to tell herself that the lurching sensation inside her chest was simply because she was anxious to discuss the day’s developments with him—on a purely business basis, of course—and to determine what course of action should follow. It was only natural, surely, that she should feel both anxiety and a sense of urgency now that Sheikh Rashid had returned. And as for last night—well, what was a kiss, after all? If she had blown both it and her reaction to it a little out of proportion, only she knew it! She wasn’t so naïve as to deceive herself that kissing her had meant anything special to Blaize.
So why hadn’t he been in touch with her? And why hadn’t she insisted on him furnishing her with a means of getting in touch with him?
It was gone two o’clock, but despite the fact that she had not been able to eat her breakfast she did not feel hungry. Her stomach was churning in apprehensive anticipation of her coming meeting with her grandfather, and her tension was turned up an unpleasant few notches by the added anxiety of Rashid’s return and the lack of contact from Blaize.
It was time for her to get changed, ready for her meeting with her grandfather. Petra hesitated as she surveyed the contents of her wardrobe. The linen dress and jacket would be a good choice, modest but smart, or perhaps the cool chambray… or… Her hand trembled slightly as she removed a plain dark trouser suit from the cupboard. Simply cut in, a matt black fabric it was an outfit that would always be very special to her. It was the suit her mother had bought her just weeks before her death—a good luck present to Petra for her pre-university interviews.
Instead of wearing it for her interviews, Petra had actually worn it for her parents’ funeral. But whenever she touched the soft fabric it wasn’t that bleak, shocking day she remembered, but the teasing love in her mother’s eyes as she had marched her into the boutique and told her that she was going to buy her a present—the happiness and pride in her smile as she’d insisted that Petra parade in front of her in virtually every suit in the shop before she had finally decreed that this particular one was the right one.
This suit held her very last physical memory of her mother’s touch and her mother’s love, and sometimes Petra would almost swear she could even smell her mother’s scent on it—not the rich Eastern perfume that had always been so much a part of her, but her scent, her essence.
Sharp tears pricked Petra’s eyes. Her mother might not be here with her now, but in wearing this suit Petra somehow felt that she was taking a part of her at least with her—that they were both together, confronting the man who had caused her so much pain.
The suit still fitted, and in fact if anything was perhaps slightly loose on her, Petra acknowledged as she studied her reflection in the mirror.
It was almost half past four. Time to go down to the foyer.
Her business-like appearance attracted several discreet looks as she made her way to the exit. Once again a red carpet was very much in evidence, leading to where several huge shiny black limousines were waiting, flags flying.
Petra studied them with discreet curiosity as she waited for her own transport to arrive, but her interest in the limousines and their potential occupants was forgotten as a sleek saloon car pulled up in front of her and her cousin Saud got out of the front passenger seat, grinning from ear to ear as he hurried towards her.
As she hugged him, Petra was vaguely aware of a sudden stir amongst the limousine chauffeurs, and the emergence of a group of immaculately robed men from the private entrance. But it was Saud who stopped to gaze at the group, grabbing hold of her arm as he told her in an excited voice, ‘There’s Rashid—with his great-uncle.’
‘What? Where?’ Her heartbeat had gone into overdrive, but as Petra craned her neck to look in the direction Saud was pointing the last of the robed men was already getting into the waiting limousine.
‘Have you met him yet?’ Saud demanded as the cars pulled away ‘He’s cool, isn’t he…?’
Petra suppressed her grim look. It was becoming plain to her that her young cousin hero-worshipped her proposed suitor.
‘No, I haven’t,’ she answered him, getting into the waiting car. But as they drove away from the hotel a sudden thought struck her. ‘So, was Rashid wearing robes?’
‘Yes that’s right,’ Saud confirmed.
‘Despite his Western upbringing?’
Saud looked baffled. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, then smiled. ‘Oh, I see! Rashid’s father and his uncle—who is a member of our Royal Family—were very, very close. Rashid’s great-uncle has acted as a… a sponsor to Rashid since his parents’ death—they were killed when their plane crashed in the desert. I do not remember, since I was not even born then and Rashid himself was only young, but I have heard my father and my grandfather talk of it. Rashid was away in England at the time, at school, but his great-uncle welcomed him into his own family as though Rashid were his son. It is a great honour to our family that his great-uncle favours Rashid’s marriage to you. It is just as well that you are a modest woman though, cousin, because Rashid does not approve of the behaviour of some of the tourists who come here to Zuran,’ Saud told her.
‘Oh,
