alone in a rose garden in a foreign country with a rivetingly handsome sheikh talking to her of his dreams …
What was she supposed to do? Alex had eaten breakfast in her room, checked on Samarah, who’d been pale but stalwart, then returned to what was coming to feel like a luxurious prison cell. Not wanting to get inadvertently caught up in the funeral proceedings, she’d stayed in her room until Hafa had explained that the ceremonies were taking place back in the city, nowhere near the palace.
Now she escaped, drawn by the compulsion of their beauty and perfume, to the rose garden. But wandering there, smelling the roses, reminded her of the strange encounter of the previous evening.
When he’d spoken of his brother, she’d felt Azzam’s pain—felt it and seen it—recognising it because she’d carried a fair load of pain herself over the past few years.
Had that recognition drawn her to the man that he’d stayed in her mind, his almost stern features haunting her dreams? Or was it nothing more than the strange situation in which she found herself, making her wonder about the man and the country he was now ruling?
She wandered the courtyard, drinking in the lush beauty of it, freeing her mind of memories and questions she couldn’t answer. One of the fountains spurted its water higher than the others, and she left the rose gardens to go towards it, ignoring the heat burning down from the midday sun, wanting to hear the splashing of the water and see the rainbows in its cascading descent.
As she approached it seemed to shimmer for a moment, or maybe she was still tired, for her feet faltered on the ground. Soon cries echoing from the buildings surrounding the courtyard and figures emerging out of the gloom suggested that whatever had happened wasn’t tiredness or imagination.
‘An earth tremor,’ Hafa told Alex when she found the woman among the chattering crowd of servants who had remained at the palace. ‘Sometimes we have them, though not bad earthquakes like other countries. Ours are usually gentle shivers, a reminder to people, I think, that there are powers far greater than humans can imagine. For this to happen today … well, there are people who will tell you it is the earth’s response to Bahir’s death—the death of a loved ruler.’
Alex considered this, wondering if it was simply accepted form that every ruler would be a loved one, or if Azzam’s brother had been as dazzling and brilliant as his name.
Certain any hint of danger had passed, the women all returned to the buildings, Alex following Hafa.
‘Samarah has returned,’ the young woman told Alex. ‘The women’s part of the proceedings is done.’
‘I should check on her. I still get lost—can you show me to her rooms?’
Following Hafa along the corridors, Alex felt a surge of regret that she’d probably never get to know her way around this fabulous place. Soon she’d be gone, and Al Janeen would be nothing more than a memory of a storybook bedroom and a white-robed man in a scented rose garden.
Samarah welcomed her, and although the older woman looked exhausted, her lung capacity was surprisingly good.
‘See, I am better in my own land,’ Samarah told her, then, to Alex’s surprise, she turned and introduced a young woman who’d been hovering behind her. ‘And now here is my niece, Maya. She arranged her return as soon as she heard of Bahir’s death so she could care for me. But although she is now here, I would like you to stay for a while as my guest. I would like you to see something of this country that I love, and to learn a little about the people.’
Alex acknowledged the introduction, thinking she’d talk to Maya later about Samarah’s condition, but right now she had to deal with her own weakness—the longing deep inside her to do exactly as Samarah had suggested, to stay and see something of this country. It was so strong, this longing, it sat like a weight on her shoulders but she couldn’t stay if she wasn’t needed—well, not stay and take wages, that wouldn’t be right.
And she had to keep earning money!
Her mind was still tumbling through the ramifications of hope and obligation when she realised Maya was speaking to her.
‘Adult-onset asthma?’ Maya asked, holding up the folder with the information and treatment plan Alex had prepared.
‘It could have been the humidity in Queensland. We’ve had a very hot summer and the humidity has been high,’ Alex explained.
‘That, and the fact that she’s been debilitated since her husband’s death a little over twelve months ago. I ran tests before I went away but found nothing, just a general weakening,’ Maya replied. ‘It was I who suggested a holiday somewhere new—somewhere she hadn’t been with her husband. She was excited about it, and though I suggested a doctor should accompany her, she believed having a doctor in the group would worry her sons and, of course, they must be spared all worry.’
The edge of sarcasm in Maya’s voice made Alex smile. Someone else wondered at Samarah’s attitude towards her sons—the unstinting love that probably hid any imperfections they might have had.
An image of Azzam’s striking features rose unbidden in Alex’s mind.
‘And now?’ she asked, determinedly ignoring the image. ‘Do you think she’s strong enough to get through whatever will be expected of her in the weeks ahead? Is there much for her to do? Will she have duties she has to carry out?’
‘More than she should have,’ Maya replied, moving Alex away from the lounge on which Samarah rested. ‘It is traditional that the wives of the dignitaries who have come for the funeral call on the widow, but this particular widow will make some excuse to avoid anything that might seem like work to her and Samarah will feel duty bound to take her place.’
‘Perhaps the widow is just grieving too much,’ Alex offered, surprised by a hint of venom in Maya’s soft voice.
‘Perhaps!’ Maya retorted, more than a hint this time. ‘But Samarah will find the strength to do what must be done. She is a very determined woman.’
They talked a little longer about the various preventative treatments available, until Alex sensed it was time to leave. She said good-bye to Samarah, promising to see her in the morning, knowing it would be a final good-bye because staying on would be impossible.
The only bright side was that she could send a note to Azzam telling him to forget about the wages, although she’d already been gone three days and if it took a day to arrange a flight and another day to fly home, that made six by the time she got back to work. One week’s wages lost, that was all.
She sighed, thinking how little importance she’d once have placed on one week’s pay. These days she knew to the last cent how much was in her account, her mind doing the calculations of credit and debit automatically. Knowing what went in each week and what went out made it easy, but losing a week’s pay from the two jobs would eat into the small reserve she’d been carefully hoarding.
If the clinic did take her back, all would be well.
And if it didn’t? If they’d replaced her?
She sighed and knew she wouldn’t send a note to the prince. If the job was gone, she’d need a little extra to tide her over until she found something else …
Damn it all! Why was money such a difficulty?
Gloomily
