her chin, staring down at the peach-coloured fabric that covered the sofa under her thigh, and felt the old anguish stab her, heart and womb.
“Oh, yes,” she said, lifting her head again. “Oh, yes, Mr. al Makhtoum, your grandfather received it, as I think you know. I think you know that he wrote back a charming little note telling me that I was not married to Jamshid, that I was no more than an opportunistic foreign gold digger who could have no way of knowing which of my many lovers was the father of her child, that I should reflect that to receive money for sex would make me a prostitute, and that I would rot for what I was trying to put over on the grieving family of a war hero.
“It was pretty comprehensive,” she said, opening her eyes at him. “So what has Jamshid’s family now got to add to that?”
Two
It stopped him cold. Najib al Makhtoum looked away, heaved a long, slow breath, shook his head, met her eyes again.
“No,” he assured her. His voice was quiet, masking his deep exasperation. Why on earth had the old man—? But it was no use asking that question now. “No, I knew of no such letter. No one did, save my grandfather. Is that indeed what was said to you?”
“Well, it may not be word for word,” Rosalind allowed. “You would hardly expect it after five years, though at the time I felt the message had been gouged into me permanently with a dull knife. I suppose Jamshid was lying to me from beginning to end, I suppose to him a Western marriage wasn’t worth a thought, but I believed him. I loved him and I believed he loved me and I was pregnant with his child, and to learn so brutally that he hadn’t even bothered to mention me to his grandfather was—”
She broke off and told herself to calm down. Railing at Jamshid’s cousin would do nothing. And she still didn’t know why he was here.
“I am very sorry,” al Makhtoum murmured at last. “I apologize on behalf of my grandfather—of all Jamshid’s family. The rest of us knew nothing. As I said, we learned of your existence only recently. My grandfather most unfortunately kept your letter secret. It can have been known to none but himself.”
She didn’t know whether to believe him, but what did it matter? It only underlined the fact that Jamshid had been faithless.
“Well, now perhaps you understand why I am not interested in anything your family might have to say to me. In fact, I’d rather not have you sitting on my sofa. So—”
He lifted a hand. “Miss Lewis, I understand your anger. But please let me—”
She shook her head. “No, you don’t understand, because you don’t know anything about me or my life, or what effect that letter had. No explanation is necessary, Mr. al Makhtoum. Nothing you could say now would change history. What was it Jamshid used to say? Makhtoub. It’s written. It’s over.”
“It is not over,” said Najib al Makhtoum softly, but with such complete conviction that Rosalind’s heart kicked.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
He coughed. “As you know, Jamshid died in the early days of the Kaljuk War. We believed that he died intestate, but his will has recently come to light. He left most of his substantial personal property to you and the child.”
Rosalind’s mouth opened in silent astonishment. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again.
“What?” she whispered.
“I have a copy of his will, if you would like to read it.”
“Jamshid named me in his will?”
“You are the major beneficiary.”
She was swamped by a mixture of feelings she thought might drown her. “I don’t—you—why wasn’t I told of this five years ago?”
“We knew nothing of the will until ten days ago.”
“How could you possibly not know Jamshid had left a will for five years?”
She sat staring at him, her head forward, her eyes gone dark and fixed on him. He felt the pulse of his masculine ego and was suddenly, powerfully aware of the intensity of her femininity, and understood why Jamshid had married her in spite of everything, even knowing how ferociously their grandfather would object.
“He did not go to the family lawyer, doubtless because he had not yet found a way to tell our grandfather of your marriage,” Najib al Makhtoum explained. “He went to a lawyer with no connections to…our family. We have learned that the man was killed and his offices destroyed by a bomb, shortly after Jamshid’s own death.”
She had a sudden sharp memory of reading of the bombing raids. How she had wept for the destruction of his country.
She shook her head, fighting back the burning in her eyes.
“Jamshid had put a copy of the will and documents pertaining to your marriage in a safety deposit box we also knew nothing of. The bank sent a routine notice recently when the account that paid for the box went into arrears. Undoubtedly Jamshid had left a key with this same lawyer, expecting the box to be opened immediately in the event of his death.”
Rosie pressed her lips together and looked down, her thick beige hair falling forward to provide a partial curtain against his eyes. She sat in silence, absorbing it. A trembling, broken smile pulled at her mouth, and there was no trace now of the bitterness that showed as cynicism. She suddenly looked younger, innocent and trusting. He thought that he was now seeing the girl in the photograph. The girl Jamshid had fallen in love with.
“I see,” she whispered again. “That was…” She shook her head, raised her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. Swallowed. “I wish I’d known this five years ago.”
“It was not Jamshid’s fault that you did not. No one could have foreseen such a tragic coincidence.”
Rosalind was shaken to the soul. Five years of her life rewritten in a few minutes. Her eyes burned as the hurt she didn’t know she still carried flamed through her. So he had not abandoned her. His love had not been a lie.
Najib cleared his throat. “In the box also was a letter of explanation to my grandfather.”
“What did he say?” she asked hoarsely, her gaze on him again.
“I have it here. Would you like to read it?” He reached into his case again, drew out a letter and handed it to her. “I believe you read Parvani? He mentions the fact in the letter.”
Her hand shook as she accepted it. The writing swam behind her tears, and Rosalind blinked hard as she read the last words she would ever hear from Jamshid.
“Grandfather, I am ashamed not to have found a way to tell you and the family about my marriage, which took place in England….
“I know that it was your design that I should marry a woman of our own blood, but Rosalind will delight you when you meet her. She is a woman to rise to any demand that fate makes of her, and will be a fine mother to our child, which to my great joy she carries. We think it a son. If it should be God’s will that I do not return from this war alive, and that you learn of my marriage through this letter, I trust…”
Tears
