gaze narrowed, but he saw no salacious expression. If anything his friend looked paternally approving.
Slowly Sayid nodded. He could only agree. He’d been impressed by the reports he’d received from her school. Lina was hard-working and determined. She also had a reputation for honesty, sociability and kindness, especially valued by the staff and the younger homesick girls. There’d even been a suggestion of a position for her at the academy, should she ever want it.
‘She has a way with people that’s more effective than anything we’ve tried before.’
‘Really?’ Pride rose. He’d thought from the first Lina was far from ordinary. That she had potential it would be criminal not to encourage.
‘You didn’t realise?’
‘I barely know her,’ Sayid admitted, just as if he hadn’t received regular reports over the years. ‘She’s spent a lot of time away.’ At his friend’s stare he added, ‘But I agree, she can be quite...winning.’
‘Definitely winning. She’s charming. In the beginning I thought she’d be just a decorative addition to our team. But she proved me wrong. She listened to everyone’s concerns and when she spoke it wasn’t about what they ought or must do. It was about how school would help them and their children right now, not just in the distant future.’ He nodded. ‘We might all talk the same language but she speaks it in a way they can relate to.’
‘She has a passion for education,’ Sayid murmured. Plus she’d grown up, if not in poverty, since her father was Headman of his town, but without luxuries. He remembered her shining eyes when he’d agreed to provide an education. The ripple of delight he’d felt at her excitement.
‘Not just education.’ His friend nodded towards the animated group in conversation across the room. ‘For life. And possibly for tall blond Americans.’
Sayid followed his glance. A handsome diplomat was leaning towards Lina and she gazed up as if enraptured.
An unseen fist rammed into Sayid’s gut. Why had he allowed the American’s name to be included on the guest list? He ignored the fact that it was his policy to invite foreign nationals to such evenings. Establishing better ties with the world beyond his country’s borders was a priority.
Sayid turned back to his friend. ‘If you’ll excuse me. It’s time I mingled with my other guests.’
Nodding acknowledgement on the way, pausing to chat here and there, it took Sayid an age to reach the group clustered nearest the door to the dining hall.
As he approached he heard a woman speaking English in an accent that summoned memories of drumming hoof beats and vast wide open spaces, not unlike Halarq.
Sayid frowned. He saw no other woman in the group, much less one with that distinctive Texan drawl. Only Lina, in a shimmering blue dress that gleamed subtly under the brilliant chandeliers. The spill of gilded light showcased each delectable curve and dip of that hourglass figure.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly parched. He preferred tall, leggy blondes, he reminded himself.
But his body wasn’t listening.
‘I’m afraid I’m not very good. My American friend would be rolling on the floor with laughter if she heard me now.’ The accent disintegrated on the words, replaced by Lina’s musical tones.
Sayid halted not far from Lina, stunned.
Lina was a mimic?
What other secrets did she hide?
Hungrily his gaze ate her up. Her hair was in a refined knot, her posture perfect, her manner easy and her clothes elegant and expensive-looking.
She was definitely no schoolgirl any more. The question that clawed at Sayid’s gut now was what sort of woman she’d become.
Had the allowance he’d provided paid for the dress that had obviously been designed specifically for her? Or had some man—?
‘No, no! You’re great. What about me? Can you do my accent?’ It was the American, leaning in, a lock of golden hair flopping over his boyishly handsome face.
Lina shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I have to hear an accent for longer before I can attempt it.’ Yet even as she spoke, Sayid was fascinated to hear her vowels become clipped, her intonation change in an approximation of the foreigner’s.
So much for his concerns Lina might feel nervous. This was by far the most animated group in the room. Because of Lina. Even from here he sensed the charm that so dazzled her audience. She wasn’t brash or pushy, just...vibrant.
‘That’s easily fixed.’ The American’s smile widened. ‘We can spend more time together. I’ll share everything you want to know about Boston and...’
His words died as Sayid stepped into the group.
Beside him Lina stiffened and he heard the soft hitch of her breath. He told himself he’d simply surprised her, yet an unrepentant part of him hoped it was more, something akin to the instant charge of energy that zapped him whenever she was near. It sizzled now from his fingers, a mere hand span from hers, up his arm and through his body in a fiery shower of sparks.
‘Your Highness.’ The men bowed and Lina sank into a graceful curtsey as perfect as any ballerina’s.
‘I’m glad you’re all enjoying the evening. I heard the laughter and was curious.’
‘Ms Rahman was demonstrating her talent for accents.’ It was the American who spoke, his eyes bright with unconcealed approval. ‘She’s very talented.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’ Lina sounded breathless. ‘I’ve got an ear for accents. They intrigue me.’
Sayid turned to find her eyes shadowed as if expecting disapproval. That was when he realised his jaw was locked tight and his hands bunched.
He nodded, curving his mouth into a smile and was pleased to see her tension ease. ‘Part of your ear for languages, no doubt.’ He turned to her coterie of admirers. ‘Ms Rahman is fluent in several, you know.’ Her teachers had been enthusiastic about her linguistic skills.
He stayed with the group, enjoying the lively change of pace from some of his more staid guests. Finally, when the others were deep in discussion, Lina turned to him. He looked down, seeing again that tell-tale twitch of concern on her brow.
‘Lina?’ He kept his voice low, below the level of the conversation surrounding them. ‘What is it?’
‘Have I done something wrong? You looked...angry earlier.’
It struck him that she alone had read his bad humour. Either he was slipping—he was adept at keeping his thoughts private—or she had an uncanny ability to read minds as well as accents. Neither idea appealed.
That was when he noticed her hands. Her posture was composed and she met his stare with her chin up, but her hands were clenched tight together.
To Sayid’s surprise, that mix of pride and vulnerability tore at him. He should be pleased she held her own with this mixed group. Proud of her
