close as she was to her grandfather, she knew he’d found her lacking in most things except the running of her foundation. The thought of returning empty-handed, telling him that she’d screwed up what could be his last request of her, and severely angered the ruler of a powerful kingdom to boot, wrenched a despairing sob from her.
Allegra had no idea how long she sat there staring into the lamplit distance. She didn’t know the story behind the box Giovanni wanted back so desperately, but the look in his eyes when he’d pleaded with her to find it was stamped vividly in her memory. Her eyes prickled, but she dashed the tears away.
She’d failed this time, but she refused to believe all was lost. Perhaps what she needed was to give Rahim time for his anger towards her to cool. Or she could make him a better offer.
Determinedly, she stood, but a few steps later she faltered. What had she to give except a tainted proffer of help after she’d condemned him so thoroughly? Anything she suggested now would be soured and firmly refused.
Biting her lip, she paced the floor in front of the sofa, discarding each idea she came up with as weak and useless. Rahim would see through every ploy to secure the box now he believed she’d come to Dar-Aman under false pretences. About to leave the office, she stopped to pick up the wrap she’d dropped on the sofa, and saw the glossy coffee table book. She picked up the publication, the title—The Treasures of Dar-Aman—jumping at her. The name of the world-renowned photographer/author leapt out at her and she knew that he wouldn’t have left a stone unturned in documenting everything that was worth documenting.
Hands shaking, Allegra dropped back on the sofa and turned the first page. Quickly scanning the table of contents, her breath snagged in her lungs when she saw the subtitle—For the Love of Fabergé.
Flipping over to the relevant page, she speed-read the introduction. Rahim’s mother had possessed a weakness for trinket boxes, especially priceless ones with rich histories. Objets d’art from the House of Fabergé had been her particular favourite and she’d been an avid collector from a very young age. Once she’d married, her husband had made it his personal mission to gift her with as many boxes as possible.
Allegra scanned the pictures. On the third page, she stopped. Heart pounding, she stared at the perfect image.
The gold and lapis lazuli scrollwork, including the central chinoiserie hanging basket motif and delicate eagle’s wings on the box, was just as her grandfather had described it. Set on a bed of blue silk, the box stood on its own fragile but exquisitely designed gold pedestal. Both box and pedestal seemed to have been kept in perfect condition in the decades since Giovanni had parted with it.
When she managed to peel her gaze away from the picture, she read the single line beneath it and froze. The reason she hadn’t been able to locate the box earlier was because the late queen, Rahim’s mother, had kept the box in her bedroom.
The bedroom now used by the current sheikh.
Allegra closed the book with a thump, her body growing numb as reality slid like an insidious fog over her. Until that moment, she hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought that she would truly be returning home empty-handed. She’d even toyed with the idea of finding the box herself and getting Rahim to reconsider his position in the morning, with the benefit of time and a little clarity.
From his earlier attitude, it was clear the priceless objects his mother had loved didn’t mean as much to him. They were merely flimsy things he’d grown up with. Surely, he wouldn’t be as bullheaded in the morning at the thought of parting with one of them?
Shaking her head, she stood a final time and walked out of the office.
The aide waited outside as promised, and walked her to her suite, where Nura greeted her with her usual effervescence. After apologising for keeping her up past midnight, Allegra dismissed her, undressed and pulled on her negligee. She was brushing her hair out when her mobile phone lit up with a voicemail message icon. Dropping the brush, she picked it up and accessed her calls. The Long Island code displayed sent a cold wave of dread through her.
Willing her hands not to shake, she dialled home.
‘Miss Allegra, thank God!’ Alma exclaimed.
Her grip tightened on the handset until her bones creaked painfully. ‘What’s happened? Is Grandfather okay?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, yes. I’m sorry, piccolina, I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s having a better day today, and has been making a bunch of calls all morning. He tried to call you a few times, and you know how he frets when he can’t reach any of you.’
Allegra sagged onto the bed in relief, and cursed herself for not taking her phone with her to the banquet. ‘Can I talk to him?’
‘Sì, of course. Hold on.’
Allegra squeezed her eyes shut, dismay at the news she was about to deliver eating her alive.
‘Allegra mia?’ her grandfather greeted her, his voice much stronger than it’d been a few days ago.
‘Yes, I’m here, Grandfather.’
‘Where exactly is here? You’ve had an old man climbing the walls with worry,’ he admonished.
‘I’m still in Dar-Aman. I’m sorry, I was at dinner and I didn’t bring my phone with me. I... I was going to call you when I got back to New York tomorrow.’
‘With good news, yes?’ Naked hope pulsed in Giovanni’s voice.
Allegra’s throat clogged with shame and sorrow. ‘Grandfather...’ She stopped, unable to find the words that would break his heart.
‘I spoke to Matteo an hour ago. He had good news for me regarding the necklace I sent him to find.’
Her heart lurched, and she forced a swallow before she could speak. ‘I’m glad, but I couldn’t... I don’t think I’ll be able to retrieve the box for you.’
Heavy silence greeted her confession, broken once by her grandfather’s deep, ragged exhalation. ‘Was it not there?’ he asked, his voice bleak with disappointment.
‘It was...it’s here. But Rahim...the sheikh, is refusing to part with it.’
Giovanni exhaled again. ‘I’m not surprised. It was his mother’s treasured possession and must hold sentimental value for him. But... Allegra mia, my need is greater, and I’ve reached a point in this life when I can afford to be a little selfish about my needs.’ The confession was hushed, his voice now whispery with desperation. ‘If you have seen it, if it’s within your grasp, then don’t fail me, ragazza mia. Per favore.’ The raw, anguished plea held a note so viscerally harrowing Allegra’s eyes prickled.
‘This isn’t just a box to you, is it, Grandfather?’ It couldn’t be, not when the thought of not having it back was breaking his heart.
‘No, it’s not,’ he confirmed. When he didn’t elaborate, Allegra blinked back her tears and forced strength into her voice.
‘I’ll bring it back, Nonno. I promise.’
Giovanni exhaled shakily. ‘Ti amo, nipotina.’
Allegra pressed the end button. She knew what she had to do, but didn’t allow herself to think beyond
