In The Arms Of The Sheikh. Sophie Weston
cause a lot of work and I wouldn’t want to date one. But apart from that, they’re fine. Tell me what you want.’
Izzy sounded uncomfortable. ‘About the weekend—’
‘Oh, yes. I’m really, really looking forward to it. A girls’ getaway is just what I need. Especially after the week I’ve had.’
There was a microsecond’s pause, which would have been perceptible if Natasha hadn’t been tapping away adjusting the pie chart again.
This time she made it change to lime-green. The screen pulsed with virulent colour. Natasha put her head on one side. Young and exciting? Or too frivolous?
‘So what about the weekend?’
‘There’s been a change of plan.’
Natasha sighed. ‘That’s a shame. Okay, let’s take a rain check.’
‘No, not that sort of change. A—er—different venue.’
‘Okay,’ said Natasha without much interest. ‘Where?’
‘Well…’ Izzy sounded uncharacteristically embarrassed ‘…it’s a private house now. I’ve sort of borrowed it.’
‘Fine. Give me the address.’
Izzy did. ‘And there’s something else—’
At last Izzy’s hesitation got through. Natasha stopped playing with the mouse. ‘Okay, Izzy. Spit it out. What’s the problem? The place is falling down? There’s no central heating? It’s so deep in the country, I’ll have to hire a helicopter to get there?’
‘You would too, wouldn’t you?’ Izzy sounded odd.
‘Whatever it takes,’ said Natasha briskly. ‘All for one and one for all. You’re my best friend and I haven’t seen you for six months.’ Her fingers twitched. She left the mouse where it was. But it was an effort. ‘Am I going to have to find me a pilot?’
‘No. By car, it’s an hour tops from the airport.’
‘Then there isn’t a problem.’
‘Okay, get back to your work, and I’ll see you tomorrow. You’re still on the overnight flight?’
‘Yup.’
‘That’s good. Gives us the whole day to talk before the others get here.’
Natasha frowned. She turned her back on her laptop. This sounded serious. ‘You in trouble, Izzy?’
Her friend gave the ghost of a laugh. ‘No, no, it’s just that—’ Izzy stopped. Then she went on in a high, unnatural voice, ‘Serenata Place is a bit difficult to find.’ It was as if she wanted to say something else and couldn’t screw her courage up. ‘I’ll email you a map,’ she said with desperate brightness.
Natasha’s frown deepened. She had never heard Izzy sound like that before. Well, not since—
She pulled her mind away from the dark memories. The bad time was three years past. Gone. She and Izzy had got out of the jungle alive and well and so had everyone else. All was well that ended well, in fact. The nightmares would go too, in time.
But that didn’t explain why Izzy sounded so stiff and false.
She said sharply, ‘What’s wrong, Izzy?’
Izzy made an odd sound, half laugh, half sob.
‘I’m getting married.’
‘You’re what?’
‘Married,’ said Izzy, gabbling. ‘I know. I know. It’s very sudden. You don’t know him. Only he’s going away and…this weekend is our engagement party.’
Natasha frowned at the phone for a long moment. Izzy was a practical, strong-minded woman, but she had her area of vulnerability. And Natasha knew exactly where it was. Izzy was at work. She worked with her cousin Pepper in a bright, fashionable office. It was open-plan and anyone could listen to everyone’s conversations. Would Izzy want to discuss everything with her co-workers listening in? No, she would not.
‘Look—I’ll see you on Friday and tell you everything. Have a good flight.’ Izzy rang off.
Okay, she would wait until their tête-à-tête on Friday. But then, she resolved, Izzy was going to tell, and tell everything.
Meanwhile, there was no point in thinking about it. Izzy’s sudden marriage could go on hold for a few hours. Natasha, the professional, had a presentation to finalise.
She turned back to the laptop and, with a savage stab at the keyboard, sent her pie chart purple.
The throne room at the palace was a hotchpotch of magnificence and sheer eccentric indulgence. The Emir of Saraq sat on a French brocade chair that would have looked more at home in Versailles and waved the new arrival onto a minimalist Swedish sofa. The Emir had commissioned it personally.
‘You don’t command me, Grandfather,’ said the new arrival, without emotion. He was tall with decided eyebrows and a great haughty beak of a nose. His stark white robe was creaseless. He did not sit down.
‘You are here,’ the Emir pointed out with a touch of defiance.
‘For the moment.’
Their eyes clashed: the Emir’s fierce; the watcher’s unreadable. He had had a lot of practice at masking his feelings. He was good at it.
The Emir’s gaze was the first to fall.
‘Don’t let’s argue, Kazim. This is important.’
The placatory tone was out of character. But his grandfather was a consummate actor, thought Kazim, and as wily as a hunting falcon. He stayed watchful.
‘Is this about another arranged marriage?’
The Emir’s eyes flashed. But almost at once he curbed himself.
‘No. I have agreed. You will decide for yourself when you marry.’ It sounded as if every word were dragged from him, but he still got it out.
It was not enough. Kazim stayed implacable.
‘If I marry,’ he corrected.
The old man did not like that, either. ‘If you marry,’ he agreed reluctantly.
Kazim was remorseless. ‘And who I marry.’
‘And who you marry.’ It was said through gritted teeth.
His grandson nodded slowly, like a general accepting surrender. ‘I will.’
They eyed each other like duellists.
The Emir said something explosive under his breath.
Kazim decided not to hear it. Sometimes it was the only possible move in the prolonged chess game of their relationship.
‘You break with every tradition and listen to nobody—but you do get things done.’
Kazim’s lips twitched. ‘Thank you—I think.’
The Emir stopped muttering and rearranged the fold of his white robe over his knees. He was obviously making a great effort to appear reasonable. ‘I wanted to see you because there has been a warning.’
Suddenly, all Kazim’s wariness dissolved in concern. ‘You mean threats? Against you?’
The Emir permitted himself a thin smile. ‘No. You.’
For a moment Kazim’s face was wiped absolutely clear of expression. He did not answer. The atmosphere in the throne room was suddenly charged with electricity.
‘So you knew,’ said the Emir softly.
Kazim was disturbed. He had not meant to give so much away. The old man was too good at this. Or I’m losing my touch. Not a good thought, that. He buried his unease, professional that he