The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum (12 page)

‘This is your palace?’

‘Close,’ he told her. ‘The fort was built in ancient times. See the turrets there along the western wall? They were the lookouts for the enemies.’

‘Did enemies only come from the west?’

‘Foreign enemies,’ he admitted. ‘Though there were plenty of fights between the tribes themselves but that was more a sport—which team would win the competition this year, that kind of thing. When foreign enemies came, all the teams—the tribes—joined together.’

The vast wooden gate into the fort swung open as the car approached, the two men who had lived to open the doors now replaced by an automatic opening mechanism. Although the two men still sat, one of either side of the door, rising to their feet and saluting as he drove in.

‘Oh!’

A small sound, but enough to delight him, for it told him Liz had been startled by the beauty of the courtyard that lay behind the walls. Formally laid out with a sparkling fountain in the centre, it held fruit trees as well as ornamental plants, and gardens filled with roses, all now in full bloom.

‘It’s unbelievable,’ she said. ‘To see such beauty when all around is dry and barren. Of course the desert is beautiful, too, in its own way, but this is lovely.’

She shook her head and Khalifa was filled with absurd happiness at her appreciation.

‘Has it always been this way?’ she asked, as he pulled up at the bottom of a shallow flight of steps that led up to the veranda in front of the guest quarters.

‘Always,’ he said. ‘I think I told you Najme was built on an oasis. Many centuries ago the caliph—that is our term for highness—ordered water to be channelled underground so the garden would always be green. And although the gates are kept closed at night, by day anyone can enter the courtyard and rest in the garden. Children can splash in the fountain and their mothers can pick fruit. The rule is you take only what you and your family will eat that day, so there is always plenty for everyone.’

‘And that happens? People take only what they need?’

‘Of course,’ he said, but in his head he was putting the words into another context, remembering the kiss, certain from her reaction that she’d taken only what she’d needed—comfort—from it. Then she’d warned him off. Put it down as an aberration, she’d said.

Which was just as well, given his track record with pregnant women! An image of Zara popped obligingly into his head and he knew with total certainty that nothing must come of the attraction.

CHAPTER SEVEN

L
IZ
was still gazing around at the lush colour of the courtyard, unable to believe such beauty had been hidden behind the dull red walls of the fort. Khalifa opened the door and helped her down from the car and his touch on her arm not only brought the usual reactions but with them a determination to ignore all physical manifestations of this attraction and to steer clear of this man whenever possible. She would treat him as her boss, nothing more—no chats or teasing or bleating out her problems…

He led the way up shallow steps and kicked off his sandals at the front door. She stared at the jumbled collection of sandals already there and forgot her good intentions, reaching out to hold his shoulder as she slid her own sandals off, asking, at the same time, ‘This is a guest house? Do you have so many guests? There must be more than a dozen pairs of sandals lined up there.’

He steadied her then bent to add her sandals to the rather ragged line, then pointed out the small pairs.

‘Four children, I would say, although my grandmother has tiny feet so if she’s back from the Endless Desert one pair could be hers. Then the…’

He paused, frowning, and Liz wondered if he recognised one pair in particular, but when he continued, she realised he’d been working out how to explain.

‘We have young women who look after the house and cook and mind the children. They are not exactly servants for they are usually related—members of our tribe—and their families live here with them so all the children grow up together. My child, if she had lived, would have grown up with the other children, and everyone who is in the house for a meal sits down together for it—all the women and children.’

It sounded very democratic, yet Liz had to ask.

‘And the men?’

‘In the past, when we were nomadic and our people roamed the desert, the men ate together by the fire outside the tent. This was to guard the women and the children inside. They could also discuss the days ahead, plan hunting trips or forays into foreign territories. Now the men talk politics, which is probably the same thing, but many men now eat with their wives and children—the evening meal at least. Many of the family now live in Al Jabaya, so you’ll find mainly older family members here and the young women who look after them.’

He was leading the way into a wide vestibule as he spoke and Liz followed, although her mind had snagged on the image of the fire outside the big tent, the men around it, cleaning guns perhaps, guarding their women and children.

‘Khalifa!’

The first child who appeared was a very small girl who raced towards Liz’s boss and threw herself into his arms. Other children followed, then a couple of older women, three young women, heads demurely covered with bright scarves, but their faces alight with happiness at seeing the man she was with.

‘This is Dr Jones,’ he said to the gathering crowd. ‘I would introduce you all, but learning too many names at once will confuse her. Who will be taking care of her?’

A young woman in a blue headscarf stepped forward.

‘It will be my pleasure,’ she said, in prettily accented English. ‘I am Mori.’

‘And I am Liz,’ Liz told her, stepping forward and holding out her hand.

Mori took it shyly and gently squeezed Liz’s fingers then said, ‘If you would like to come this way, you can rest before dinner.’

Liz began to follow, then realised she hadn’t thanked Khalifa for bringing her here. But when she turned he’d moved away and was deep in conversation with an older woman in black. The woman’s hand was resting on his arm, and from the way he looked at her—with love, Liz thought—it had to be his grandmother.

She wanted to ask if the baby’s mother’s relations had been found, but Mori was moving further away and one glance down the seemingly endless corridor off the vestibule told Liz if she didn’t follow she might be lost for ever.

The room Mori showed her into was bigger than her entire flat back home, the
en suite
bathroom the size of her living room. The floor was tiled in what looked like marble, the walls the dark pinkish red she’d seen on buildings in the city, but they were striped with horizontal bands of gold that matched the elaborate patterns woven in gold thread in the curtains around the bed, and the gold and red embroidery on the thick carpet beneath her feet.

‘This is beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘All the colours of the sunset over the desert dunes.’

‘Khalifa calls it the sunset room. When he rebuilt the palace so he’d have a home in Najme he named all the guest rooms.’

Did he, now? Liz thought, pleased with this tiny glimpse into a sentimental part of the man she was only beginning to know.

Beginning and ending, she told herself. He’d comforted her when she’d needed it, and comfort had led to a kiss, but her life was already swamped in confusion, and she had no intention of making it even more convoluted by giving in to her attraction to the man.

She opened her small bag and realised that just about everything in it was dirty. She’d gone through all but one of the outfits she’d brought with her. This last she’d shoved in on the off chance she might have to get dressed up some time—a long, floaty dress in different shades of blue. Holding it up, she wondered whether it was appropriate, but Mori, looking at it, assured her it was beautiful and that most of the women dressed up for dinner.

‘I will take your other clothes and wash them, and if you need something else to wear, the cupboards in the dressing room have a selection of clothes in different sizes, all of them new.’

‘Why is that?’ Liz asked, intrigued by a guest room that came complete with clothing for the guest.

‘In other times, people who had nothing would be taken in by the tribe. In the desert you cannot turn strangers away, for on their own they would surely die. If a person is hungry you must feed him or without clothes then you must cover him. That is our way.’

And when a person needs comfort, you comfort her, Liz added to herself just to make sure she understood that the attraction was going nowhere.

Once showered and dressed, she followed Mori to a huge room where women were already seated around a long piece of woven material stretched out on the floor. It would have been a tablecloth, Liz realised, had there been a table.

She joined Mori on a cushion on the floor.

‘This is Rimmi, Khalifa’s grandmother.’ Mori introduced her to the small woman on the other side of Liz. ‘She is the head of the house and likes to keep to the old ways, which is why we eat like this for breakfast and for dinner, everyone together.’

Mori rattled off a conversation Liz couldn’t understand, but it must have been an introduction for the older woman, Rimmi, turned and took Liz’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and smiling with a warmth that had Liz immediately smiling back.

‘Could you ask her if she has been down into the desert and found the relatives of the woman in hospital?’ Liz asked Mori, who spoke again.

Rimmi’s grasp tightened on Liz’s fingers and she nodded then spoke, her voice a husky whisper.

‘She says the family is already at the hospital and you are to be thanked and most blessed for all you have done.’

Liz smiled at the compliment and thanked Rimmi, then glanced up, startled, as an excited chatter spread among the women, while the children were positively yelping with glee.

As was Liz’s stupid heart, for Khalifa had entered the big room and apparently intended to share the meal with the women and children.

She watched the reactions around the table as he bent and kissed the women one by one, tousling the hair of the little ones he passed before settling down on the other side of his grandmother.

Liz told her racing heart to stop its nonsense, and nodded to the man. She longed to ask Mori about his presence, but obviously she couldn’t with him sitting so close.

And so at ease! His long body settled comfortably on the cushion, his legs hidden beneath a clean white gown, the sides of his headscarf tucked up tonight in some complicated fashion so she could see more of his face than was usually revealed when he wore his traditional dress.

Such a strong face. Having heard his stories of the men around the campfire, she could picture him in olden times, a rifle slung across his lap, perhaps a child held against his shoulder, for this man, she guessed, could be both hard and soft.

Now food appeared, great bowls of it, the steam rising from the bowls carrying all the scents of the market they’d visited earlier, deliciously woven into mouth-watering dishes.

Rimmi served Liz, Khalifa explaining what each spoonful was as it was placed on her plate. He passed her bread to eat with it, then demonstrated on his own plate how to use it to scoop the food to his mouth.

‘Although there is cutlery if you’d prefer. You’ll find it wrapped in that napkin in front of your plate.’

Liz grinned at him and picked up the napkin.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ she said.

And was surprised when he murmured, ‘Klutz,’ very softly but with an undertone of affection that caught her off guard so for a moment she forgot about keeping her distance from him and smiled.

* * *

He’d known he shouldn’t come—should have eaten at his own house—but all his brothers and their families were up in the capital, and he’d felt like company.

Felt like Liz Jones’s company, the last functioning cell in his brain had whispered, and he’d been unable to deny it.

Fortunately, before he could become too entangled in his thoughts, Rimmi demanded his attention, talking to him but apparently meaning the conversation to include Liz Jones as well, for she had asked Mori to translate.

‘The people of the desert—the people I spoke to—do not understand the hospital,’ she was saying. ‘To them it is a place where people die, so they do not wish to go there. Somehow you must explain better, to the women in particular, that going to the hospital, or to one of the clinics in the oasis villages, is the best thing to do for themselves and their children.’

‘And the men?’ Khalifa asked.

Rimmi shrugged her shoulders.

‘Ah,’ she said, ‘the men! As good to talk to the camels or the date palms. But you must talk to the women. Take Dr Jones with you so they see it is a woman they will deal with, and let her explain about what can be done when pregnancy or births go wrong. A woman can tell other women.’

Khalifa glanced at Liz. Had she taken it all in? Had Mori translated it properly?

She smiled at him and nodded as if he’d asked the questions aloud, and her eyes sparkled as she said, ‘You and I talked about doing this earlier—was it on the plane or before that? I can’t remember. Talked about taking a crib and explaining what happens in a special-care unit. I’d be happy to go. Just tell me when. After climbing one of your sand dunes, I’m dying to see more of the desert, and I think until the internal changes are made to the unit there’s not much I can do there. So, when do we go?’

Now?

Tonight?

That was his libido talking, and he knew it could no longer be considered in this situation. She’d made if perfectly clear there’d be no more ‘complications’, as she’d put it, and it was only right that he should honour her request.

And she was right about the dalliance. Was that the word she’d used? Whatever might have happened between them, it could have been no more than that. How could he, who’d already failed one woman, and her child, take on responsibility for another?

Although to have a child…

He spoke before melancholy swamped him.

‘I understand Phil has the alterations in hand for the space where the unit will be. The hospital tradespeople are beginning work in a couple of days,’ he replied, when he realised his silence had stretched for far too long. ‘Do you feel you need to be there to supervise that part?’