Heart of the Desert (3 page)

I
T DID
not abate.

Ibrahim Zaraq rode his horse at breakneck speed along the paths, across the fields and back along the paths, his breath white in the crisp morning air, and, despite the space, despite the miles available to him to exercise his passion, today, this morning, and not for the first time lately, Ibrahim felt confined.

London had been the place that had freed him, the place of escape, and yet as he pulled up his beast, as he patted the lathered neck, Ibrahim, though breathless, wanted to kick him on, wanted to gallop again, to go further, faster, not follow a track and turn around.

There, in the still, crisp morning, in the green belt of a city, the desert called him—just as his father had told him it would.

And though Ibrahim resisted, again he felt it.

This pull, this need for a land that supposedly owned him, and for just a moment he indulged himself.

‘You would love it.’ He climbed down and spoke in Arabic to his stallion, a beast who kicked and butted the walls of his luxurious stable, who paced the confines
of his enclosure and bit any stranger who ignored his stable-door warning and was ignorant enough to approach. ‘For there,’ he said to the beast, stroking the rippling muscles, hearing the stamp and kick of his hooves, ‘you would finally know and relish exhaustion.’ Only the desert could sate. Again Ibrahim glimpsed it—the endless dunes, the fresh canvas the shifting desert provided each morning. He did not just glimpse it, he felt the sting of sand on his cheeks, the scarf around his mouth, the power of a horse unleashed between his thighs.

Yet his life was in London.

A life he had created, business and riches that came with no rules attached, because he had built them and they were his. His mother was here—forbidden to return to Zaraq because decades ago she had broken the rules.

‘I’ll take him, Ibrahim.’ A young stablegirl he sometimes bedded made her way over and he handed her the reins. Ibrahim saw the invitation in her eyes, and perhaps that would help, he thought, as she unstrapped the saddle. Ibrahim took the weight of it from her, saw her hands soothe the angry beast, saw the stretch of her thighs as she put on the horse blanket. He waited and wanted to feel something, for it would have been easier, so much easier to soothe the burn of his body and the turmoil in his mind with his favourite solution. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ Hopeful, beautiful, available, she turned to him—and the answer on any other morning would have been yes.

It wasn’t today.

Neither had it been the other night.

After seeing Georgie, he had directed his driver to his date’s home instead of his and had declined her invitation to come in.

‘Come to bed, Ibrahim.’ Her mouth and her hands had moved to persuade but Ibrahim had brushed her off and when tears hadn’t worked, she’d got angry. ‘It’s that tart from the nightclub that’s changed things, isn’t it?’

‘No,’ Ibrahim had said coolly. ‘It’s entirely you.’

‘Ibrahim?’ The stablegirl smiled and he looked down at her breasts, which were pert and pretty. He gauged the length of her hair and then walked away because, though her hair was dark, it was long and thick and her frame too was slender. Ibrahim knew he’d have only been thinking of her.

Of Georgie.

He did not want to think of her and his mind turned to the desert instead.

He picked up pace, his boots ringing across the yard. He would go to his property in the country this weekend, for he knew if he was in London he would end up calling Georgie. He did not like unfinished business, did not like to be told no, and seeing her again had inflamed things, but more trouble with his family was the last thing he needed now. The country was a good option—there he would find space, there he could ride for ever, except as he climbed into his sports car he glanced at the sat-nav and felt as if he were staring at an aerial map. He could see the fields, the houses, the hedges, the trees, the borders …

And his father had been right, and so too his brothers, who had told him that one day the desert would call him.

The king had let his son go with surprising ease when he had left to study engineering, confident that when the time was right he would return.

‘Of course I will be back.’ Surly, arrogant, back from his compulsory stint in the military, a young Ibrahim had been ready for London. ‘I will visit.’

‘You will be back as a royal prince to share your new knowledge, and your country will be waiting.’

‘No.’ Ibrahim had shaken his head. ‘For formal functions occasionally I will return and, of course, to see my family …’ His father did not seem to understand, so he had spelt it out. ‘My life will be in London.’

But the king had just smiled. ‘Ibrahim, you are going to study engineering. Remember as a child all the plans you had for this country of ours, all you could do for the people.’

‘I was a child.’

‘And now you are a man—you get to make real your dreams. When it is time, you will come back to where you belong.’ Ibrahim had rolled his eyes but the king had just smiled. ‘It is in your blood, in your DNA. You may not want to listen to your father, but the desert has its own call—one you cannot ignore.’

He wanted to ignore it.

For years now he had, but everything had changed when he’d returned for the wedding.

Ibrahim sped the car through the grey Sunday
morning, out of the city and into the country. He hugged tight bends and accelerated out of them. His father’s patience was running out, his future awaited him and he raced from it till his tank was almost empty and again rules rushed in.

‘Breathe till I tell you to stop,’ the policeman ordered, and Ibrahim did. He even emptied out his pockets and let the man inspect his boot. He saw the suspicion in the officer’s eyes when everything turned up clean.

‘Where are you going in such a hurry?’ the officer asked again. He had seen Ibrahim’s driver’s licence and was sick of the rich and the young royals who thought the laws did not apply to them. This man was both.

‘I don’t know,’ Ibrahim answered again. Normally it would have incensed the policeman, normally he would have headed back to the car to perform another slow check just to make the prince wait because a fine would not trouble him, but there was something in Ibrahim’s voice that made the policeman hesitate. There was a hint of confusion in this arrogant, aloof man’s tone that halted him. ‘I’m sorry.’ The officer frowned at Ibrahim’s apology. ‘I apologise for not following your laws.’

‘They’re there for your own protection.’ And Ibrahim closed his eyes because, albeit in English now, those were the words that had swaddled him through childhood, through teenage years and into adulthood.

‘I appreciate that,’ Ibrahim said, then opened his eyes to the concerned face of the policeman. ‘Again I apologise.’

‘Is everything okay, sir?’

‘Everything is fine.’

‘I’ll let you go with a warning this time.’

He would rather have the ticket.

As he climbed back into the car, Ibrahim would far rather have paid his dues, accepted the punishment, and it had nothing at all to do with the fact he could afford to—he did not want favours.

Ibrahim drove sensibly, even when the police car left him as he turned into the petrol station. Ibrahim stayed within the speed limit all the way back to London, and as he turned into the smart West London street he did not look at the stylish three-storey house but at the railings in front of it, and the neatly trimmed hedge, to the houses either side and the next house and the next, and he couldn’t bring himself to go in.

Had the policeman been behind him he would have pulled him over again, for Ibrahim executed a highly illegal U-turn and then reprogrammed his sat-nav. His decision was made.

He would get it out of his system once and for all.

The future king was due to be born in a few weeks’ time and he certainly didn’t want to get caught up in all that. He would ride his horses in the ocean and desert for a few days, hear what his father had to say and then he would return to London.

To home, Ibrahim corrected himself.

Despite what his father said, London
was
his home.

He just had to be sure of it.

His mind flicked to Georgie, to unfinished business,
to a woman who did not want the desert, who had been on his mind for far too long now, and another decision was made … he would visit the desert and return, and
then
he might call her.

T
HERE
was a new lightness to Georgie as she took out her blonde hair from its ponytail and combed it, and there was a smile on her lips as she applied lip balm. Not even the prospect of the long flight ahead could dim a world that suddenly felt just a little more right.

That her divorce had come through that morning might not seem to many something to be pleased about, and a marriage that had been a mistake might seem nothing to be grateful for, but it had taught her a lot.

Even though she had left him years ago—left a marriage of just a few weeks—the fact it was officially over brought her relief.

Now she was free.

Her only regret was that it hadn’t come through sooner. That the morals that kept her from sleeping with anyone, even with her divorce pending, had kept her from Ibrahim that night.

Georgie closed her eyes for a moment, told herself not to go there—it was a path she had chosen. Her illness, her father’s abuse, a marriage that had seemed an escape—it would be so easy to look back with regret,
yet she had learnt so much from it all. She had grown into a strong woman, a confident woman who knew herself, because she had chosen to learn from, rather than rue, her mistakes. It was a hard path to follow but, for Georgie, the right one. Guilt and regret had led her to troubled places, but no more. She wanted to talk with Felicity, wanted to thank her for all her support through the difficult years. Georgie swallowed, because she was still undecided, but she wanted to tell Felicity about Mike, to clear the past and make way for a glorious future.

Ibrahim’s apology had helped too.

It had been unsettling seeing him, of course, but she took his apology as a sign that the chapter was closed and that it was time to move on.

To have no regrets.

The air ticket her sister Felicity had sent meant she bypassed the nightmare queues at Heathrow. She sat, awkward at first, in a first-class departure lounge, but as she sipped champagne and checked her emails, it was soon easy to relax. She accepted the delicacies on offer without thought. A new smile spread across her face as she realised just how far she had come. The endless abacus was finally silent—no more calories versus treadmill, no penance for pleasure, just the sweet taste of a pistachio macaroon dissolving on her tongue. She didn’t need a plane to fly to Zaraq. Her mood was so buoyant as she boarded, her high so palpable, Georgie could have flown there on happiness alone. Finally, the dark days were over—the soul-searching, the introspection,
the agony of healing was behind her. She was ready to move on, even if the plane wasn’t.

Just a little nervous of flying, Georgie took a vial of melissa oil from her bag and massaged a drop into her temples. The attendant offered her another drink, but Georgie didn’t want one. ‘When are we taking off?’ Used to economy class, Georgie half expected to be speaking to thin air by the time the words were out, or at best to receive a brusque answer, but she was reminded she was travelling first class when the attendant smiled and lingered. ‘We’re sorry for the delay but we have an unexpected passenger. He shouldn’t be too much longer …’ But even in first class there was a pecking order, because the attendant’s voice trailed off and Georgie was no longer the focus of her attention. She watched as the woman’s cheeks darkened. Curious, Georgie followed the woman’s gaze and her heart seemed to stop as all efforts to move on were halted, any chance of forgetting lost.

‘Your Highness.’ The attendant curtsied as he strode past but even she couldn’t halt the flicker of confusion on her smooth brow at their passenger’s attire. He was dressed in mud-splattered white jodhpurs and black jumper, and there was a restlessness to him, a wild energy that seemed to have boarded the plane along with him. He didn’t respond to the attendant, neither did he glance in Georgie’s direction. There was such purpose to his stride it looked as if he was heading for the cockpit, prepared to fly the plane himself, but at the last minute he turned and, yes, there were levels of
first class because it would appear Ibrahim had his own suite. The attendants fluttered away from their charges and gathered together to discuss the latest arrival, and just a moment or so later a steward slipped into the suite with a bottle of brandy as the others watched.

She wanted to stand, to stop the plane that was now taxiing along the runway, to get off, for she could not face being there with him.

She didn’t even notice the plane rise off the ground, or dinner being served, her mind consumed by her fellow passenger. ‘Is everything okay, Miss Anderson?’ The flight attendant removed her plates untouched and Georgie just nodded, too stunned to answer, let alone eat. The thought of being back in the palace with him, of being in such close proximity to him, had her reeling.

She had done everything possible to ensure that he wouldn’t be there—oh, so casually asking her sister about his movements—and even in the nightclub he had given no clue.

But, then, neither had she.

Maybe there had been an emergency. His father had recently been sick after all. Why else would he be boarding a plane dressed like that? Or maybe this was how the rich lived, Georgie pondered. Who flew long haul in riding boots? Maybe he was so laid-back about travelling that he didn’t even give it a thought. He could step off a horse and onto a plane … But later, when she got up to go to the toilet, a steward was coming out of his suite carrying a laden tray and shaking her head. Georgie got a glimpse of Ibrahim before the doors to
his suite were closed—he lay sprawled out on the bed. He hadn’t bothered with the gold pyjamas Georgie had on. He was unshaven, boots off, sprawled out on a bed and fast asleep.

She got only the briefest look as the door was quickly closed, but it was an image that stayed with her through the flight.

Anguished.

Even in sleep his face wasn’t relaxed. His full mouth was tense. Even at rest he somehow looked troubled—but more worrying than that was just how much Georgie wanted to know what was on his mind

She’d been looking forward to the luxurious bed the airline offered in first class, had been looking forward to stretching out and sleeping, but knowing he was so close she found she couldn’t.

‘Can I get you anything?’ the attendant asked countless times through the flight, and each time Georgie bit her lip on her true answer.

Him, she wanted to respond. Can you take me to him? But instead she shook her head and tried to work out what she’d say when she saw him.

The flight was broken by a stop in Abu Dhabi and Georgie took the chance to stretch her legs. She braced herself to face him, but Ibrahim must have decided to stay on the plane so she amused herself watching the gorgeous attendants boarding with designer bags, one even carrying a large pink teddy. This time, when the plane took off, finally Georgie fell asleep, except there
was no respite. Her dreams were flooded with thoughts of him.

‘Miss Anderson, would you like some breakfast before we prepare for landing?’ The attendant woke her. Georgie nodded, and felt just a slight wobble of guilt: she had always kept her name, though used Ms in London. Felicity had booked her ticket and, given she had no idea about the brief marriage, had naturally put Miss.

Georgie stared out of the window at the glorious blue waters and as the plane banked gently to the right she caught the first glimpses of Zaraq—the endless golden desert giving way to sandy-colored villages and domed buildings. The plane swept along the shoreline, the cabin lights dimming. The palace that would be her home for the next couple of weeks wasn’t what grabbed her attention. Instead it was the mirrored skyscrapers of the capital Zaraqua that made her breath tight in her chest. There were pools and bridges seemingly suspended in mid-air and Georgie marvelled at their design rather than think of him. She tried not to guess his reaction when she exited the plane and they finally came face to face.

He didn’t get off.

For a little while she wondered if somehow she’d imagined him, for not once during the flight had she seen him.

‘Georgie!’ Felicity looked great. Georgie had wondered how she’d be dressed, but as a married woman her sister did not need to wear a veil and looked stunning in
a white linen trouser suit, her hair longer than Georgie had ever see it. Felicity oozed happiness and good health, but it was little Azizah who enthralled Georgie from the moment she landed—her niece, just a few months old and with the fascinating mix of her mother’s blonde hair and her father’s black eyes. Azizah had been just a couple of weeks old when Karim and Felicity had brought her to the UK for a brief visit, but she was her own little person now and, for Georgie, the love was instant.

‘She’s stunning.’ Georgie said as she held her in the VIP lounge. ‘I can’t wait to get to know her. Where’s Karim?’

‘He’s here. We had a call from the airline a couple of hours ago—it would seem his brother was on the same flight as you. He’s gone to meet him.’

‘I thought I saw him,’ Georgie said carefully, ‘though he didn’t see me. Is everything okay?’

‘Of course it is.’ Felicity said. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No real reason. I just wondered if he’d dashed back for an emergency. He looked …’ Her voice trailed off and she chose not to tell her sister after all. Felicity would see for herself soon and could make up her own mind.

‘Karim might have to dash off once we get home,’ Felicity explained as Georgie fussed over her niece. ‘There’s a bit of health scare with the Bedouins. You know how much work he does for them.’

Georgie nodded. ‘Is he still doing the mobile clinics?’

‘Shh,’ Felicity warned, because no one, not even the
king, knew the full extent of Karim’s involvement with the local people. We’ll talk about it later. I just want you to understand if he has to suddenly leave—I don’t want you to think he’s not thrilled that you’re here.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Here they are now!’

As Karim and Ibrahim entered the lounge, Georgie was glad she hadn’t aired her concerns to her sister. She’d have looked like a liar because Ibrahim looked far from troubled and unkempt now—clean-shaven, dressed in linen trousers and jacket, sleek sunglasses on, he looked every bit a first-class passenger as he walked towards with his brother, carrying the large pink teddy Georgie had seen the attendants bring on the plane. He must have sent them shopping, Georgie realised, watching as his jaw tightened at the sight of her—not that Felicity noticed the tension.

‘Thank you, Ibrahim.’ Felicity took the huge teddy. ‘Did you have to book another seat for her?’

‘Georgie!’ Karim kissed the cheek of his sister-in-law. ‘You may remember Ibrahim from the wedding.’

‘Of course.’ Georgie gave a smile but he didn’t immediately return it. All she could see was her reflection in his glasses. She couldn’t read his eyes.

‘I wasn’t aware you were visiting.’ Only then did he manage to force a smile. ‘It is nice of you all to come and greet me,’ Ibrahim said, ‘but it was completely unnecessary. I didn’t want a fuss, it’s just a brief visit.’

‘We’re not here to fuss over you!’ Felicity grinned. ‘We’re actually here to greet Georgie—she was on your flight.’

And Georgie was positive, completely positive that his dark skin paled, that behind those thick sunglasses, even if she couldn’t see it, there was alarm in those dark eyes.

‘Really?’ Ibrahim responded. ‘And you didn’t say hello?’ His question was polite and so too was her response, even if was a lie.

‘I didn’t actually see you.’ She gave a vague wave of her hand as she lied. ‘I just heard the steward saying that you were on board. I’m sorry if I was rude.’

‘No need to apologise.’ There was, Georgie was sure, a breath of relief in his voice. He even smiled again in her direction. ‘Just make sure next time you say hello.’

The driver came up and had a brief word with Karim.

‘What are we waiting for?’ Felicity asked.

‘Georgie’s luggage has been loaded, but Ibrahim’s is taking a while to come off.’

‘La Shy,’
Ibrahim said and Felicity, who must have picked up some of the language, frowned.

‘You’ve got no luggage?’

‘Just carry-on.’ He held up a smart bag that Georgie was positive he hadn’t been holding on boarding.

The car ride was short, the conversation seemingly pleasant, but it was mainly Georgie and Felicity speaking.

Back at the palace Ibrahim had an extremely cursory chat with his family, then excused himself with an outright lie.

‘I couldn’t sleep on the plane.’

When he left them, Georgie could relax a little and after Felicity had fed the baby, she was delighted to have a proper cuddle. ‘She’s stunning.’ Georgie enthused again.

‘Her lungs are!’ Karim said. ‘Half the palace was woken at four a.m. this morning.’

‘I had the French windows open to let in some air.’ Felicity grinned and Georgie could only marvel at the changes in her sister. She had always been so tense and uptight, but there was a lightness to her now. Her face glowed as she smiled up at her husband. ‘Anyway, soon it won’t just be Azizah disrupting the palace.’

‘When is Jasmine’s baby due?’ Georgie asked.

‘Jamal,’ Felicity gently corrected her, because her sister found it impossible to keep up with all the names. ‘She’s got five weeks to go and I just can’t wait.’

‘Is that the aunt-to-be talking,’ Georgie asked, ‘or the midwife?’

‘Both,’ Felicity admitted. And as easily as that the conversation flowed.

Even if her sister was a princess now, even if she lived in a palace far away, she was still Felicity, still her big sister, still the person Georgie loved most in the world. Karim did have to dash off, but the girls hardly noticed, there was too much to catch up on. Long after they had eaten and late, late into the night, when everyone else was in bed, still the sisters sat talking in a sumptuous, surprisingly informal lounge at the front of the palace, the windows open and fragrant air drifting in. Felicity had the baby monitor by her side, and somehow Georgie
found the words to tell her sister about a marriage that had happened more than three years ago, a marriage she had soon realised was a mistake.