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ELIZABETH
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TIME SEEMED TO HAVE its own pace in Rosenthal. Life was unhurried and there was time for everything: for work, for friends, for pleasure and for dreams.
I worked on various assignments for my employer and loved every minute of it. Every afternoon I’d spend a few hours helping the committee with the survey, making sure that I was at home before my nightly caller phoned. I still had time for lunch with my friends, afternoon tea with Lottie and some precious time with Jacob.
Every evening I’d talk to Khalid. I was more and more drawn into his orbit. I didn’t know what to make of my feelings and I didn’t know how to stop myself from falling in love with him. I knew even less about what he was feeling for me. I simply stopped asking myself those questions and let it be.
And I wasn’t the only one hit by Cupid’s arrow. After their first date, Lottie and Dr. Prentice were now seeing each other. Molly had moved in with Sam and Jacob.
Molly’s love and support had come at the right moment. Sam’s ex had rediscovered her maternal instincts and filed for full custody of their son. It had cast a shadow over Sam and Molly’s happiness and scared and confused Jacob, who’d just gotten a loving mother in Molly.
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ONCE I’D COMPLETED the Baker Block report, I emailed it to Copper Ridge. That evening Khalid and I discussed our future project at great length. I was impressed with his ideas. They went far beyond the simple restoration of an old hotel and the four buildings around it.
“Restoration and finding meaningful usage will trigger the revitalization and further development of the entire city core,” he said. “It will become a vibrant, mixed-use, creative part of town. There’ll be more projects for us to do. Millennium Properties will step in; other investors will come. It will be a strong boost for the city economy. Lottie Fontaine and the committee can help us develop a sound business plan.”
“She mentioned it. Thank you for keeping them involved,” I said.
“They are passionate about their town. Passion brings a tremendous amount of energy. It’s more productive and more pleasant to work with happy people.”
Every call uncovered another layer of this fascinating man. Intelligent, smart, open-minded, he had an incredible grasp of every subject area we touched.
We shared interests and had similar tastes. We both liked horseback riding. Khalid mentioned he had two Arabian horses. The stallion was named Blizzard, and the mare, Breeze, had arrived just a few days ago.
Languages came easily to both of us. Amused, we discovered that we spoke four of the same foreign languages: German, French, Italian and—interestingly—Arabic. I’d been surprised that he didn’t speak Turkish until he explained that even his father didn’t know it, having been born in the United Kingdom. Where had he learned Arabic? I asked him. Working in the Middle East for several years, Khalid said.
From linguistics, we moved to music.
“Do you play an instrument?” he asked.
“Cello. I had lessons for years.”
I also played the piano, but not well enough to mention it. When I was young, our Boston neighbor had taught piano on and off for a couple of years.
“What about you? Do you play an instrument?” I asked.
“Long ago, I experimented with some renaissance instruments. Nothing serious.”
“Like what?”
“Like the German flute, chamber organ, lute, things like that.”
He said it so offhandedly as if we’d been talking about a grocery list, and then he continued inquiring about my favorite colors, cars, seasons, places, time of the day.
Yet, he didn’t ask me too many personal questions, nor did I learn much about his private life. I was dying to know how long he had been divorced. Was it before or after the accident? What kind of accident had he had?
And about his son. He’d mention him now and then, the love and affection in his voice genuine, only to change the subject too quickly. It hurt him to talk about his son, I concluded. How old was the boy? He could be any age from toddler to teenager. Where did he live? I’d love to know, but these were questions still too intimate to ask.
I noticed, however, that every night he was a little bit less tense. His voice had a new lightness. He laughed often with a deep, soft laugh.
I longed to see him. In my dreams, he was a tall, handsome, dark-haired and dark-eyed man. For all I knew, however, he could’ve been short, bald and overweight. Not that it mattered. I was falling in love with who he was, not with how he looked.
There. I’d said it. I was falling in love with a man I’d never met and knew only from telephone conversations. Well, I thought, there was no harm in that. He didn’t know about my crazy feelings and after all, I might just as easily fall out of love once I met him.
“Can we talk over Skype or Messenger?” I’d asked one night. “I’d like to put a face to your voice.”
He paused for a moment. “I’d prefer to meet you in person. I hope soon.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Are you coming to Rosenthal?”
I heard him exhale. “I still can’t travel that far. Azem and Lily will visit you next week in my stead.”
So, what had that “I hope soon” meant then? I swallowed my disappointment. “I’ll be glad to meet them.”
“I have another project for you in mind.”
Oh. “What kind of project?”
“Remember when we talked about art appraisers? I’d like you to evaluate some furniture for me. Lily will fill you in on the details ... Elizabeth?”
“Yes?”
“I wish I could see you more than anything. I want you to know this.” I could feel the longing in his voice, and something else. Helplessness, powerlessness, anger.
Maybe the accident had left him disfigured? Maybe it had affected his sexual ability?
“Other than your leg, you’re fine, aren’t you?” I asked before I could think twice. “I mean, you’re healthy otherwise?”
My cheeks burned. God, I might as well have openly asked him if he had problems with potency.
“Are you asking me ...” he started and then laughed. “Well, my leg still bothers me,” he continued, “and I have a scar across my face. Nothing dramatic. Other than that, I’m fine. No other health issues whatsoever.”
For days I was embarrassed every time I thought about my question, yet couldn’t stop grinning every time I remembered his answer.
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IT WAS A RELIEF TO confess my confusing sentiments for Khalid to the two closest people in my life, Rick and Alain. I’d called them one evening over Skype and, without revealing the most intimate parts, I told them about our night talks. They listened to me without interrupting.
Having two men as an audience helped me to better understand not only my feelings but also Khalid’s: I realized we were captivated by each other, we wanted more out of our unconventional relationship, but we didn’t know how to ask for it.
“Why don’t you invite him to visit you in Rosenthal?” Rick asked when I finished.
“He says he can’t travel. That’s why he’s sending his lawyer and his assistant here.”
“Why don’t you go there? Tell him you want to meet him.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that, Rick. He doesn’t even want to talk over Skype.”
“There is more to it,” Alain said. He was always more perceptive than Rick. “You met someone who gave you flutters. He’s obviously smitten with you. You’re both holding back. What’s the problem?”
“We only talk over the phone. I don’t know how he looks; he doesn’t know how I look. We often say looks don’t matter, but they do. He doesn’t need to look like a young Daniel Day-Lewis; but he has to have that something, which I can recognize only if I see him.”
“Listen, babe. Don’t know about him, but you definitely look like a young Elizabeth Taylor, and you do have that something. If he doesn’t, well, too bad for him. You know what I think? He’s confused with his own feelings. Help him understand them.”
“Un-confuse him,” Rick interrupted, laughing. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. He phones you night after night, he sends a doctor to check on you and he talks to you about his childhood and his dreams. Men don’t easily share things like that.”
Alain leaned forward as if he wanted to be close to me. “Elizabeth,” he said in his quiet, serious voice, “Khalid Nouri aside, it’s time to put what happened behind you.”
“That’s not what’s holding me back, Alain. Not really.” Khalid Nouri could be many things, but he wasn’t an abuser.
Alain had an uncanny ability to identify the core of the problem. “If you worry about what will happen when Simmons gets out, don’t. He’ll get a friendly reminder to stay away from you. He’ll understand it, trust me.”
I exhaled and nodded.
Alain blew me a kiss. “If you like Khalid Nouri, go for it. Give yourself a chance. Give him a chance. From all we were able to find out, he’s a fine man.”
“You two seem to absolutely trust Christian Enescu’s opinion of Khalid Nouri. Do you realize he’s our only source?”
“Yes,” Rick said. “But Enescu is trustworthy. If anything was off, he’d tell us. Besides, we didn’t tell him you’d be working for Nouri.”
“If we had,” Alain said with a smile, “Christian might have been less objective.”
I rolled my eyes. Would they ever stop teasing me about Christian? As if I didn’t have my own doubts about my decision to keep him at arm’s length. Christian was a fascinating man, not to mention sexy as hell. “I would’ve lived in Switzerland now if I’d wanted to date him, and you’d be miserable here without me,” I said. “So be grateful I hadn’t.”
“Or he would’ve lived here and been our partner. Imagine the possibilities,” Rick said, mocking me with a wag of his finger. “Try not to screw up with Nouri, hon, if you care about him.”
I laughed. “I’ll do my best not to.”