HE WAS in London.
Since their last night together, as surely as Georgie checked her horoscope in the morning, so too she typed ‘Zaraq’ into her search engine.
Clicked ‘News’.
And just as she had so often, she scrolled through the latest offerings.
The illness that had crippled the country was all but over.
Hassan and Jamal had brought their baby home.
The king was pleased with his youngest son, so pleased that after a brief return home the king had again headed for the UK to resume business. Her eyes scanned faster than her fingers could click and though Ibrahim was often mentioned, today was not one of those days.
For four days now there had been no mention of him, but he was in London Georgie was sure, because Felicity had been vague when Georgie had tried to find out, and though there was no way she could properly explain it, her body told her so.
It was the hardest thing to continue working.
As much as her medically minded sister raised an eyebrow, as much as it didn’t make logical sense, Georgie’s work was more than touch, more than scent. To be effective it required a piece of herself, and as Georgie greeted her clients throughout the week, there weren’t many pieces left to give.
Between each one she checked her phone, her messages, her emails.
She fed the craving that would not abate then forced herself to go on.
‘I had booked a scalp massage, but tonight I have to go out.’ Sophia Porter was a new client and Georgie checked carefully through the questionnaire she had filled in. ‘Perhaps I should rebook, though I was hoping I could purchase something…’ The woman closed her blue eyes and pressed her middle finger to her forehead. ‘I suffer with migraines. I’ve tried so many medicines, so many different treatments.’
‘Why don’t you let me give you a hand massage?’ Georgie offered, because it was her favourite initial contact. It was so non-invasive. It was often all her young clients would allow, but as the woman wavered, perhaps thinking Georgie was being pushy, she offered, ‘Complimentary, and you can see if it helps before you buy anything.’
Sophia rested back in the chair, and Georgie prepared her oils. She had no ready-made blends, preferring to assess the client first and make her choices instinctively.
Lavender was a favourite for migraines, but sensing Sophia’s anxiety she added clary sage and then a drop of marjoram, then Georgie moistened her hands with the fragrant brew and took her patient’s hands.
Like a kitten who had never been let out, the woman’s hands were soft, quite beautiful in fact, long fingered and exquisitely manicured, but despite Georgie’s best efforts her client would not relax, asking Georgie questions. Sometimes talking relaxed people, so Georgie told Sophia she’d just got back from holiday.
‘Anywhere nice?’
‘My elder sister lives in Zaraq. It’s an island—’
‘I have heard of it.’ Sophia smiled.
Georgie opened another vial and took out the dropper. Some melissa might help to help relax her client, and with scent being a key to memory, in that moment she was back in the desert. Her hands stopped working as well as they had, because they were shaking a little as she recalled him. As she paused to regroup, Sophia closed her eyes and inhaled.
‘Ah, Bal-samin…’ Sophia relaxed back in the chair. ‘Tell me about Zaraq. Is it very beautiful?’
‘Very,’ Georgie admitted, and she felt the woman’s hand relax as she talked and so she talked some more, told her about the endless sands and the miracle of finding a shell in the middle of a desert. She pulled gently on each finger in turn till the tension seeped out; she told her of the sky that went on for ever and the sun that beat down, feeling like a skullcap on your head, of the mad winds and strange rules, and when it hurt to recall it, when she could not speak of it and not weep, she looked up and saw her client asleep.
‘My headache is gone,’ Sophia said when Georgie woke her gently. Despite Georgie’s protests, she insisted on paying and also purchased some melissa oil, and she gave the most enormous tip. ‘You have a gift.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Could I book again?’
‘Of course.’ Georgie opened up her calendar on screen, and went to type in details from the form Sophia had filled in.
‘Mrs?’ Georgie checked. ‘Or Ms? You didn’t put your title.’
‘There wasn’t a box for “Queen”.’ Sophia said, and Georgie felt her heart still, felt as if she had been lied to. ‘Put Ms. That is what I go by here—it is far easier than trying to explain.’
‘You weren’t here for a massage?’
‘No,’ Sophia admitted, ‘but I will be back again—if you will have me. I really have had the most terrible headache. I never thought a massage could clear it but I was wrong.’ She gave Georgie a tired smile. ‘I worry about my son.’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘I have. He is here in London.’ Georgie’s heart leapt but only for a moment because now it was confirmed he was here, it hurt that he hadn’t made any attempt to call. ‘And you are every bit as beautiful as he describes, every bit as warm and as loving.’
‘He’s spoken about me?’
‘Ibrahim is not one for confiding but, yes, finally he admitted what was on his mind. He misses you.’
‘He hasn’t called.’
‘He worries about you,’ Sophia said. ‘Worries at the cruel press you will receive in Zaraq and what it will do to you.’ She gave Georgie a smile. ‘He saw what it did to me. I left, and for two years the press went wild about me. My husband forgave my indiscretion, the people of Zaraq did not. But I do not need their forgiveness. I have a wonderful life here, and my husband comes often.’
‘But you miss it?’
Sophia gave a nonchalant shrug, ‘Sometimes—but I am happy here, where I can be myself. I have told Ibrahim the same.’ Sophia denied the pain in her soul and looked Georgie in the eye as she did so. Not for a second did she feel guilty for lying. All she saw was the chance to keep her son.
To avoid losing the last of her family to the desert.
For years she had pleaded with Ibrahim not to return and for many of those she had never thought he would. Yet since the wedding there had been a restlessness to him that at first she had tried to ignore, but seeing him from afar lead a county in crisis, hearing him talk about building a future for the people of Zaraq, she had been sure she had lost him—that again the desert had won.
Then he had told her about Georgie, about a woman who could never live there, a woman that he loved, and finally Sophia saw a way into the future, with a family to grow old with, with grandchildren who weren’t strangers and Christmas and birthdays not taken alone.
‘You can have both worlds,’ she had told him. ‘Don’t turn your back on love. You will find a way, Ibrahim. Together you can work it out.’
And she told Georgie the same thing.
‘He told me you were fragile, and of all you have been through.’ And that confused Georgie, because she thought Ibrahim saw her differently. ‘But you are not ill now. I can see for myself that you are strong. If the papers in Zaraq speak badly of you, you will not crumple. Anyway, as I pointed out to my son, you will be here. He can protect you, defend you… He should not let your past affect your future.’
‘I don’t think we’ve got a future.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Sophia smiled. ‘I know how you feel, Georgie. I understand your fears, and if you need someone to talk to, if you want to talk to someone who can relate, you have my details.’