THE wheels of the large Boeing hit the tarmac, accompanied by the shrill scream of brakes as the passenger jet decelerated down the runway, then cruised into its designated bay at Heathrow airport.
Kristi moved through the terminal, showed her passport, then made her way to the revolving carousel, waited for her luggage to come through, collected it and completed Customs.
Securing a taxi was achieved without delay, and Kristi sank into the rear seat as the driver stowed her bags in the boot. Minutes later the vehicle eased forward into the queue of traffic seeking exit from the busy terminal.
The weather was dull and overcast, cool after the heat of Riyadh, and she fixed her attention beyond the windscreen as the taxi moved smoothly along the bitumen.
A complexity of emotions racked her body, not the least of which was relief that Shane was safe.
Saying goodbye to Shalef as she’d transferred from his Lear jet onto a commercial flight in Bahrain had been the most difficult part of all. Despite her resolve to keep their parting low-key, his brief, hard kiss had stung her lips, and his words of farewell had held the courteous tones of a business associate rather than the emotional intensity of a lover.
What did you expect? she demanded silently. You were attracted to the man, succumbed to his magnetic sex appeal, and shared a few days and nights of passion. Don’t fool yourself it was anything other than that.
A week from now you’ll be back in Australia, and a romantic interlude in the desert with a Saudi Arabian sheikh of English birth will gradually fade into obscurity.
But she knew that she’d never be able to forget him, and that no man could take his place.
Love, desire, passion. Were the three interdependent, or could they be separated and judged alone? The cold, hard fact was that women were far more prey to emotions than men.
Kristi viewed the streets of London, the traffic, and watched dispassionately as the taxi slid into the wide parking bay adjacent to her centrally placed hotel.
Within a matter of minutes a porter had taken charge of her bag and she was traversing the wide carpeted foyer to Reception.
On being shown to her room she unpacked only what was necessary, discarded her clothes, took a long, hot shower, then opted for a few hours’ sleep, for despite it being mid-morning her body-clock was attuned to a different time-zone and she hadn’t closed her eyes during the long flight.
When she woke it was early evening, and she donned a robe, made herself a cup of tea, then perused the room-service menu. After dinner she’d ring Sir Alexander Harrington and apprise him of Shane’s release.
At nine she switched on the television and alternated channels until way past midnight, slept briefly, then rose and showered ready for an early breakfast.
Loath to venture far from the hotel in case a message came in regarding Shane’s expected arrival, she met Georgina in one of the hotel’s restaurants for an extended lunch.
‘Tell me,’ Georgina cajoled when they had eaten the entrée, done justice to the main course, and were partway through a delicious concoction of fresh fruit and ice cream.
Kristi lifted her head and met her friend’s teasing smile. ‘Tell you what?’
‘Shane’s release is wonderful. It made the initial subterfuge worthwhile.’ Georgina’s eyes sparkled with intense interest as she leaned forward. ‘But give me the details on Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed.’
‘What details?’
‘I refuse to believe you weren’t attracted to the man.’
It would have been so easy to confide in a trusted friend, but to do so would only have caused Kristi pain and, perhaps, a feeling of regret. ‘He was a very gracious host,’ she said carefully.
‘Kristi,’ Georgina admonished her, ‘you’re being evasive.’
‘OK, what do you want me to say? That he’s a wildly sensual man who has women falling at his feet with practically every step he takes?’ As you did, a silent voice taunted. She’d been gone two days. Had he contacted any one of his many women friends in Riyadh—Fayza?—dined with her, perhaps sated his sexual appetite in her bed? Dear God, even the thought made her feel physically ill.
‘Aren’t you going to finish dessert?’
Kristi collected herself together. ‘No. Shall we order coffee?’
That evening she dined with Sir Alexander and Georgina, and when she returned to the hotel there was a coded message indicating that Shane was due to arrive the following morning.
Sleep was almost impossible and caught in intermittent snatches. With no knowledge of what flight he’d be on, or where it was coming from, she could only wait.
The telephone call came through shortly before midday, and at the sound of her brother’s voice all the pent-up emotion culminated in a rush of tears.
‘You’re in the same hotel?’ She couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it until she saw him. ‘What floor, what room number?’
‘Order a meal from Room Service, a magnum of champagne, and give me twenty minutes to shower and shave,’ Shane instructed, adding gently, ‘Then I’ll join you.’
He made it in fifteen, and once inside her room he swooped her up in a bear hug and swung her round in a circle before depositing her on her feet. ‘Hi there.’ His smile was the same, his laughter as bright as ever, but he looked tired and he’d lost weight. He was tall, his hair darker than hers—a deep brown with a hint auburn—and he had strong features and a skin texture that bore exposure to the sun.
‘Hi, yourself,’ Kristi said softly, leading him to the table set at one end of the room. The food had arrived only minutes before, and she watched as he took a seat, uncorked the champagne, then filled two flutes.
‘Here’s to being back in one piece.’
‘Unharmed?’
‘As you see.’
‘I think,’ Kristi ventured unsteadily, ‘you’d better consider assignments in less politically volatile countries. I don’t want to go through this again in a hurry.’
His eyes—deep brown flecked with topaz like her own—speared hers. ‘Point taken. Off the record, whose influence did you employ to gain my release?’
‘Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed’s.’
An expressive, soft whistle escaped his lips. ‘Should I ask how you made contact with him?’
‘Initially through Sir Alexander Harrington.’
‘And?’
She effected a faint shrug. ‘I gave my word.’ There was no need to say why, or to whom. Shane possessed the same degree of integrity with his sources.
‘Do I get to meet Al-Sayed?’
‘Possibly. Maybe.’ She lifted a hand and smoothed back her hair. ‘I’m not sure.’
He noted the nervous gesture, the faint tenseness at the edge of her mouth, and clenched his teeth. If she’d been hurt, by anyone, there would be hell to pay.
‘So, tell me what happened,’ Kristi encouraged, and Shane took up the story from the time of his capture. She recognised the holes he failed to fill, and accepted them.
‘This afternoon a statement will be issued to the media,’ he concluded with weary resignation. ‘I’ll be caught up with interviews, television. Then I fly back to Sydney tomorrow afternoon.’
‘So soon?’
‘The Australian media will want their piece of the action,’ he said wryly. ‘Then I’m going to lie low for a while.’
‘Maybe I can get the same flight,’ she said pensively. It seemed an age since she’d left home, and she wanted to resume her life from where she’d left off...how long ago? Five weeks? It felt like half a lifetime.
‘No. That wouldn’t be advisable. Give it a few days, then follow me.’
She looked at him carefully, seeing the visible signs of strain and tiredness, and expressed her concern. ‘You should get some sleep.’
‘I will. I’ll ring through when I can, but it may not be until tomorrow morning,’ he warned as he stood up.
Kristi saw him out, then closed the door behind him.
Within hours of Shane’s departure Kristi secured a flight for Sydney for a few days ahead. Once the booking had been made and she had her ticket, her leaving seemed more of a reality.
Filling those days required little effort as Georgina took charge, first of all dragging her into Harrods, then following it with dinner and a show. The following morning was devoted to attending a beauty parlour for a massage, facial, pedicure, manicure, followed by lunch and a movie.
‘Tonight is mine,’ Kristi declared as they emerged from the cinema in the late afternoon. ‘I’m going back to the hotel, ordering room service, followed by an early night.’ She gave her friend a stern look. ‘And no arguments. I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow afternoon.’
‘So what? You sleep on the plane.’ Georgina was carried away with enthusiasm. ‘We could go to a nightclub.’
‘And get home at three in the morning? No, thanks.’
‘Ifs your last night in town,’ Georgina protested. ‘You can’t spend it alone.’
‘Watch me.’
‘You leave me no choice but to ring Jeremy and have him take me out.’
‘Enjoy,’ Kristi bade her, offering a wicked grin, and Georgina laughed.
‘I will, believe me.’ She leaned forward and pecked Kristi’s cheek. ‘You only have a block to walk to the hotel. I’ll catch a taxi. See you at the airport tomorrow.’
It was almost six when Kristi entered the hotel foyer and took the lift to her floor. There were no messages, and she ordered room service, then stripped off her clothes and pulled on a robe.
Her meal arrived, and she picked at it, then pushed the plate aside. Television failed to hold her interest, and at ten she cleansed her face of make-up, brushed her teeth then slid into bed, only to lie awake staring at the ceiling, fervently wishing that she had agreed to go out with Georgina. At least the bright lights and loud music would have done something to alleviate this dreadful sense of despondency.
She must have fallen asleep, and when she woke the next morning it was late. A shower did much to restore her equanimity, and she ordered breakfast, then made a start with her packing.
A double knock at her door heralded the arrival of Room Service, and she moved across the room to unlock it and allow the waiter access.
But no waiter resembled the tall, dark-haired, immaculately suited man standing in the aperture.