SARAH DIDN’T ASK, simply satisfied to be with Harry as they talked beside the elephant then wandered back through the beautiful orchard, hands linked and bodies touching, and back into the palace.
‘I think I’ll show you the souks—the markets—tomorrow,’ Harry announced as he handed her over to another young woman. ‘Lea will take you back to your room and bring breakfast in the morning. Is eight too early for you? I would like to get out before it gets too hot.’
It was beyond weird, Sarah decided, listening as Harry spoke to Lea, apparently giving her orders for the morning.
‘I have told her to make sure you have something suitable to wear—well covered so the sun doesn’t damage your skin.’
Such ordinary words, but his eyes were saying other things.
Saying that he cared about her?
Loved her?
She frowned and he reached out and smoothed the frown away.
‘Don’t worry, everything is arranged,’ he told her. ‘And tomorrow I will show you the souks.’
His fingers slid down to rest lightly on her cheek.
‘Goodnight, Sarah,’ he said, then turned and walked away.
‘This way,’ Lea said, her English clear, unaccented.
So why had Harry spoken to her in their native tongue? Had he said more than telling her to make sure Sarah covered up?
‘He told me to make sure I take special care of you,’ Lea said, apparently reading Sarah’s mind. ‘It is unusual for him to speak our language in front of a guest so you must be very important to him.’
Was she?
He’d said not to worry—everything was sorted—but was he speaking of the marriage arrangement? Was it because it had been sorted—his betrothal broken?—that he could take her out on dates? He’d said he could never marry another woman while he felt the way he did about her, but what way did he feel exactly? And if that feeling ceased, what then?
Sarah shook her head, suddenly exhausted. She sank down on the bed in the beautiful room and shook her head when Lea offered help.
‘I’ll be fine, thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.’
The girl disappeared on silent feet.
Too tired to do anything more than brush her teeth and wash her face, Sarah stripped off her clothes and climbed into bed. She had pyjamas somewhere in her luggage, but again they were for winter in London.
London. She must phone her parents, let them know when she’d be home.
But when would she be home?
And what time would it be there now?
Her brain refused to think about it, so she turned over and went to sleep on a mattress that seemed more like a cloud than something solid, and with a faint rose scent lingering in the pillows beneath her head.
Roses and Harry and an elephant called Rajah—they’d be entwined in her mind forever.
That was her first thought on awakening to a bright, sunny day—perhaps all days were bright and sunny here—and Lea bringing in a tea tray, asking what she’d like for breakfast, offering to fix a platter of the things they usually ate.
‘That sounds lovely,’ Sarah told her, sitting up with the bedclothes wrapped around her.
As soon as Lea left, she leapt from the bed, had a quick shower, and pulled on a clean towelling dressing gown that was folded on a shelf in the bathroom.
Decent now, she poured some tea and took it across to the window so she could look out at the small courtyard garden while she drank it. There was something magical about it because, just looking at the patterns of the hedges and paths and the different greens in the garden, she felt at peace with the world.
Yes, she had a ‘date’ with Harry, and had no idea what would happen next, so she’d just take life as it came, enjoying the company of the man she was pretty sure she loved, for all the impossibility of it.
For now, just being with him would have to be enough.
* * *
Harry had an early breakfast with his mother, enjoying the traditional tastes of the yoghurt with honey, thick date bread and milky coffee.
‘Are you happy, my son?’ his mother asked, and he could only stare at her, for she rarely asked personal questions. But when she did, she would expect an honest answer.
‘Not entirely,’ he admitted, ‘although having Sarah here, being able to show her a little of our country, that makes me happy.’
‘You are from very different worlds,’ Hera said, watching him over the rim of the wide cup while she sipped her coffee.
‘I know that, little mother,’ Harry said. ‘Just as I know, and I think you know, that my little brother would be a better ruler.’
‘So you could move to her world?’
Harry shook his head. He had no idea where Sarah’s world would be. She’d escaped to Australia to get over a tragedy but she was rebuilt now. Would she want to continue to live there? Might not her parents want her nearer as they aged?
London! Could he live in London again without regretting every minute of every day that he had lost?
‘I don’t think the question of either of our worlds will arise, little mother. I think now Sarah has found herself again, she will realise how much the future has to offer her. I may not be part of it.’
His mother was silent. Which was just as well, because when he said those words, he suddenly realised that since breaking the arrangement with the family of the woman he was supposed to marry, he had not considered whether marriage lay ahead for him and Sarah.
He’d just known he couldn’t continue to see her—even for a date—while he was promised to someone else.
But in saying the words—the ‘not being part of her life’ bit—he’d felt pain, deep within his body, and he knew he wanted her, perhaps needed her, beside him forever.
Somewhere...
* * *
‘When you look at all the sandals and shoes outside the different doors, I have to wonder how my shoes always end up outside the door I’m going out of,’ Sarah said, turning to Harry with a puzzled frown as she slipped on her shoes.
‘There’s no mystery,’ Harry told her, ‘as those of us who live here probably have sandals at every door, so the servants know the strange shoes in the line.’
‘And know what door the strange-shoe wearer will be using next?’ Sarah teased, and Harry smiled.
His mind might be in turmoil over what lay ahead, but his body was so happy to be with Sarah, even if it was only for one more day, that he probably wouldn’t stop smiling.
How asinine!
But she did look beautiful. She was wearing traditional flowing trousers in a pale orange colour and a long-sleeved tunic over them, with embroidery around the hem and cuffs of the sleeves in a darker colour, almost the red of her hair.
On top of it all, she’d slapped on a wide-brimmed orange hat.
‘Your mother found this for me,’ she said, pointing to the hat. ‘She’s worried I might get burnt but I’ve used plenty of sunscreen, and you said we’d be back home before the day got too hot.’
Home?
Could Sarah ever think of Ambelia as home?
It was important because he’d realised on this visit that no matter where he lived, Ambelia would always be home.
* * *
Just happy to be with Harry again, on their own, out on a date, Sarah sat in the big four-wheel drive vehicle and looked out at the country they were driving through as they left the palace.
It wasn’t desert, but rocky, red-gold country, and red cliffs scoured by the wind.
‘They’re like the cliffs at Sunset Beach, aren’t they?’
Harry smiled.
‘I thought you’d like them.’
Like I like you, Sarah thought, as her eyes remained focussed on the countryside while her mind mused over ‘like’ and ‘love’—two small words, but very important in the whole scheme of things.
Because they led to bonds, and, no matter how much people thought they could manage on their own, most needed friends and family, people they liked and loved.
And ‘hated’, probably, but that was a far uglier four-letter word—
‘This road ahead is my father’s pride and joy.’
Harry’s voice brought her out of the internal debate she was having, and she looked ahead to see a wide motorway, lined by palm trees and with a median strip planted with smaller, squatter trees that still looked like palms.
‘Dwarf date palms,’ Harry said, pointing to the smaller trees. ‘My father likes to play around with plants and helped develop those. He says they make it easier for children to eat dates straight from the tree, and every child should have such pleasure.’
The pride in Harry’s voice told her how close his family were, something she’d suspected when she’d met so many of them the previous evening.
‘That’s a lovely idea, but how many of them are skittled by the cars roaring down this motorway?’
‘Not one,’ Harry replied, pointing an overhead walkway, looking more like an exotic sculpture, with steps twisting down to the median strip.
‘Those walkways are scattered along the road—about every two hundred metres—and are built to resemble climbing frames in playgrounds so the kids can have an adventure on their way to grab some dates.’
Sarah was about to ask if they were used when she heard the excited shouts of children racing each other down the twisting stairway.
Children!
There’d been children at the dinner, so obviously they were important to the families.
Don’t think about it, just enjoy them.
‘Where do they come from?’ she asked, seeing the little forms darting among the small trees.
‘Beyond the noise barriers are quite large housing developments. A lot of the overseas workers live out this way. Many come from very poor and crowded cities and having space is paradise to them. As the city has grown we have needed them for the skills they bring, from architects and doctors down to people who can drive a back hoe.’
Looking beyond the taller palms, Sarah could now see the noise barriers, painted with various scenes of both desert and the sea.
‘And here’s the city,’ Harry announced, and there it was, tall towers rising from the barren ground into the bluest of blue skies. ‘We skirt around it to the old town. There are shopping malls and other stores in the city, but for a taste of Ambelia as it was, we keep the old city mostly undeveloped.’
Ahead, earthen walls like she’d seen at the palace came into view. Harry pulled into the shade by a wide arched gate.
‘You can take vehicles inside, but do so at your own risk. The roads are jammed with old cars, bikes, donkeys and camels, but, come, you’ll see for yourself.’
They walked through the gate into a world of noise and colour.
‘Here on the right are the camel markets. Once a week, breeders bring their camels here to sell or trade. Many people still live in the old way and use camels for transport, but today they are mainly bred for tourism and for racing, and as tourists like pretty camels, there’s great competition to breed the prettiest.’
Sarah smiled.
‘A camel beauty contest,’ she said, looking around the covered stalls where a few of the animals rested.
Harry took her hand and squeezed her fingers—first-date style—and although she tried to tell herself it didn’t mean anything, her heart leapt at the touch.
‘Now we’re into the markets proper,’ he said. ‘This area is for fabrics and clothes.’
‘Yes, well, I could have guessed that one! But how could anyone choose?’
Sarah looked around in disbelief as traditional outfits danced on hangers on both sides of the narrow alley. Bolts of brightly coloured cloth stood amongst the outfits, and trimmings dangled temptingly from rods across each stall.
‘No prize for guessing this one,’ Harry said, when suddenly they were surrounded by metalware. Large jugs and huge pots, silver, bronze and brass, gleamed in the sunlight, the intricate patterns incised into them flashing out ‘buy me’ lures.
‘The shapes are so beautiful,’ Sarah murmured, lifting up a tall, graceful jug, running her fingers down its exquisite lines, thinking of the jug in Harry’s bure that had brought them both together.
‘They are traditional shapes, going back thousands of years,’ Harry told her, as she thought of her luggage and reluctantly put the jug down. ‘All such household items, even plates and platters, were made in metal so they could be easily transported without fear of them being broken.’
Sarah moved behind him through the crowds, as aware of him, in this crowded alleyway, as if they’d been alone together. Wanting to touch him, brush lightly at his shoulder, his hand...
‘Now the gold. Prepare to be dazzled.’
Harry led her to the right, and she was dazzled. Jewellery of every type hung from hooks and rods and stands like trees, right out in front of their eyes in places, so to get down the alley at times they had to walk sideways.
Delicate filigree earrings hung beside chunky gold chains, trailing gold necklaces, up to eight strands in each one, competed with gold bangles and bracelets.
‘Who buys it all?’ Sarah asked, stunned by such an array of wealth.
‘Families,’ Harry explained. ‘Or lovers, I suppose.’
He grinned at her, then explained.
‘It is mainly families. If their daughter takes gold into a marriage, it is hers forever, so if the marriage breaks down, or her husband dies, she will still have money to live on. These days it is not so important because a husband has to support his wife even if they part, and his family would support his widow. But going back, when people lived in tribes, to avoid too much intermarriage a woman would often be married to a man from far away. The gold meant she would always be able to make her way back home if the marriage didn’t work out.’
‘I think that’s lovely in theory,’ Sarah told him, hefting a heavy chain in one hand. ‘But would her husband let her go?’
‘Usually, yes,’ Harry replied, ‘although there have been, and always will be, bad husbands and probably bad wives.’
Sarah nodded. It was only too true and confirmed what Hera had said about the necessity for women’s shelters.
‘So, may I buy you something?’
The question startled her and she looked at the man she was with—then shook her head.
‘Not on a first date—or even a second date if we count meeting Rajah as the first.’
Harry smiled at her, and her insides melted.
This was not a good idea.
She should have left, flown home that morning. Her and Harry’s lives were already complicated enough, and being here, especially in the souk, was a reminder of just how different their worlds were.
But the tour continued, through fresh fruit and vegetable markets, then the smell of fresh baked bread drew them down another alleyway.
‘We will stop for coffee and a cake here, if you would like,’ Harry suggested, leading the way into the dim interior of one of many small shops and cafés.
The man at the door bowed his head briefly in Harry’s direction, and Sarah realised it had been going on throughout their ramble along the alleyways, people nodding deferentially to the man she was with.
She’d taken the first nods as those of passing acquaintances, but unless he knew everyone in Ambelia the nods must be acknowledgement of his royal position.
Had he nodded back?
Sarah couldn’t remember, but thinking of it now as the nodding café owner showed them to a table, she realised just how different this world was.
Not only the wealth displayed at the palace, the wardrobes full of clothes for guests who might never wear them, but the acceptance of and acknowledgement by the people that this man was someone special.
And there she’d been, wandering along behind him, because to her he was just Harry.
Well, not just Harry!
‘If you’ve fallen asleep on your feet it’s definitely time for coffee, but, I warn you, our coffee is thick and dark and sweet and comes in tiny cups with water to drink with it.’
He took her elbow and guided her to a seat.
Sarah watched him as he sat down opposite her and spoke quietly to the man who was serving them.
But all her attention was on Harry, although in his robes he had to be Rahman, and Rahman was a prince. Not only that but he was, for all his dislike of the idea, heir to the throne.
Expected to produce more heirs, to keep the family dynasty going...
The tiny coffee cups arrived with a platter of small buns and cakes and a jug in the shape of the one Sarah had admired in the market, condensation from the cold water inside beading on the intricately engraved design.
She traced the line again with her fingers, picking up a little moisture, thinking about Harry and Rahman and families and history and tradition...
And although she hadn’t given it much thought, the robes definitely defined him as regal, as did his bearing and the sense of authority that hung like the robes around him.
He was slipping away from her—from being Harry—or maybe distancing himself from her, hence the platonic ‘dates’ they were enjoying.
And she was enjoying this exploration of a country so different from her own, so she decided the only sensible thing was to keep enjoying it and work out the rest later.
After the coffee and cakes, they went back to the palace, Harry having promised his mother not to keep Sarah out in the midday heat. He touched her cheek as he left her at the door to her room.
‘I have some things to discuss with my father, but you have a rest, and at four I will collect you to take you to see my sunset!’
His fingers lingered on her skin, caressing it gently, and she longed to put her hand on his, to hold it where it was.
Because right then he was definitely Harry, although the man she’d known was already slipping away from her, leaving Rahman in his place.
* * *
‘Later’ came much sooner than Sarah had expected. She had slept, her body clock adjusting itself, no doubt, and was woken by Lea bringing tea and offering delicacies in case Sarah was hungry.
But sleep had left her head muzzy, too muzzy to think about anything that might lie ahead—too muzzy to think, really.
She showered and allowed Lea to choose her outfit—blue loose trousers with a gauzy blue and green top, embroidered around the neck with green thread and sequins.
‘Surely that’s too fancy for a drive to the desert?’ Sarah protested, but Lea insisted it was perfect.
When Sarah was dressed, Lea handed her a scarf, draping it around Sarah’s face.
‘I don’t think so,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. The tunics and trousers are common sense, but unless it is a special day and I need to keep my hair completely covered, I think I’ll take the hat.’
‘But it’s orange,’ Lea protested. ‘And the scarf is big enough to wrap around your shoulders if it becomes cool.’
Sarah took both, but the hat, when she put it on, did look terrible with the outfit, so she slathered on extra sunscreen and hoped the setting sun would be gentle on her skin.
Harry was waiting by the door in the big entry hall, and he was Harry again, dressed in pale cream chinos and a dark grey shirt. Her heart did that silly flip it insisted on doing when she first caught sight of him, and she realised that, instead of sleeping, she should have been doing some serious thinking.
Too late now, her body told her, reacting with delight to his touch on her elbow.
* * *
She was ravishing, Harry decided, as Sarah, escorted by Lea, seemed to glide towards him.
From her long, slim feet to the tip of her vibrant red hair, she was just gorgeous! The colour of the tunic brought out the green of her eyes, and made her skin seem even paler in contrast.
He wanted to touch her, to hold her, to whisper some of what was in his heart, but good manners and protocol dictated he simply take her hand and raise it to his lips.
Colour crept into her face, and a flash of something lit her eyes. Excitement? Happiness?
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, and she smiled.
‘Thank Lea for it—she tells me what to wear.’
She turned to Lea, but the girl had already disappeared on soundless feet.
‘It is not the clothes that make you beautiful but the woman inside them,’ he said, hoping he was making sense because for some reason he felt like a schoolboy—a youngster on his real first date. ‘Come,’ he said, steadying her while she put on her shoes. ‘Today you’re going to see my sand.’
That was better. He was back in control.
‘And feel it run like silk through my fingers?’ she asked, and he smiled, remembering the conversation on the beach.
His body tightened as he remembered the aftermath of that conversation and the aftermath of most conversations on the beach. He wanted her so badly, but having spoken to his father about his brother succeeding to the throne instead of him, and receiving his father’s blessings for a marriage to this woman, he now had to be extra-careful how he was with her, for he didn’t want the faintest hint of gossip to sully her name.
Bearing in mind, of course, that she might not want him.
That thought disturbed him so much he shut the door of the car more forcibly than he should have, winning raised eyebrows from the beautiful woman who was causing him so much gut-wrenching stress.
He reached out and touched her thigh, his hand low where no prying eyes would see the gesture.
‘I want you so badly it’s driving me insane,’ he muttered, then he removed his hand, placed it on the steering wheel and drove sedately out of the palace grounds, raising his hand in salute to the gatemen who stood as the vehicle approached.
‘Are they guards?’ Sarah asked, and, glad to have his mind diverted, he explained.
‘We do have some security but it’s largely electronic today. Specialists sit in a room surrounded by monitors to keep an eye on things, but the gatemen have been here always, the jobs passing down through generations. I think originally they acted as watchmen in the nomad camps. They are family, too, you know, and these days their sons and daughters go to university, yet there always seem to be some gatemen around.’
‘And do they live here?’
Was she asking out of interest, or to keep the conversation going?
To take her mind off things she might like to do to him?
He doubted it, although the more time he spent with Sarah the less he felt he knew her, yet a certainty that she was his remained.
He was explaining that all the servants had apartments within the walls when he realised he’d lost her attention.
‘Ahh!’
The long, soft sigh came as he turned off the motorway and almost immediately the land on either side of the road gave way from palm trees to red desert sand.
‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered, gazing around at distant dunes and the smaller baby dunes shifting towards the road.
‘Do they shift all the time?’ she asked.
‘All the time,’ he agreed, ‘but unlike the sea the tide of sand is always coming in. Those little dunes will blow across the road unless they’re blown back by machines. We don’t like to interfere with nature if we don’t have to, but in time the sand would cover every road if left to its own devices.’
He turned into the desert now, along a track that was barely there, driving through a dry wadi then up along the wall of a tall dune. From the top, he knew, they’d have a perfect view of the sunset, and to watch the sunset there with Sarah had suddenly become extremely important.