JAMES, WHO HAD always hated spring, simply because it meant the end of the skiing season, started to sink into this one. He enjoyed the laughter, and evenings spent getting to know Leila better.
The money in Leila’s drawer grew and grew and the restaurant where she still worked had an undercover princess that was proving a sensation on her own.
She seemed happy by day, but James loathed her tears at night. He had decided that he would do what he could to resolve things, but Arabic, James soon found out, was a spectacularly hard language to learn.
Even with a very experienced teacher.
Day after day he sat in a small office with smaller windows and, even three weeks into his lessons, James had barely got past the alphabet and a few small phrases. ‘You were never going to be fluent in a matter of weeks.’ Nadir, his coach, merely smiled at his frustration late one Friday afternoon.
‘I was good at languages at school,’ James said. ‘I just don’t feel that I’m getting anywhere.’
‘You shall if you persist,’ Nadir said. ‘Now, I am away next week, but I have given you plenty to work on. Could you perhaps try speaking in Arabic with Leila?’
James shook his head. He was trying to prove his competence, not his idiocy. He had fast learned to school himself in private. He remembered the disapproval of his father—every Christmas card, every birthday card he had written had earned him hours more homework for poor handwriting. It had been the same with French and the same again with Latin. Michael Chatsfield seemed to believe that children should be born fully trilingual and with a healthy understanding of applied mathematics.
‘Your hair’s nice,’ James said as he came into their suite.
She had had it curled and it was loosely pinned up and though she was wearing a towel all her make-up was on. They were going out tonight and could not be late, though he hadn’t told Leila where he was taking her.
‘Busy day?’ Leila asked.
‘Frustrating,’ James said as he rapidly undressed for the shower.
She wondered when he said frustrating if he was referring again to the lack of sex, because since that night there had been nothing.
By her choice.
Though James to his credit had not pushed her.
Perhaps she knew why?
Leila loathed how he quickly stripped, and was starting to think that the fact he came home each night smelling of some other’s perfume was the reason.
She expected no less—a quintessential playboy forced into marriage who, by his own admission, came from a family of cheats.
James jumped in surprise when she walked into the bathroom where he was showering and saw that she had her angry-camel face on. ‘What?’ he asked.
Had the maids left a crumb on the floor perchance, or not brewed her herbal tea to perfection again?
James turned off the taps. ‘What?’
‘Don’t be with another.’
‘Where the hell did that come from?’
‘I have a sensitive nose, James.’
‘You have a beautiful nose,’ James said, ‘as does our baby.’
‘Don’t change the subject.’
Should he tell her? James wondered. Should he just admit that he was trying to learn Arabic so that he could speak with her father, so he could somehow make things better for Leila and their child? That the scent she smelled was Nadir’s rather unsubtle perfume.
No, because three weeks into learning Arabic and James was seriously wondering if his goal was achievable and he did not want her to know that he had failed.
‘I would never cheat, Leila.’ He was direct and honest; he just didn’t give her all of the truth. ‘A night with my parents only reinforces to me that I don’t want a marriage like that.’
‘Why did you rush into the shower?’
‘I told you, I’m taking you on a date tonight.’ He looked at her narrowed eyes. ‘Could you go, please,’ James said as she still stood there. ‘Or you’re welcome to get in.’
That got rid of her!
He came out to the sight of Leila in one of her new robes, a lilac one.
‘You look stunning.’
‘Thank you.’
Leila felt stunning. Her wardrobe was filled now with robes of soft lilacs and pinks and pale lemons—and they suited her far better than the silver and gold ones that she used to wear.
She felt like herself when she looked in the mirror.
James was looking immaculate too, and he had even shaved! He came up behind her and they looked at each other in the mirror.
‘I’m planning something, Leila,’ James said. ‘And it has your best interests at heart, so when I’m vague, that’s where I am. If you’re going to jump to the possibility I’m cheating every time I don’t tell you exactly where I’ve been, then expect boring presents and surprises at Christmas and birthdays.’
That mollified her a little. ‘Where are you taking me?’ Leila asked again.
To bed, James wanted to say but settled for, ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘Am I overdressed?’
‘Can a princess ever be overdressed?’
He looked at her body; her breasts were bigger and he ached to touch them. Her stomach at sixteen weeks was just becoming noticeable to others but they were both extraordinarily excited by the tiny swell.
Badly he wanted to touch her.
Badly she wanted him too.
‘Come on,’ James said. ‘We can’t be late.’
His driver dropped them at the Lincoln Center and still Leila did not have a clue. They walked past a lit-up fountain along with others to Avery Fisher Hall and still Leila did not know what was happening.
They had drinks and she smiled at his boredom with water when he asked the bartender for several slices of lime.
‘Only for you would I do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Give up drinking and come here...’
‘James, what are we doing here standing drinking with all these people?’
He loved that all this was so alien to her, and it was alien to him too, for he had never been a part of a couple.
‘You’re going to see the New York Philharmonic Orchestra,’ James said. ‘And I suspect you’re going to love it.’
Oh, she did.
It could not have been better. Leila made music, but to have it made for her, to sit and listen, to hear instruments that she had never heard before, sent shivers right through her body.
Who knew music could be so sexy, James thought.
It turned out it was though. He could feel her enjoyment building beside him; now and then her hand would find his and her fingers would press into his in anticipation. Their calves met, their energy met; it was all in all the best and the most happily received surprise he had ever delivered.
‘I loved it,’ Leila said as they stepped outside all giddy and high from a night sitting side by side. ‘Every minute of it.’
‘Well, there will be many, many more.’ He took out an envelope and Leila opened it.
‘It’s a season ticket,’ James said. ‘You can go to as many concerts as you like, but you can also go along to hear them rehearse.’ As she opened her mouth he got there first. ‘You can’t join in,’ James said.
‘One day, maybe.’
‘I don’t know,’ James said. ‘I’ve never heard you play.’
He might just have to rectify that!
‘Why are you so nice to me?’ Leila asked as they got into bed that night.
‘Because I am nice,’ James said. ‘And so are you.’
‘I’m mean to the maids.’
‘But you’re getting better.’
They were getting better.
With each passing day they drew closer, and at night it was getting harder to hold back her heart. To not give in to the love she had for him. To not plead with him for seven decades, rather than seven years.
There were still tears in her sleep, and one Saturday morning when she was now eighteen weeks pregnant, finally he asked her about them.
‘What do you dream of?’ James asked as she lay there in his arms.
Leila had never told anyone, but here, with his arms around her, it did not feel nosey or invasive.
‘There are different dreams, though they all feel the same,’ Leila said. ‘I just dreamt that I was at a picnic. I could see my parents laughing. I am a little girl about seven or eight, and my brother and sister are there. We are all laughing and enjoying the conversation and then I realise they cannot hear what I am saying. That they are talking amongst themselves as if I am not there. I start to shout, and they just carry on talking and laughing. I knock over a glass and they do not turn their heads...I start screaming and crying...’
She was silent for a moment and James lay there thinking.
‘That’s when you come in,’ Leila said, because it was when she sobbed that he stepped into her dream and held her.
She wasn’t even sure if it was a dream or a memory. Leila thought back to times looking out of her window, watching her mother and Jasmine walking in the grounds side by side.
‘Hey, Leila,’ James said. ‘Don’t wait so long.’
‘Sorry?’
‘When you’re dreaming and you knock the glass over, or you realise they can’t hear you, just roll over in the bed to me.’