‘WHY—what’s happened?’ Melanie demanded. He could see from her eyes that she was already thinking of their son and conjuring up some terrible accident.
‘No, not Robert.’ He quickly squashed that anxiety, though the one threatening to strike at him was almost as bad. ‘Kadir has just received a call from my father,’ he explained.
‘He’s taken ill again?’
He gave a shake of his head. ‘It is such a rare occurrence for my father to speak to anyone outside his family that on hearing his voice Kadir went to pieces and told him about you and Robert and our marriage today.’
‘You mean, he didn’t know?’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘No one in my family knows,’ he added as he walked towards the bathroom. ‘Now my father is shocked and angry. We have to go to him.’
There was a strangled gasp he recognised as anger. ‘What were you intending to do—keep Robbie and me a dark secret for the rest of our lives?’
He paused in his stride. ‘I am not quite that ruthless,’ he countered grimly. ‘But our marriage and the fact that we have a seven-year-old son is something I preferred to tell my father to his face. It is—complicated.’ That seemed to be the word to describe the situation.
Not for Melanie, it seemed. ‘Explain complicated,’ she commanded, following him as he moved on into the bathroom.
His mouth flattened. He did not want to say this! ‘He knew about our relationship eight years ago and is therefore against you before he even sets his eyes on you.’ She did not say a word, but simply turned and walked away. In a mood that hung somewhere between fury and frustration, Rafiq closed the door, shrugged off his robe and stepped beneath the shower.
By the time they met up again Rafiq knew hostilities were back with a vengeance. They met on the landing. Melanie had clearly used another room to dress and was now wearing a suit from the selection he had bought for her. It was long and slinky, in a shade of rich moss-green that did wonderful things for her sparking eyes.
By the way she pursed her beautiful mouth as she ran her gaze over him he did not impress, he noted heavily. ‘It is expected of me.’ He felt compelled to defend the long white tunic, dark red top-robe and chequered gut rah which was covering his head.
It was only when she walked down the stairs without saying a word that he remembered another time she had seen him dressed like this: he had been throwing her out of his life. A silent curse rattled around inside him. Once again he considered leaving his father to wait while he seduced this woman of his into a sweeter temper.
But shocks were bad for his father’s health. Rafiq would never forgive himself if the old sheikh took a turn for the worse while Rafiq was lost in the act of lovemaking.
As they stepped outside the car was waiting with its engine running. As soon as they were on their way he offered his mobile phone to Melanie. ‘Ring your friend,’ he said, ‘and warn her that we are coming to collect Robert.’
Without comment she made the connection with Sophia’s mobile phone. ‘We have to go to Rahman,’ she explained. ‘Can you have Robbie ready to travel by the time we arrive to pick him up?’
Whatever her friend said to her, Melanie’s expression was rueful. ‘No. But you had better prepare him for a bit of a shock. His father has turned himself into an Arab, so if he knows beforehand he might not find himself looking at a total stranger.’
With that, she gave him back his phone.
‘Was that necessary?’ he asked.
She turned an icy stare on him. ‘Yes,’ she said.
He released a sigh. ‘It was not my intention for this to happen.’
‘Keep your excuses,’ she told him. ‘And just so that you know,’ she added, ‘I am coming with you only because I have made that decision. Your father deserves to meet his grandson. But let one person look upon him like a leper, Rafiq, just one—!’
‘And you will do what?’ he questioned curiously.
‘I am relying on Rahman’s reputation for being a free and equal society,’ she said. ‘If I don’t like what we meet there then Robbie and I are coming home to England.’
‘With or without me?’
‘Without.’
He sighed and said nothing more. For what could he say other than to offer yet another apology? But he suspected it would not be enough for a woman looking at her ruined wedding day.
The rest of the journey was achieved in silence. The meeting with his son did not take place with shock but with awe. ‘Will I have to dress like that?’ Robbie asked dubiously.
‘Not unless you want to,’ Rafiq answered smoothly, while Sophia Elliot looked on in complete silence. No mocking tilt to a sleek black eyebrow, no glowering frown of disapproval.
They made their farewells and within the hour were boarding the Al-Qadim private jet to Rahman.
Within the next hour, his son was fast asleep in one of the cabins and Melanie was curled up on a soft cream leather sofa, clearly unimpressed by her luxury surroundings.
Rafiq decided that he had taken enough of her cold shoulder. Picking her up as she was, he sat himself down and placed her on his lap, then lifted up a hand to remove his headgear and toss it aside. ‘There—is that better?’ Dark eyes mockingly quizzed her. ‘Can you bring yourself to look at me now?’
What he didn’t expect from his bit of sarcasm were the tears that filled her lovely eyes.
‘You’re ashamed of me,’ she said.
‘No,’ he denied.
‘If I had let you do it you would have brought Robbie with you and left me behind in London.’
‘No.’ He denied that too.
‘You ruined my wedding day.’
‘I will make it up to you.’
‘You—’
It was no use carrying this conversation any further. So he kissed her. Why not? She needed kissing. So he kissed her until the tears went away. And kissed her some more until she slowly relaxed into a quiet slumber on his lap. He waved away the attendants when they walked down the cabin, and did not bother to move her to a bed because…he liked to have her just where she was.
Which meant…what? he asked himself as the air miles flew by them.
Hell, he knew what it meant. He had known it for a long time. A week—eight years—it mattered little how long he had known it.
They came in to land at dawn, circling around the perimeter of a great modern city which glinted in the early-morning sun. From the jet they transferred to a small Cessna, drawing curious glances from dark-eyed Arabs as they moved from plane to plane.
Rafiq flew them himself, leaving Melanie and Robbie to drink in the dramatic landscape panning out beneath them, with its silver thread of a river winding through a lush valley surrounded by high, lurking dunes and miles of sand. It took only twenty minutes before they were landing again. A four-wheel drive waited to receive them. Rafiq placed himself behind the wheel of this, and began driving them over tarmac towards a sandstone fortress backed by the fertile oasis of Al-Qadim.
Melanie knew all of this because Robbie had maintained a running commentary throughout both the short flight and this short drive towards his father’s home. The child’s grasp of this part of his heritage was so intense that even Rafiq allowed himself a couple of grimaces as he listened to him. But other than grimaces he offered nothing; his expression was sombre, the harsh lines of his profile telling her that he was lost in grim places of his own.
A pair of thick wooden gates swung inwards as they approached them, then closed behind them as they passed through into a beautiful courtyard laid with tropical plants and sparkling fountains. They came to a stop in front of a rich blue dome suspended on sandstone pillars. Rafiq got out of the car and strode round to the other side to open the other door. In silence he offered Melanie his hand to assist her to alight. Robbie scrambled out of his own accord, then stood gazing about him with dark eyes that greedily drank in every detail they could.
Then his father was quietly calling him to heel, and the small boy came with his dark head still twisting in frowning curiosity. ‘Are we going to live here now?’ he asked.
‘No, we will continue to live in London,’ his father assured him. ‘And come here to visit during the school holidays, if you like.’
Nodding his head in approval, Robbie cleared the small frown from his brow, and walked happily beside his father into a vast entrance hall with a beautiful lapis-blue and white domed ceiling and pale sand marble covering the floor.
The first person Melanie saw was Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim, and her heart slithered to her stomach. Dressed like Rafiq, he was standing straight and still beside a beautiful creature with dark red hair and perfect porcelain skin. She was quite heavily pregnant beneath the slender white tunic she was wearing.
Both of them fixed their eyes on Robbie. Both looked shocked, if not dismayed. Melanie’s fingers twitched within Rafiq’s. He glanced down at her and she glanced upwards, the anxiety in her eyes making his grim mouth flatten as he looked away again.
Sheikh Hassan was looking at her now. One glimpse at his expression and Melanie knew what he was going to say. Her heart leapt from her stomach to lodge in her throat. He took a step towards her. ‘Miss Leggett,’ he murmured deeply, ‘I must beg—’
‘Mrs Portreath,’ she corrected, leaping on anything just to silence him. His dark eyes narrowed and sharpened. With a minuscule shake of her head she tried to relay a message to him.
‘Al-Qadim,’ Rafiq corrected both of them. ‘We married yesterday as you no doubt know by now, Hassan.’
‘Of course. Rafiq, if you had only explained why you wanted me to be in London I would have been there. You know that.’ Sheikh Hassan begged his understanding, taking the diversion Rafiq had unwittingly offered to him.
But Melanie could see he was not happy about remaining silent over their last meeting. As the two brothers greeted with an embrace and words spoken in Arabic those dark eyes so like Rafiq’s remained fixed upon her over his brother’s shoulder. She looked away, found herself gazing at the other woman, who had witnessed the exchange and was now looking very concerned.
She stepped forward with a smile, though. ‘Welcome to our family,’ she greeted warmly, and surprised Melanie by brushing a kiss to each of her cheeks. ‘My name is Leona and I am married to Rafiq’s brother,’ she explained. ‘Our child is due in two months—just in case you did not like to ask me. And this…’ she turned to smile at Robbie ‘…has to be the most handsome Al-Qadim of the three.’
It was all very light, very eager to please, but Melanie could sense the other woman’s tension and she could see it repeated in Sheikh Hassan. She could feel it pulsing in Rafiq. When she added her own tension into it all the vast hall almost sparked with it.
‘My name is Robert Portreath,’ Robbie corrected with a faintly puzzled frown. The business of names was going to take some explaining later, Melanie realised as she watched Leona Al-Qadim dip down to his level to offer Robbie her hand.
‘Then, I am very pleased to meet you, Robert Portreath,’ she said gravely.
‘You’re English?’ he said.
‘Like your mother.’ She nodded.
‘You have very pretty hair and eyes.’
‘And that,’ Leona murmured sagely as she straightened, ‘is most definitely the Al-Qadim charm. Hello, Rafiq,’ she added gently.
‘My lady,’ he returned with a sweeping bow that held Melanie transfixed in surprise—until she realised she was seeing some kind of in-joke being enacted here, because both pairs of eyes were warm with amusement.
Then Rafiq was introducing his son to Sheikh Hassan, who bent to shake Robbie’s hand very formally. When he straightened his eyes made that fleeting contact with Melanie’s again.
It was Robbie who broke this next moment of tension. ‘Where is my new grandfather?’ he wanted to know.
All pleasure—forced or otherwise—instantly dropped away from everyone. Rafiq looked to his brother; his brother gave a reply. ‘He is in his rooms,’ his said quietly. ‘He knows you have arrived.’
‘Is he still ill?’
‘Ah,’ Hassan grimaced. ‘His health is just fine; it is his temper that is threatening to fail him.’
It was automatic for Melanie to reach for Robbie, protecting her son being her paramount need. Rafiq noted the gesture and his expression hardened. ‘You used to be famed for your diplomacy, Hassan,’ he drawled.
‘My apologies.’ Hassan offered Melanie the kind of half-bow she was used to receiving from him. ‘I was referring to our father’s impatience at us keeping him waiting.’
It was a slick recovery, but a lie nonetheless. Rafiq saw Melanie’s giveaway expression, went to claim Robbie’s hand, then slipped his other hand back around her waist. She looked up at him, eyes anxiously searching his for reassurance.
He tried to give it with a small smile. But with his brother and Leona watching them Melanie knew there was little more he could do. They began to walk down a wide corridor between pale blue walls on sand-coloured floors. No one spoke. Even Robbie had picked up on the tension and was quiet.
They entered a room that might have been William’s study in a lot of ways, though it was bigger and lighter and many degrees warmer. In the middle of the room, reclining on a divan, lay an old man whose fragile state tugged at Melanie’s heart. That he was seriously ill was obvious; that he was resigned to that illness was written in his face. He lifted himself as they came towards him, though, sliding his thin body up a high bank of pillows and fixing his eyes on Robbie.
Rafiq went down on one knee to embrace his father. The old man’s fingers held Rafiq’s face as they spoke in low and husky Arabic. What bowled Melanie over most was the wave of love she could feel coming from the two men. It filled the room, tripped her heartbeat, while she waited for them to remember she and Robbie were here. Then Rafiq was turning and beckoning to Robbie. Tears glazed her eyes as she watched her brave son step into the curve of his father’s arm.
An arm settled across her own shoulders. It belonged to Leona Al-Qadim.
‘This is your grandfather, Robert,’ Rafiq was explaining.
‘Does he speak English?’ the boy whispered.
‘Yes,’ the old sheikh answered for himself. ‘I speak many languages. Come…will you take my hand?’
It was an old hand, a gnarled hand. Robbie placed his own hand into it without hesitation and allowed himself to be drawn towards the divan. As he did so he slipped free from Rafiq’s comforting arm and, without needing any prompting, began to talk.
It was his way. Melanie knew that; Rafiq had come to know it. ‘William said that you’ve been sick. Are you doing to die like William? I like your room; it’s nice. Can you play chess? William played chess with me. Have you read all of these books?’
The old sheikh answered each separate question. He fell in love as they all watched. As the questions flowed so did Robbie’s small figure flow into a sitting position on the divan, then he curled until he was almost on the old sheikh’s lap. He was used to old men; he had grown up with one of the very best. To her son there was no fear in age and wrinkles. Melanie had always been aware that Robbie missed William, but she had not realised just how much until she saw how naturally he had drawn close to his grandfather.
Tears blanked out the old man’s image. Rafiq was standing straight and still. Leona’s fingers smoothed one of her shoulders, and somewhere behind her she was aware of Sheikh Hassan’s silent observation.
‘You have a beautiful son, Melanie,’ Leona said softly.
The sound of her voice broke the loaded atmosphere. The old sheikh lifted his eyes and looked directly at her. ‘You denied us all.’
It was a quiet and level accusation, designed to make its point without alarming her son. Rafiq stiffened his body. Melanie didn’t know what to say. The sheikh was right: she had denied them. The guilt of that was going to live with her for a long time. ‘She did not,’ a sober voice inserted. ‘I am afraid it is I who must take the blame for that.’
Rafiq turned to stare at his brother. Leona’s fingers pressed gently into Melanie’s arm.
‘I’m going to take Melanie away now,’ she informed all of them. ‘Robert, would you like to come?’
It was not the voice of choice; little boys recognised these things. He scrambled down from his grandfather’s divan and obediently walked with the women from the room.
‘Don’t shake so,’ Leona murmured softly. ‘My father-in-law is a good man. He just doesn’t know the truth.’
‘Neither does Rafiq,’ Melanie said. ‘I didn’t want him to.’
‘It is the way with these Al-Qadim men that they do not live well with itchy consciences. Hassan was honour-bound to tell Rafiq what he had done eight years ago from the moment he recognised your name.’
Leona led them up a wide staircase lined with pale cedar doors set into deep stone arches. It was a beautiful suite of rooms, wide, light and airy, in the coolest shades of pale aquamarine and ivory, with fretwork doors flung open to a balcony and the soft morning breeze.
A tiny dark-haired creature appeared from an adjoining room. She smiled at Robbie and held out her hand to him. ‘Would you like to come and explore?’ she invited.
Robbie looked at his mother; his mother looked at Leona Al-Qadim. ‘This is Nina,’ she explained. ‘She is a trained nanny. Robert, if you want to go with Nina, I promise you will have great fun.’
The boy went without any more encouragement. As he walked away Melanie could hear him throwing out questions again. ‘Are there camels here? Will I be able to touch one? Has my daddy got one I can see?’
‘His daddy must be very proud of him,’ Leona said gently.
‘He didn’t mention him to any of you,’ Melanie pointed out, and walked over to the open windows to gaze out on the kind of view she’d only expected to see on the television screen.
‘Rafiq is an—unusual man,’ Leona answered. ‘He is a brilliant mathematician, incredibly loyal to the few people he loves, but he is a law unto himself and always has been. And his private life is generally sacrosanct.’
‘Serena Cordero didn’t think so.’
‘Ah, Serena Cordero should be eternally grateful to you that you came along when you did.’ Leona smiled. ‘From what I can glean out of Hassan, Rafiq cancelled the rolling cheque that supported her dance tour, and which she was so fond of; then a few days ago he reinstated it. Said bitterness warped the mind, or some such clever phrase. We suspect this change of heart happened because you were busy turning him inside out. Though you will have to ask the big man himself, because he won’t tell us anything.’
‘So you speculate.’
‘Yes.’ Leona admitted it. ‘We feel we have to. We worry about him, you see.’ She released a sigh. ‘I know you might laugh at this, but beneath that big tough exterior Rafiq is vulnerable to hurt.’
But Melanie didn’t laugh. She shifted restlessly.
‘You would have to know about the circumstances of his birth to understand this, his childhood living here in this palace as very much the resented second son of the old sheikh,’ Leona continued, unaware that she was confiding in one who already knew these things. ‘He is proud—too proud sometimes—and wary about letting anyone get too close to him. But from what Hassan has told me he took one look at you eight years ago and fell in love so totally that when you—’
‘Accuse me of betrayal and I will walk right out of here,’ Melanie cut in.
‘Take note of that,’ another deeper voice advised. They turned together to find Rafiq standing in the open door. There was a smile on his lips but his eyes were narrowed, and though he was attempting to look at ease Melanie could sense the tension in him, the anger that they were standing here talking about him like this.
‘You’re cross,’ Leona murmured. She knew him well, Melanie noted. ‘I was only trying to help Melanie to understand why we—’
‘Then let me help you to understand,’ Rafiq smoothly cut in. ‘My wife did not betray anyone. But your husband may require your help to convince him that he did not do something very similar.’
‘You’ve upset him.’ Leona sighed.
‘I forgave him,’ Rafiq returned.
‘Well, that only makes it worse!’ she cried. ‘You know what he’s like; he will prowl around now, seething with frustration!’
Rafiq offered her one of those bows. ‘Then may I suggest to my lady that she goes and joins him as he prowls?’
He was dismissing her, even holding the door open at the ready. Melanie decided she did not understand these people as she watched Leona Al-Qadim stroll up to Rafiq, smile and kiss him on the cheek before she left the room.
‘That wasn’t very nice of you,’ she remarked as he closed the door.
‘Leona is beautiful, charming and an absolute delight to be around, but she knows I dislike people meddling with my life.’ With that the red-chequered gut rah was dragged from his head and tossed aside. ‘As for you…’ He strode forward, sending her spine erect and at the ready. ‘You lied to me.’
‘I did not lie!’ she denied.
‘By omission you did.’
‘If your brother had kept silent there would have been no reason for you to know!’
‘That you came looking for me while heavily pregnant with my son? That you took the risk of yet more cruel rejection because you cared enough to try again? That you had to sit there listening to him scare you with the kind of scenario that would make any mother’s blood go cold?’
‘He loves you. He was protecting you. I understand that now.’
‘You understand nothing,’ he denounced. ‘I asked him to check if you were all right. I trusted him to do that small thing for me!’
‘I was all right.’
‘Well, I wasn’t!’ he rasped. ‘I was out there—’ he flung a hand out towards the sand-dunes she could see rising above miles of lush fruit groves ‘—pining for you!’
Pining? Melanie blinked. He spun his back to her on a tight hiss of a sigh. ‘When Hassan told me you wanted to see me I did not dare go to London in case I fell at your feet,’ he went on. ‘But I needed to know that you were okay. I hoped that by some miracle you were going to tell him some magical reason that would make everything okay. I sat out there…’ the hand flicked again ‘…waiting like a fool for the call that would send me to London on the next plane. What I got was a call telling me he couldn’t find you but he had heard that you were living with a man.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Melanie murmured. ‘I didn’t—’
‘Don’t touch me,’ he grated.
For a moment she froze in dismay. Then with a sigh she did the opposite, and walked around in front of him so she could wrap him in her arms. His heart was pounding, the great chest trembling as he fought a battle with himself.
He had lost, she thought. He had lost the battle. His arms came around her. ‘I don’t know what I am supposed to say to you, Melanie,’ he muttered. ‘You make me realise what a fool I was eight years ago. You make me face the high price I paid for my own pompous pride. You make me see that I have been treating you without honour from the moment I met you, and have done it all from a superior stance that deserves nothing but your contempt.’
‘I don’t hold you in contempt,’ she denied. ‘Then you should.’
‘Because you believed what you were carefully primed to see?’
‘Your uncle said some wicked things about you that day,’ he said heavily. ‘He poured out his poison and I, like a fool, drank it down, when any other fool would have known you were not the person he was describing to me.’
‘If it had been you in that window with another woman and your brother pouring poison into me, I would have believed,’ she admitted.
‘Hassan did poison you.’
‘He frightened me off for your sake. And he did it out of love, not avarice. There is a difference.’
‘A forgivable difference?’
‘You forgave him,’ she pointed out.
‘I forgave him,’ he agreed. But not himself, Melanie defined from his tone. ‘Tell me what you want from this marriage, Melanie,’ he demanded. ‘Tell me what the hell I can do to put some of this right for you.’
Lifting her chin, she looked up at him, saw glinting black eyes and harshly etched angles burnished bronze by the morning sun. ‘I would like you to make love to me without thinking that you only do it because you feel utterly compelled to,’ she told him softly. ‘I would like to lie in your arms afterwards and know that you really want me there. I would like to look into your eyes and see tenderness sometimes, not just anger or passion.’
‘You want me to love you.’ He smiled oddly.
‘I want you to care,’ she amended.
‘Take the love,’ he advised. ‘For it has always been there.’ He grimaced, then released a long sigh and framed her face with his hands. ‘Eight years ago I fell in love with the scent of your skin as you leant over my shoulder. I fell in love with the heat that coloured your lovely cheeks whenever I caught you looking at me. I wanted every part of you, every minute of your time, every kiss, every smile…’ He kissed her. It was so tender it brought tears to her eyes. ‘If you want my heart on a platter, Melanie, you can have it,’ he offered huskily. ‘I could not forget you—did not want to forget you. It was a lonely—lonely state of mind.’
There was nothing she could find to say in answer to that. Instinct—only instinct could respond. Her arms lifted to his shoulders and she pressed her mouth to the warm brown skin at his throat. ‘I love you, Rafiq,’ she softly confided. ‘But you have to believe it if this marriage is going to stand a chance.’
‘I believe,’ he murmured. ‘How can I not believe when you are still here in my arms after everything I have put you through?’
But he didn’t sound happy. On a small sigh she lifted her eyes and parted her lips to speak again—only he stopped her. ‘No,’ he denied. ‘Don’t say any more. It tears me apart when we talk about those things we cannot alter. Just answer me one last question. Can we put the past behind us and start again?’
‘Of course we can.’ She smiled at him.
The smile turned his heart over. The shine in her eyes warmed him right through. Lifting her up against him, he caught her mouth with his and refused to let it go as he walked with her across pale blue marble and through a door on the other side of the room. The door closed behind them; he released her mouth only long enough to lock it.
‘What about Robbie?’ the mother in her questioned. ‘He might come looking for us.’
He was already carrying her across to a huge divan bed that stood on a raised dais. ‘Not while he has my father waiting to pore over maps of Rahman with him,’ Rafiq lazily replied. ‘And this is the beginning of our honeymoon.’
‘I quite liked the Gothic setting,’ Melanie said as he laid her down on a sea of dark red satin.
‘Next time,’ he promised.
‘Why? How many honeymoons are we going to have?’
He wasn’t joking. Two months later they were back in England, locked away inside their Gothic mansion. Melanie was lazing in the bath when Rafiq strode into the room and announced, ‘Hassan and Leona are the proud parents of a baby boy. Both mother and child are very well.’
‘Oh, do you think we should fly back?’ Melanie suggested anxiously. ‘It seems wrong for you and I to be enjoying ourselves here when we might be needed there.’
‘No,’ Rafiq replied adamantly. ‘Our son is with his new best friend—my father, Hassan and Leona are in twelfth heaven with their own son, and you and I, my darling, are on our second honeymoon here while Ethan Hayes and his crazy wife make William’s house fit to live in.’
‘You really should have told me about that,’ Melanie chided as he strode towards the tub. ‘I had a right to be consulted before you dared to touch anything in my house.’
‘But the house does not belong to you,’ Rafiq informed her as he removed his clothes. ‘William left it to our son—though you saw fit not to tell me that. So I asked Robert’s permission to renovate. He was delighted to give it. Unlike you,’ he mocked her, ‘our son had the good sense to know the house was in danger of falling down.’
‘It wasn’t that bad!’ Melanie protested. ‘And I thought Robbie loved it exactly as it was!’
‘No, he has better taste—as I do,’ he added arrogantly, referring to his good taste in wives.
With that, he stepped into the tub and slid himself into the water at the opposite end from Melanie. A hand reached up to pull a cord, which drew the purple silk curtain around them.
Candlelight flickered from hidden places. Silhouettes moved and came together…