Authors: Sally Clements
“And that makes you feel…how?” Suz rubbed a hand over Andie’s back in a comforting gesture.
Emotions tumbled through Andie. It was all such a mess. The man she loved had gone, and she had no idea how she was going to get over it, get over him. “Pretty wretched, actually,” she tried for nonchalant, but missed it by a mile.
“Aw, honey.” Suz put the pastries down on the table. “I’m sorry.”
Gran had always advocated the stiff upper lip approach. Emily hadn’t been one for spilling out emotions either, at least not to Andie. The compassionate look in Suz’s eyes, combined with the well-spring of emotion bubbling under the surface, were Andie’s undoing. It felt good to have a friend. A good friend who wouldn’t judge, but would listen, and coo words of warm support in all the right places.
They’d always been that for each other. The details Andie knew of all Suz’s intimate relationships with the totally unsuitable men Suz had dated over the years would stun them to impotence if they only knew. She’d never tell, and Suz never would either.
What’s said at the kitchen table, remains at the kitchen table
, was their catch phrase. Putting it all out there was liberating. Although she kept back some of the more salacious details. Sharing their intimate moments would definitely be too much information.
By the time the coffee was drunk, and the pastries eaten, Andie felt totally washed out.
“So, what’s next?”
“I’m going to paint the sitting room. Add a bit of color,” Andie replied. “I thought I’d get paint charts this afternoon.”
“Good idea.” Suz pushed back her chair and stood. “How about we go for lunch on Wednesday?”
“Sounds good.” Andie accompanied Suz to the door, and watched her friend walk away into the sunshine.
The pile of post on the table caught her eye. An English stamp, with unfamiliar handwriting. She picked it up, and carried it into the kitchen. Slitting it open with a knife from the drawer, she pulled out a heavy card, embossed with the name of a London Hotel.
Hotel stationery.
She flicked it over and read the signature,
Laila.
Dear Andie,
I wanted to write before returning to Bekostan to tell you how happy I am to have made your acquaintance, and spend time with the daughter of my old friend. Should all go as planned, Bekostan will soon face a bright future, one that your mother played an important part in creating. We will honor her memory, and when the turmoil has passed, will hold that tribute ceremony, which I hope you will attend in her place. The postal service from Bekostan is erratic at best, so I shall send further details by email.
Best, Laila.
Andie plugged in her laptop and checked her email. As promised, she had mail. The ceremony was scheduled for the end of the week, and Laila had booked her into a hotel, and promised to send a car to the airport to collect her, should she decide to travel.
One last challenge. One she’d be proud to take in her mother’s memory.
Chapter Sixteen
With the decision made to change jobs, Ryan spent the morning briefing John on the coverage needed for the tribute. He made sure he was organized with a cameraman to record the events, and was well up on all the people he needed to interview.
Then he borrowed a car from the station, and drove to Sallud, a village nestling in the foothills of the mountains an hour from Rexa, famed for its jewelers. He’d strolled around the bazaar for hours, looking for the perfect gift for Andie. The more he’d looked, the more confused he got by all the options available. He’d imagined her throat covered in gold and precious gems, or maybe a bracelet to encircle her wrist. A particularly impressive pair of earrings had captured his interest for a while, long ruby drops glittering with golden accents.
Nothing was right. Nothing gave exactly the right message.
A trader swathed in dark robes, beckoned Ryan from the open front door of a darkened room. “Bekostani sapphire, top quality.”
Ryan walked in. His eyes adjusting to the gloom, as the trader gestured him closer.
“You are looking for something for a lady?”
Ryan nodded.
The trader pulled a wooden tray from behind the counter, laying it onto the glass countertop with exaggerated care.
A selection of rings lay nestled against blue velvet. Stunning in their simplicity and beautiful workmanship. “Did you make these?”
The trader shook his head. “These are the work of my father, a master jeweler.”
Ryan picked up one, staring into the simply faceted stone, with a starburst in its center. “What’s that inside?” He peered closer. “Those lines…”
“Star sapphire. The rarest of all natural sapphires.” The trader picked another ring from the tray. “Or this one, a perfect stone without a star.”
The simple band of white gold held a vibrant sapphire the color of Andie’s eyes at its center, surrounded by what looked like diamonds.
“The stones surrounding are white sapphires. Mined from Bekostan, like the center stone.”
If he asked, would she marry him?
There was a panicked shout from outside.
The trader gasped, shoved the tray back into the wooden cabinet. “Trouble,” he hissed, running to the shop’s entrance. “I must close.” He pushed at Ryan with gnarled fingers. “Out, out now.”
Ryan glanced around, trying to locate the source of the panic that had instantly transformed the peaceful bazaar. Women ran with children in their arms. Fear hung thickly in the air.
He reached inside his jacket pocket. A stranger ran past him, brushing Ryan’s cell phone from his hand. He bent, but the phone slipped through his fingertips, shattering on the hard ground. Bent over, he didn’t see the blast that streaked through the bazaar. The screams and acrid smell of smoke assailing his nostrils was enough.
He wasn’t injured, but the same couldn’t be said for the women and children lying in the destroyed stalls. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the bomb’s point of contact. The thought of documenting the horror filled Ryan with revulsion. He couldn’t look on, photograph the devastation and dispassionately report any longer, not while there was something he could do, aid he could give. He strapped his camera across his chest, and ran into the melee to help.
A man held his injured wife in his arms, tears running down his face as he called for aid. Ryan stripped off his jacket, ripped the sleeve off his shirt, and tied it in a tight tourniquet around her arm. She cried out.
The face of the man holding her contorted in agony.
“Help is coming.” Ryan gripped the man’s shoulder.
How would he feel if it were Andie lying in the dirt, with her blood soaking into the arid ground?
The thought lanced pain through Ryan’s heart. He could tell himself he could keep from loving her, that somehow the pain of losing her could be avoided. The moment the bazaar dissolved into panic, the truth had stuck like a nail hammered into his heart.
He was in too deep. He loved her. Life was nothing without loving her.
“Over here!” Ryan waved at two men running with a makeshift stretcher, silently watching as the couple was whisked away.
An hour later, the injured had been tended to and removed to hospital. A group had claimed responsibility already—a hardline splinter group angered by Arnat’s more moderate approach. Bekostan’s troubles were far from over, but Ryan’s time there was.
The thought of trusting someone had always struck fear into Ryan’s heart. The thought filled him now with warmth. He would be weaving his future with Andie’s. The experience of being without her had been so tortuous he couldn’t bear to contemplate a solitary forever. She could say no. Could deny wanting him, but he’d seen the truth in her eyes, and there was no way he would walk away again, not without her by his side.
He turned back to the little shop. The dealer saw him coming, and pulled the door open.
Ryan stepped up to the counter. Pointed. “Show me that ring again.”
“I’ll do you a good price,” the dealer wheedled, not realizing that the sale was already made. “For American dollars, yes?”
Ryan reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket for his wallet. “Yes.”
With the ring nestled safely in his inside pocket beside his wallet, Ryan stepped out into the sunshine.
He glanced at his watch, and cursed aloud.
The ceremony
. Where had the hours gone? Instinctively, he reached for his cell phone, cursing at the memory of it smashing to pieces on the ground. The drive to Rexa would take at least an hour. He glanced down at his torn and bloodied clothing. He couldn’t go like this. He hurried to the car. A quick shower and a change of clothes, then he’d be ready to go.
Billowing ochre dust spun behind the car in a cloud as he raced down the track towards the strip of black that was the main road to Rexa. By the time he reached the hotel, the sky was darkening overhead as the evening crept in. He pushed the revolving glass door, intent on a quick change.
“Mr. Armstrong,” a voice called from the reception desk. “Mr. Armstrong.”
He turned.
“I have a message, an urgent message.” The young man behind the desk waved a piece of paper in the air.
With a muttered curse, Ryan strode across the white marble. “What is it?” He snatched the paper from the man’s hand. “I have to go out…”
The receptionist’s gaze scanned Ryan’s filthy clothes, the blood on his jacket. His face paled. “Are you all right, Sir? Do you need a doctor?”
Ryan brushed his concern with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine.” He opened the thin sheet of white paper.
“Miss Harte asked I give you this message the moment I saw you,” the youth said.
A cold knot of dread clenched in Ryan’s gut. “Miss Harte? She telephoned?”
A wide smile spread across the youth’s face. “No, Miss Harte checked in this afternoon. She wrote this note before leaving.”
Leaving? Ryan examined the neat handwriting.
Ryan, I hoped to catch up with you when I arrived, but you were out. I’m going to the tribute, Laila’s sent a car. See you there?
“How long ago,” Ryan bit out through clenched teeth. “Come on, man, how long ago did she leave?”
“Half an hour ago?” The man looked at his watch. “Perhaps forty minutes?”
“Dammit.” Ryan crushed the note in his fist. The streets were calm now, but random flares of violence were still breaking out; more incidents might be planned. She could be in danger. His heart pounded. Especially at night. A woman travelling alone…
Panic flared to life as he turned on his heels and pushed out of the hotel again. How could she be here—alone and unprotected in this dangerous place?