The sheikh's chosen wife (17 page)

'Hmm?' Glancing up, he
realised that Sheikh Imran had been talking to him and he hadn't heard a single
word that he had said.

'Rafiq tells us you have
called a meeting for ten o'clock'

'Yes.' He glanced at his
watch, frowned and stood up. 'If you will excuse me, this is the time I call my
father."

To reach his office
required him to pass by his suite door. It was closed. He hesitated, wondering
whether or not to go in and at least try to make his peace. But Evie was in
there, he remembered, and walked on, grimly glad of the excuse not to have to
face that particular problem just now. For he had bigger fish to fry this
morning.

Faysal was already in the
office. 'Get my father on the phone for me, Faysal,' he instructed. 'Then set
the other room up ready for a meeting.'

'It is to be today, sir?'
Faysal questioned in surprise.

'Yes, today. In half an
hour. My father, Faysal,' he prompted before the other man could say any more.
He glanced at his watch again as Faysal picked up the telephone. Had Leona
stayed in their suite because she didn't want to come face to face with him?

But Leona had not stayed
in their suite because she was sulking, as Hassan so liked to call it. She was
ill, and didn't want anyone to know.

'Don't you dare tell
anyone,' she warned Evie. 'I'll be all right in a bit. It just keeps happening,
and then it goes away again.'

'How long?' Evie looked
worried.

'A few days.' Leona
shrugged. 'I don't think I've got anything your children might catch, Evie.'
she then anxiously assured her. 'I'm just—stressed out, that's all.'

'Stressed out.' Evie was
looking at her oddly.

‘It's playing havoc with
my stomach.' Leona nodded and took another sip of the bottled water Evie had
opened for her. 'Who would not be feeling sick if they were stuck on this boat
with a load of people they liked as little as those people liked them? You and
your family excluded, of course." she then added belatedly.

'Oh, of course.' Evie
nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, a bed with one half that had not
been slept in. Hassan had not come back last night, and Leona was glad that he
hadn't.

‘I hate men,' she
announced huskily.

'You mean you hate one
man in particular.'

'I'll be glad when this
is over and he just lets me go.'

'Do you really think that
is likely?' Evie mocked. 'Hassan is an Arab and they give up on nothing.
Arrogant, possessive, stubborn, selfish and sweet,' she listed ruefully, it is
the moments of sweetness that are their saving grace, I find.'

'You're lucky, you've got
a nice one.'

'He wasn't nice at all on
the day I sent him packing,' Evie recalled, in fact it was the worst moment of
my life when he turned to leave with absolutely no protest. I knew it was the
end. I'd seen it carved into his face like words set in stone...'

‘I know.' Leona whispered
miserably. 'I've seen the look myself...'

Evie had seen the same
look on Hassan's face at the breakfast table. 'Oh, Leona.' She sighed. 'The
two of you have got to stop beating each other up like this. You love each
other. Can't that be enough?"

Raschid was not in
agreement with Hassan's timing. 'Think about this,' he urged. 'We have too much
time before we reach dry land. Time for them to fester on their disappoint-

‘I need this settled,'
Hassan grimly insisted. 'Leona is a mess. The longer I let the situation ride
the more hesitant I appear.  Both Abdul and Zafina Al-Yasin are becoming so
over-confident that they think they may say what they please. My father agrees.
It shall be done with today. Inshallah,' he concluded.

'Inshallah,
indeed,' Raschid murmured
ruefully, and went away to prepare what he had been brought here specifically
to say.

An hour later Evie was
with her children, Medina and Zafina were seated quietly in one of the salons
sipping coffee while they awaited the outcome of the meeting taking place on
the deck below, and Leona and Samir were kitting up to go jet-skiing when
Sheikh Raschid AI-Kadah decided it was time for him to speak.

'I have listened to your
arguments with great interest and some growing concern,' he smoothly began.
'Some of you seem to be suggesting that Hassan should make a choice between his
country and his western wife. I find this a most disturbing concept—not only
because I have a western wife myself, but because forward-thinking Arabs might
be setting such outmoded boundaries upon their leaders for the sake of what?'

'The blood line,' Abdul
said instantly.

Some of the others
shifted uncomfortably. Raschid looked into the face of each and every one of
them and challenged them to agree with Sheikh Abdul. It would be an insult to
himself, his wife and children if they did so. None did.

'The blood line was at
risk six years ago, Abdul.' He smoothly directed his answer at the man who had
dared to offer such a dangerous reason. 'When Hassan married, his wife was
accepted by you all. What has changed?'

'You misunderstand,
Raschid,' Jibril Al-Mahmud quickly inserted, eager to soothe the ruffled
feathers of the other man. 'My apologies, Hassan, for feeling pressed to say
this.' He bowed. 'But it is well known throughout Rahman that your most
respected wife cannot bear a child.'

'This is untrue, but
please continue with your hypothesis,' Hassan invited calmly.

Flustered, Jibril looked
back at Raschid. 'Even in your country a man is allowed, if not expected, to
take a second wife if the first is—struggling to give him sons,' he pointed
out. 'We beg Hassan only take a second wife to secure the family line.' Wisely,
he omitted the word 'blood'.

'Hassan?' Raschid looked
to him for an answer.

Hassan shook his head. 'I
have the only wife I need,' he declared.

'And if Allah decides to
deny you sons, what then?'

'Then control passes on
to my successor. I do not see the problem.'

'The problem is that your
stance makes a mockery of everything we stand for as Arabs,' Abdul said
impatiently. 'You have a duty to secure the continuance of the Al-Qadim name.
Your father agrees. The old ones agree. I find it insupportable that you
continue to insist on giving back nothing for the honour of being your
father's son!'

'I give back my right to
succession,' Hassan countered. 'I am prepared to step down and let one or other
of you here take my place. There,' he concluded with a flick of the hand, 'it
is done. You may now move on to discuss my father's successor without me...'

'One moment, Hassan...'
It was Raschid who stopped him from rising. Worked in and timed to reach this
point in proceedings, he said, 'I have some objections to put forward against
your decision.'

Hassan returned to his
seat. Raschid nodded his gratitude for this, then addressed the table as a
whole. 'Rahman's land borders my land. Your oil pipeline runs beneath Behran
soil and mixes with my oil in our co-owned holding tanks when it reaches the
Gulf. And the old ones criss-cross our borders from oasis to oasis with a
freedom laid down in a treaty drawn up and signed by Al-Kadah and Al-Qadim
thirty years ago. So tell me,' he begged, 'with whom am I expected to
renegotiate this treaty when an Al-Qadim is no longer in a position to honour
his side of our bargain?'

It was an attack on all
fronts. For Rahman was landlocked. It needed Behran to get its oil to the
tankers that moored up at its vast terminals. The treaty was old and the
tariffs laid down in it had not been changed in those thirty years Raschid had
mentioned. Borders were mere lines on maps the old ones were free to ignore as
they roamed the desert with their camel trains.

'There is no question of
altering the balance of power here in Rahman,' It was Sheikh Jibril Al-Mahmud
who declaimed the suggestion. He looked worried. Crown Prince Raschid AI-Kadah
was not known as a bluffing man. 'Hassan has our complete loyalty, respect and
support.'

'Ah,' Raschid said. 'Then
I am mistaken in what I have been hearing here. My apologies.' He bowed. 'I
believed I was hearing Hassan about to step down as his father's natural
successor.'

'Indeed no such thing
ever crossed our minds.' You could almost see Sheikh Jibril shifting his
position into the other camp as he spoke. 'We are merely concerned about future
successors and question whether it is not time for Hassan to consider taking
steps to—'

'As the old ones would
say,' Raschid smoothly cut in, 'time is but a grain of sand that shifts in
accordance with the wind and the will of Allah.'

'Inshallah;
Sheikh Jibril agreed,
bringing Sheikh Abdul's house of cards tumbling down.

'Thank you,' Hassan
murmured to Raschid a few minutes later, when the others had left them. 'I am
in your debt.'

'There is no debt,'
Raschid denied. 'I have no wish to see the spawn of Sheikh Abdul Al-Yasin
develop in to the man who will then deal with my son. But, as a matter of
interest only, who is your successor?'

'Rafiq,' Hassan replied.

'But he does not want the
job.'

'He will nonetheless
acquire it,' Hassan said grimly.

'Does he know?'

'Yes. We have already
discussed it.'

Raschid nodded thoughtfully,
then offered a grim smile.

'Now all you have to do,
my friend, is try to appear happy that you have achieved your goal.'

It was Hassan's cue to
begin smiling, but instead he released a heavy sigh and went to stand by the
window. Outside, skimming across the glass-smooth water, he could see two
jet-skis teasing each other. Leona's hair streamed out behind her like a
glorious banner as she stood, half bent at the knees, turning the machine into
a neat one-hundred-and-eighty-degree-spin in an effort to chase after the
reckless

'The victory could be an
empty one in the end,' he murmured eventually. 'For I do not think she will
stay."

Raschid's silence brought
Hassan's head round. What he saw etched into the other man's face said it all
for him. 'You don't think she will, either, do you?' he stated huskily.

'Evie and I discussed
this,' Raschid confessed. 'We swapped places with you and Leona, if you like.
And quite honestly, Hassan, her answer made my blood run cold.'

Hassan was not surprised
by that. East meets west, he mused as he turned back to the window. Pride
against pride. The love of a good, courageous woman against the—

'In the name of Allah,'
he suddenly rasped out as he watched Leona's jet-ski stop so suddenly that she
was thrown right over the front of it.

'What?' Raschid got to
his feet.

'She hit something,' he
bit out, remaining still for a moment, waiting for her to come up. It didn't
happen. His heart began to pound, ringing loudly in his ears as he turned and
began to run. With Raschid close on his heels he took the stairs two at a time,
then flung himself down the next set heading for the rear of the boat where the
back let down to form a platform into the water. Rafiq was already there, urgently
lowering another jet ski into the water. His taut face said it all; Leona still
had not reappeared. Samir had not even noticed; he was too busy making a wide,
arching turn way out.

Without hesitation he
wrenched the jet-ski from Rafiq and was speeding off towards his wife before
his brother had realised what he had done. Teeth set, eyes sharp, he made an
arrow-straight track towards her deadly still jet-ski as behind him the yacht
began sounding its horn in a warning call to Samir. The sound brought everyone
to the boatside, to see what was going on.

By the time Hassan came
up on Leona's jet-ski, Rafiq was racing after him on another one and Samir was
heading towards them at speed. No one else moved or spoke or even breathed as
they watched Hassan take a leaping dive off his moving machine and disappear
into the deep blue water. Three minutes had past, maybe four, and Hassan could
not understand why her buoyancy aid had not brought her to the surface.

He found out why the
moment he broke his dive down and twisted full circle in the water. A huge piece
of wood, like the beam from an old fishing boat, floated just below the
surface—tangled with fishing net. It was the net she was caught in, a slender
ankle, a slender wrist, and she was frantically trying to free herself.

As he swam towards her,
he saw the panic in her eyes, the belief that she was going to die. With his
own lungs already wanting to burst, he reached down to free her foot first,
then began hauling her towards the surface even as he wrenched free her wrist.

White, he was white with
panic, overwhelmed by shock and gasping greedily for breath. She burst out
crying, coughing spluttering, trying desperately to fill her lungs through
racking sobs that tore him to bits. Neither had even noticed the two other
jet-skis warily circling them or that Raschid and a crewman were heading
towards them in the yacht s emergency inflatable.