Liz Fielding - The Sheik’s Unsuitable Bride

‘Wait until you see the real thing…’

‘Oh, but I have…’

‘No. Tonight I’ll drive you far beyond the reach of manmade light-only there is it possible to see the heavens as God made them.’

Once darkness fell, he’d take her into the desert and, maybe, beneath the infinity of the heavens, she would be able to understand, he would be able to understand why, despite the fact that she had somehow taken possession of his heart, tomorrow he would have to redeem his promise to his mother. Do his duty as a son.

‘I will not be able to come here again during your visit,’ he said. ‘But I want to give you this gift.’

Diana heard the words. Heard more, perhaps, than he’d intended to say. Something that they had both agreed upon from the very first. That there were no fairy tales.

ZAHIR was unusually silent on the trip out into the desert but, when he stopped the big four-wheel drive, he told Diana to close her eyes before he killed the engine. Turned off the lights.

‘Keep them closed,’ he warned, as he opened the door, letting in a blast of cold air. She heard him walk around the vehicle, then he opened the door beside her.

‘Here, take my cloak, you’ll need it,’ he said, dumping something heavy in her lap, before lifting her clear of her seat.

‘Zahir!’ she protested. ‘I’m not helpless. I can walk!’

‘Not if your eyes are closed.’ Then, ‘You might want to hold on.’

Obediently, she wrapped one arm around his neck, clutching the cloak to her with the other, while he carried her surely and safely over ground that crunched beneath his feet. Cheating a little, lifting her lids a fraction so that she could watch his face, the way his breath condensed in little clouds in the faint light from the stars.

‘Can I look now?’ she asked when he set her on her feet.

‘I’ll tell you when,’ he said, taking the cloak and wrapping it around her. Then, standing behind her, his hands on either side of her shoulders as if afraid she might fall, he said, ‘Now!’

She would have gasped if she could have caught her breath. Instead, soundlessly, she reached out, first to the sky, then back for his hand. As if he knew exactly how she would react, he was there, waiting for her, taking her hand in his.

How long they’d been standing there when the cold finally penetrated her brain, she could not have said.

‘You must be freezing,’ she said and, half turning, she opened the cloak, inviting him to share the warmth. When he hesitated, she said, ‘Come on, before I freeze too.’

He joined her, slipping his arm around her waist to bring them close enough to fit in together and they stood, wrapped up in its warmth, for the longest time, her head on his shoulder, looking at the heavens. Diana knew, just knew, that this would be the moment she would remember when she was dying.

‘I never dreamed,’ she said at last, ‘that there were so many stars.’

‘They say that if you took a handful of sand from a beach and each grain of sand was a star you can see-’

‘-the rest of the beach would represent the stars that are out of sight. I read that somewhere, but when you see it, really see it, it’s…incomprehensible.’

‘In the face of such vastness it is impossible not to feel…humble.’

‘Yes,’ she said. Then, lifting her head, turning to look at him, ‘But how great too! We’re standing here, looking up into the unimaginable vastness of space, and our imagination isn’t crushed by that; it soars!’

In the starlight she could see a frown pucker in the space between his eyes.

‘All through history we’ve looked up there and made stories, strived to know the unknowable. We’re less than grains of sand in the cosmic scheme of things, no more than the tiniest particles of dust, and yet we’re huge. Giants.’ She turned and stretched her arms up to the stars. ‘We’re the star-gatherers, Zahir! We can do anything, be anyone. Only our own fears hold us back…’ And she’d spent too many years afraid to step out of the shadows. Afraid to grab the world by the throat. Seize the dream. ‘Thank you. Thank you for showing me that…’

And then, because one dream was all she had, because they both knew that this was goodbye, she leaned into him, kissed him briefly on the lips, before saying, ‘I need to go home.’

When Diana called James Pierce it was still dark at Nadira. By the time her mother was awake, she had packed.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Home.’ Her mother looked doubtful. ‘It’s okay. According to Mr Pierce, some supermodel had a furniture-throwing fight with her boyfriend in a nightclub and they both got arrested. Our little story can’t begin to compete with that.’

‘Well, that’s good, but do you have to rush back to London? You’re on leave, anyway.’

‘There are things I have to do, but you’re all staying until Saturday. Mr Pierce is sorting flights for you. Hamid will have all the details.’

‘And Zahir?’

‘He’s been more than generous with his time, but he’s got a business to run. He won’t have time to come out here again.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No.’ She blinked away the sting of a tear. No tears…‘No regrets.’ She hugged her. ‘Give Freddy a hug from me. See you at the weekend.’

And two hours after that she was on her way to London, this time flying business class on a scheduled flight.

She suspected James Pierce would have put her in economy if he’d dared and actually she didn’t blame him. She’d messed up his boss’s big week. Had made extra work for him.

The only thing they’d both agreed on was that Zahir should not be told until she was home. She’d scarcely expected to find James himself waiting to meet her, drive her home. A journey accomplished in almost total silence.

It was barely dark, just on nine, when he pulled up in front of Aunt Alice’s. She didn’t believe for a minute that anyone would be hanging around the house, but someone in the street would undoubtedly have taken the tabloid shilling to call in the moment she put in an appearance. She didn’t blame them for that, but she wasn’t prepared to make it easy for them either.

‘Thank you, Mr Pierce. I’m very grateful-’

He dismissed her gratitude with a gesture. Then, ‘I don’t understand.’ She waited. ‘Why didn’t you sell your story?’

‘There is no story,’ she said.

‘When did that matter?’

She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that to anyone, let alone someone I…’ She stopped. ‘Anyone.’

‘No. I’m sorry, Miss Metcalfe. I saw how Zahir looked at you and feared exactly this, but I misjudged you. I thought you were-’

‘A girl on the make?’ She said it before he did.

‘Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered but Sheikh Zahir’s family are in the middle of marriage negotiations on his behalf. It’s a very bad moment to have some sordid story spread all over the media…’

‘Arranged…’ A small sound, as if all the breath had been driven from her, escaped Diana before she could stop it. ‘Now?’

That was why he’d whisked her and her family to Nadira? Not concern for her, as she’d thought, but to keep her isolated? Out of the clutches of the press until the fuss had died down?

‘It’s the way they do things,’ James said, mistaking her reaction for shock. Why would she be shocked? He’d told her how they did things…

But while she’d unburdened herself, had spilled out the secret she hadn’t even shared with her mother, he had kept this from her.

‘If there’s anything you need,’ James continued, clearly anxious to be on his way. ‘If you have any problems, please give me a call.’ He handed her a card. ‘I’ll be staying in London for the foreseeable future.’ He gave the smallest of shrugs and said, ‘Zahir appointed me CEO of the airline before he left.’

She remembered. He’d mentioned it when they’d been at the yacht club. ‘Congratulations.’ Then, pulling herself together, trying to hang on to her sudden elation as she’d looked up at the stars, ‘Maybe there is something. I’m going to need a bank loan to buy my first taxi. The last time I tried, I was shown the door.’

‘You want to buy a taxi? Don’t you have to pass tests to get a licence to drive a London cab?’

‘I was nearly there once.’ Then her dad had a stroke and her life had hit the skids for the second time and it had felt like punishment for her sins…‘I can do it again.’

‘Oh, well, under the circumstances I’m sure Sheikh Zahir would be more than willing to-’

‘No!’ Then, ‘No. That’s not what I’m asking for. I don’t want his money. Not even as a loan. What I want is for the bank manager to treat me with respect. Take me seriously.’

‘I see. Well, in that case you’re going to need a business plan and an accountant.’ And wonder of wonders, he smiled. ‘In fact you might try the Prince’s Trust. They help young people set up in business. I’ll make some enquiries.’

‘No…’

She wasn’t crawling back into her rut. She’d allowed herself to love someone and the world hadn’t fallen apart. She’d seen the universe and she’d been inspired.

‘Thank you, James, but I can do that.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Miss Metcalfe, but the number on the card is a direct line to my office. Give me a call if I can help.’

Zahir found his mother sitting in her garden. Kissed her cheek, took her hand.

‘Are you well?’ he asked, sitting beside her.

‘By the will of Allah,’ she said. ‘And you, Zahir?’

‘By the will of Allah,’ he replied.

She smiled up at him. ‘You look happy. I can see that you have made your decision.’

‘I have. It was not easy but the woman who has won my heart has warmth, sweetness, honour. She has courage too. And family is everything to her.’

‘Then it seems that I have found you a paragon!’

‘No man could…’ or would, he thought ‘…live with a paragon. Except my father,’ he added swiftly. ‘The women you chose were all equally charming and any one of them would make a perfect wife. For someone else.’

Her smile faded. ‘Zahir…’

‘When I was young, I had Hanif to speak for me, talk to my father, persuade him to let me take my own path, even though it was not the one chosen for me. Have I failed you, have I brought dishonour on my family?’

‘My son…’ She shook her head. Laid a hand over his.

‘Now I am a man and I must speak for myself. I honour you and my father, as I have always honoured you. Will you not trust me in this greatest of all decisions to know my own heart?’

Alone in the house, Diana hadn’t put the light on but had curled up in bed, hugging the cat for comfort.

She’d woken early-she’d just about adjusted to Ramal Hamrah time-and, because the alternative was lying there thinking about Zahir standing under that canopy with some perfect match his family had found for him, she got up and set about making a plan.

No. Not the canopy. He’d said that traditional weddings took place in the bride’s home. Well, obviously, he’d been thinking about it…

She concentrated on the list of things to do. First thing she’d call the Public Carriage Office and talk to someone about getting back on track with her ‘appearances’-the tests of her knowledge of the quickest routes in London.

Then she’d go to the library and use the computer to follow up the stuff James Pierce had mentioned, check on the possibility of a start-up grant.

A princess.

She’d bet they’d found him a princess to marry.

Well, that was how it was in real life. Princes married princesses while Cinderella…got the frog.

She called Sadie.

‘It’s quiet here. No one at Capitol is prepared to talk and the media was reduced to printing a fuzzy school photograph of you.’

‘Oh, terrific. One minute I’m hanging off the arm of a sheikh in the hat from hell, the next the world sees me in pigtails!’

‘You looked cute.’

‘I’m twenty-three. Cute is not a good look!’ Then, ‘I just hope that whoever sold it to them made them pay through the nose.’

She got a couple of startled looks from the neighbours as she walked down the street, but she just smiled and said, ‘Gorgeous day!’ and walked on. Called in at the bank to make an appointment. Visited the library.

She thought she was home clear when a journalist caught up with her in the supermarket.

‘Nice tan, Diana. Been somewhere nice?’

‘Do I know you?’

‘Jack Harding. The Courier. Ramal Hamrah is very nice at this time of year, I believe.’

‘And you would know that how?’ she asked.

It was surreal but she refused to duck and run. She would not hide. Instead, she carried on shopping, bought cheese, eggs, apples.

By the time she reached the checkout there were three of them.

‘Will you be seeing the Sheikh again?’