Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife (11 page)

“What time did the man come?” she asked the waiter when he delivered her coffee.

“Before lunch each day. He will be here soon.” Setting the small cup and carafe on the table, he walked away.

Bethanne sipped the hot beverage while she waited until Walt showed up. She had a feeling things were speeding up and she needed to get any information she could before it was too late.

Sometime later a middle-aged man stopped at her table. She’d been writing a letter to a friend at home and looked up when he cast a shadow over the paper.

“Are you Hank’s friend?” he asked. “No, that’s not right. You’re his daughter, Bethanne.”

“Walt?” she asked, feeling emotion welling up inside her.

He nodded. Pulling out another chair, he sat down at the table. “He spoke of you often. I saw a picture once. You were younger. I’m Walt Hampstead. Pleased to finally meet you.”

“You knew my father? He mentioned a professor at the university, but not by name. Is that you?”

He nodded. The waiter appeared and Walt gave an order for coffee.

“What happened to him? He’s dead, isn’t he?” Bethanne asked, hoping Walt would deny it all and tell her where Hank was.

But Walt nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. I haven’t heard from him in almost three years. He was a good friend. Not many Americans live in Alkaahdar. We’d meet and hash over how things were going at home. Expats sharing tales of home to fend off homesickness. And he’d tell me the amazing stories about his daughter.”

“Have you lived here long?” Bethanne asked, trying to remember all she’d read and heard about his professor friend. She knew her father had liked the man, but always called him the prof.

“Yes, actually, longer than Hank. I teach English as a foreign language at one of the universities. I married a Quishari woman and we have made our home here.”

“Tell me what you know about my father. It’s been years since I’ve heard from him. Time just got away. I’ve been busy and I thought he was as well. But I can only find out the al Harum family thinks he stole a plane. He wouldn’t have!”

The waiter returned with Walt’s coffee. Once he’d left, Walt began to speak. “He told me two days before he left that he had a top-secret assignment, then laughed. Just like the movies, he said. I asked him what he was talking about, but he said he was sworn to secrecy, but maybe he’d give me some hints when he returned. He seemed in high spirits and I thought I’d hear from him soon after that. Only I never saw him again.”

“I’ve heard he stole a plane and then vanished,” Bethanne said, disheartened. This man had known and liked her father, but knew no more than she did on what had happened to him.

“There were stories going around. Then the head of Bashiri Oil died unexpectedly and the news was full of that and the stories of his twin sons. I never knew the official result of that secret mission,” Walt said. He looked pensive for a moment. “Hank was a true friend. It was good to have someone from home to talk over things with. I miss him.”

He sipped his coffee. “He flew the plane for the old sheikh, and often told me about where they went, what the different cities were like. Hank loved seeing the world and knew the job he had was great for that. He flew the sheikh to Europe, Egypt, even once to India. Most of the flights were around the Persian Gulf, though.”

“Did the secret mission have something to do with the sheikh?”

“That I don’t know. I could speculate it was because he worked almost exclusively for the man. But being a secret, I never heard any more. Your father did not steal a plane. He was too honorable for that.”

Bethanne felt a wave of gratitude toward Walt for his comment. “I want to find out exactly what happened and let others know he wouldn’t do such a thing.” Especially let Rashid know. Every time he looked at her he had to remember his belief her father had caused the death of his. It was so unfair!

“Don’t know how you’ll find out. Do you speak the language?” he asked.

“No, except for pleased to meet you.”

“This country is still very much a man’s world. I bet they were surprised to discover you’re a pilot,” he said.

“At first. What happened to my dad’s things?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I went by his apartment once I realized he was probably dead. It had already been rented and the young woman who answered the door said it had been immaculately cleaned before she moved in. I guess the sheikh’s people packed up. I don’t know if they threw his things away or stored them.”

“My mother tried to find out what happened to him—as his onetime wife. But no one told her anything. I guess if they had any of his things, they would have sent them to her.” Bethanne gazed across the square, seeing the buildings her father would have seen every day. She missed him with a tangible pain.

“He spoke of you a lot. You were a bright spot in his life. He talked about when you’d come to visit and what you two would see.”

“We discussed it more than once. I longed to see Quishari, but not like this. It’s a beautiful country and I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve seen. But I had hoped to see it with my dad.”

Walt scribbled on a page of his notebook and tore it out. “Here’s my phone number and address. Call me if you need anything. Or wish to visit. My wife would be delighted to meet you. She liked Hank, too. He came to dinner occasionally. Her English is not as fluent as it could be, so she enjoyed listening to our conversations and hearing English spoken by natives.”

“Thank you.” She took the paper and put it in her purse. “I don’t know how you could contact me if you remember anything. I am staying at the sea villa of Sheikh Rashid al Harum. But I have no idea what the address is, or the phone number.”

“Do you like him? Hank really respected his father.”

“I do like him.” Understatement, she thought. But she certainly didn’t know this man well enough to even hint at more.

Walt rose. “I’ll contact the sheikh if I think of anything else you might wish to know. Nice to have met Hank’s daughter. He’d be proud of you. Do consider coming to meet my wife.”

Bethanne rose as well and shook hands. “Thanks for coming each day until I was here.”

Walt walked away, then stopped and turned. “I do have a photograph of him with me at home. Call me when you can come again and I’ll bring it for you to see.”

Bethanne nodded. Disappointment filled her and she smiled, blinking away tears. She had so hoped her father’s friend would know more. What could a secret mission have been? One filled with danger that ended up costing him his life? How could the old sheikh have demanded that? Did Rashid know?

B
ETHANNE
rode back to the villa wondering how she could find out more about that secret mission. The only one who had probably known was the old sheikh and he was dead. Would his wife have known anything? If she had, Bethanne would be the last person she’d tell.

Yet everyone seemed to think the plane was stolen. Even so, Hank would have had to file a flight plan. Someone must have known something more about the plane. But she wasn’t sure if it were even possible to get a copy in Quishari, much less at this late date.

She could ask Rashid.

Mulling over the possibility of being rebuffed, she weighed it with the possibility of annoying Rashid. But she hadn’t a clue where else to go.

When she reached the villa, Fatima was in the foyer, her suitcase beside her. Minnah was there as well and smiled when she saw Bethanne.

“Fatima leaves for the airport. She is returning home,” the maid said in English.

Bethanne nodded. “Please tell her I’m sorry for the inconvenience of remaining here when she must have wished to return home immediately.”

Minnah relayed the comment, then listened to a rapid burst of speech from Fatima.

“It is she who is grateful for you and whatever arrangement you made with the sheikh that she does not fear returning home. Her charge put her in a very awkward situation and if not for the compassion of the sheikh, she’d not wish to return home. She spoke with her family and there is no retribution awaiting.”

“I should hope not,” Bethanne said. “She couldn’t help—” She paused. Hopefully Fatima had been circumspect in her complaints. Remembering the charade, she finished. “She couldn’t help the situation. Tell her I wish her a pleasant journey home.”

Once Fatima left, Bethanne went into the library again, wandering around, studying the various books on the shelves. She stopped at the desk and looked at the computer, considering. Turning it on, she sat down and began to search the Internet on any information she could get about Quishari and flight plans and Rashid’s father.

Losing track of time, she was surprised when Minnah knocked on the opened door. “Miss, you haven’t come for lunch. It is on the terrace. Are you not hungry?”

Bethanne nodded, reluctant to leave her search, but suddenly feeling ravenous.

She was glad she took the break a few moments later when Rashid arrived. She felt almost guilty using the computer to find out more about his father. If her need hadn’t been so strong, she would not have done more than a cursory look to learn a bit more about him. Rashid loved his father and wanted to be like him.

She loved her father, and wanted to clear his name.

“Late lunch,” Rashid said, drawing out a chair and sitting at the small table.

“I had coffee at a square in the old town midmorning, so wasn’t ready to eat until now,” she explained. “What are you doing here? Is the workday over?” She knew he devoted many hours to business; was something special going on to have him leave so early?

“I thought we could take the jet up again, fly over the wells to the south and see how things are going. Khalid said the well that was burning has been capped. I’d still like to see how much damage was done. There’s an airport nearby and I’ll have a car waiting so we can drive to the docks, and then go to the derricks themselves.”

“I’m at your command,” she said, taking another drink of the iced lemonade she enjoyed so much. This was unexpected, but she relished a chance to see more of what he dealt with daily. She was soaking up as much as she could about Rashid. Down the years, she’d have plenty of memories.

“No rush. Finish your lunch. Where in old town did you go?” he asked.

Bethanne looked at her salad, hoping hearing about her morning wouldn’t make him angry. “I went for coffee at the square near where my dad lived. I met another American—a friend of Hank’s,” she said.

“Anyone I know?” he asked.

“A professor of English at the university. Walt Hampstead. He was pleased to see me. My dad had spoken of me to him. He said he’s lived here for more than twenty years. Even married a local girl and they have two children.”

Rashid appeared unconcerned by the revelation. “Did you visit the shops?”

“No, I enjoyed the architecture and got a feel for the place. The older section really draws me. I love it. If we are going soon, I’ll run up and change.”

When they reached the airport an hour later, Bethanne went to the air traffic control office to file a flight plan. The service was quick. As she was turning to leave, she asked if there were archived flight plans for the past five years. The clerk was instantly curious as to why she wanted to know. She shrugged it off as mere curiosity and left. The reports would be in Arabic undoubtedly. No help there—unless Walt could translate them for her.

Rashid had remained with the plane and she did her visual inspection before boarding. He was already in the cockpit and for a moment, the intensity of her wish that things had been different floored her. What would it have been like if she and he had met under different circumstances? If he did not think her father a thief and he was seriously interested in her? That they were going off for a day of fun, just the two of them.

She couldn’t help her own excitement at seeing him. Try as she might, it was difficult to remember it was all a charade. Especially after his kisses.

Once soaring over the Persian Gulf, she leveled out the plane and watched the earth below. There were large container ships on the sea, white beaches lining the shore. As they approached the oil rigs several hundred yards offshore, she circled slowly. The fire was out. There was a huge oil tanker anchored on the seaward side of one of the high platforms.

“Taking in oil?” she asked, pointing to the ship.

“Yes. Then it goes to a refinery. That’s one of our ships. Another branch of the company,” Rashid said. “My uncle runs that. Set us down and we’ll head out to the rigs.”

They landed on the runway that ran beside the sea. After Bethanne taxied the plane to a sheltered area as directed, she shut down the engines. A dark car drove over and a man jumped out of the driver’s side. In only moments they were driving toward the docks.

The launch that took them to the rigs was small and rode low on the water. Bethanne studied the huge platforms that rose on pilings from the sea floor. When they arrived, they had to climb a hundred steps to get to the main platform. The noise surprised her as machinery hummed and clanked as it pumped the crude from beneath the sea.

Khalid was there and strode over to greet them. His manner was reserved and more formal than Rashid’s. A difference in the twins. Even though they looked alike, they didn’t behave alike.

A moment later Rashid excused himself, saying he had to confer with Khalid on a private matter.

Bethanne walked away, toward the activity near the ship. There were lots of men working in a choreographed way that showed they all knew their respective jobs well.

After watching for a while, she saw a man walk over to say something to her.

“Sorry, I only speak English,” she said.

“I speak it,” he replied with a heavy accent. “You fly jet that landed at airport?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“I used to work planes for the old sheikh.” He shrugged. “After he die, I come to oil—” He gestured around them. “Sheikh Rashid don’t travel like father did.”

“The old sheikh traveled a lot?” she asked, suddenly wondering if this man had known her father.

“More than son.” He looked at the activity, studying it a moment as if assessing the efficiency.

“Did you know Hank Pendarvis?” she asked.

He looked back at her and nodded.

“Someone asked me to look him up if I got to Quishari. I think maybe he died several years ago.”

The man nodded. “Bad time. Caused old sheikh’s death.”

“What happened?”

“Flight in west, something special.” He paused a moment as if searching for the English word. “Sandstorm crash plane. All die.”

“I heard he stole the plane, took an illegal flight.” Her heart pounded. This man said her father had crashed. She knew something kept him from contacting her. Still, maybe all hadn’t died. Maybe it was even a different plane.

“No. Job for old sheikh.”

Bethanne’s interest became intense. “Did you tell anyone? Why does everyone believe he stole a plane?”

“Those need to know do.”

“Where did he crash?”

“West.”

“Who knows about this?”

He shrugged.

Either he knew no more or wasn’t going to give her specifics.

“And he is buried out west, too?”

He shrugged. He peered at her closely, searching her face and eyes. “In a town called Quraim Wadi Samil.”

Bethanne gave an involuntary start of surprise. “We were just there,” she said.

The man shrugged. “Perhaps you go again.”

“Why didn’t you tell someone at the time? Sheikh al Harum believes he stole the plane.”

“No, I tell the sheikh.” He looked at where Rashid stood talking with the other men.

A helicopter approached, its blades whipping the air around the platform. It set down near the far edge.

Someone on the platform called the man and he waved. “I go.” He loped across the platform and climbed aboard the helicopter with two other workers.

Bethanne stared at the helicopter until it was out of sight. It had not remained on the rig for more than a few minutes. Where was it taking the maintenance worker? She had to have answers. According to him, he had told Rashid.

That didn’t make sense. If Rashid knew, why not tell her? He didn’t pull punches accusing her father of being a thief, why not say if he were dead? If Rashid knew about the sandstorm and the plane crash, why not tell her?

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” a male voice asked to her right.

Turning, she saw Khalid had joined her, staring at the damaged oil rig.

“What?”

“Why men put themselves in danger just to pump oil from beneath the sea,” he said.

“Was anyone injured in the fire?”

“One man was killed. Another burned.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As were we. Mohammad was a good man.”

“You were burned once, yet you still fight the fires.”

“I do not want fire to win. Why are you here?”

“Rashid brought me.”

“I mean, why still in Quishari. You delivered the plane. You did not deliver Haile. Yet you stay.”

“Ask your brother.”

“I did. He said to stop rumors flying that would damage the negotiations with Benqura. I say forget it. Rashid has little to offer for you to stay—unless you hope to cash in somewhere down the line. A story for a tabloid? A bit of blackmail for your silence?”

She turned to him, affronted at his comment. “I have no intentions of blackmail or talking to a tabloid. Maybe I feel a bit responsible I didn’t make sure Haile was on board when we took off. What’s not to like about a few days in this lovely country? The villa is exquisite. The staff makes me welcomed. Your brother has shown me places I would not otherwise have seen. I would not repay such hospitality with anything you suggest. I stay because he asked me to.” She wasn’t going to dwell on the attraction she felt any time she was near Rashid. That was her secret alone.

Khalid studied her for a moment, his eyes assessing. “Maybe. But I don’t buy it. Not from an American woman in this day. There has to be something for you in it.”

“You’re cynical. Maybe I’m enjoying a mini vacation.”

“Yet you still fly.”

She laughed. “That’s for fun.”

Rashid walked over. “Khalid.” He acknowledged his brother. Rashid looked at Bethanne and then Khalid. “Problems?”

“Just questioning your guest as to why she’s here. Watch your back, brother.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Rashid said with a steely note.

“Maybe it’s time for me to leave,” she said.

Rashid shook his head, his gaze still locked with his brother.

“No one helps out a stranger by pretending so much without something in return,” Khalid warned.

Obviously Rashid had not shared all he knew about Bethanne to Khalid. She wanted to confront him about the information she’d learned from the older man. But not with Khalid standing there. How soon could she get back to Quraim Wadi Samil?

Rashid reached out to take her hand, pulling her closer to his side. “Give me an update on the estimated repair time, if you would. Then we’ll be going.” He was making a definite statement for his twin.

Khalid shrugged and began speaking in rapid Arabic. Bethanne could feel the tension from Rashid as his hand held hers. She let her mind wander since she couldn’t understand a word. Why had Rashid asked her to stay—actually almost coerced her? The longer she knew him, the more attached she became. For a few moments, she’d let herself imagine he’d fall in love with her. He’d be as attracted to her as she was to him. Which could lead to happiness beyond belief.

But the reality was more like heartache the size of Texas. She wondered if she dare hint that her feelings were engaged. He’d given her no indication he wanted anything more than a buffer with the minister to buy him some time. And he had not told her the truth about her father.

Yet those kisses had been magical. Had he felt any of the pull she had? With all the women he could date with a snap of his fingers, the fact he spent so much time with her had to mean more than just subterfuge for the minister’s sake. Or not. He was so focused on work.

“Is there anything else you wish to see?” Rashid asked her. Bethanne looked at him. Khalid was already some distance away, walking to a group of men near one of the large machines.

“A quick tour would be great. I’ll probably never be on an oil rig again.” Chafing with impatience to find out more about her father, she refrained from asking him while others could hear. And a quick tour might give her time to figure out how to formulate her question so he’d answer.

“I thought Hasid might have explained some things to you.”

“Who?”

“The man you spoke with earlier.”

“No.” So much for waiting. “Rashid—he said my father’s plane crashed near Quraim Wadi Samil. He said you knew.”