Glamour (53 page)

“Of course.You want to tell Haya?”

Sally thought of the wedding, of Haya’s haughty attitude, the waitress thrusting a shawl over her carefully chosen dress.

“You better do it.

“You two fallen out?”

“Not fatally. We seem to have drifted apart a little.” Sally felt a pang; anger, relief, regret, she wasn’t sure.“Same as you and me. Same as all three of us.”

Jane was silent then, her dark head bowed.

“I’ll make you a very generous offer for your shares, Sal. I can get the money.Then this wouldn’t come between us.”

Sally stood up. “At the end of the day we are friends, not sisters. Things happen. Life happens. I want GLAMOUR, Jane. I hope you get even richer any which way, but I want this store.”

Jane nodded sadly. “I’ll call Haya. And I’ll be in touch. We should do it fast. I’m looking to float in six months. In the meantime, I can still work with you?”

Sally laughed. “You kidding? I’ll be tripling the promo. We want this to be the biggest launch ever. When GLAMOUR floats, I want it to be a proper global chain.”

Jane reached across the table and offered Sally her hand; after a second’s hesitation, the blonde girl shook it. She gave Jane a knowing smile.

“I think you Brits might say, ‘May the best girl win.’ ”

“It’s beautiful,” Haya said. “Thank you.”

She gave the little Moroccan girl a hug and a kiss; her parents looked on, beaming with pride; they called down God’s blessings on Her Royal Highness.

Haya lifted up the little picture, clumsily drawn on paper in bright felt-tip pen, showing Haya standing beside a GLAMOUR store that resembled a large bazaar. Appropriate, really, that’s what it was. The girl, Salma, was twelve, but had Down’s; the drawing was garish as a five-year-old’s. Salma grinned toothily, pleased with her hug and kiss.

The special school was a new one in Casablanca. Haya was making a whistlestop tour of charitable schools in the region; she’d planned out a full schedule with Jaber, and started on it the day after their honeymoon.

“But you’ve got an event every day,” Jaber had said, shaking his head. “Four tours a year, not counting my state visits . . .”

“I can’t sit on my hands, you know that,” Haya told him. “If I’m going to do the charity thing I want to
do
it. Full-time. Use the title, use the position. I’ve been a company director for years now, I need that buzz. Noor will come with me. And they’re mostly in Ghada; I’ll only be apart from you a couple of weeks a year, at most.”

“And when our children come,
insh’Allah
?”

“Then I’ll stick to Ghada. But hey, princesses here travel in style,” Haya teased him. She wondered if she’d ever get used to it: the enormous limos, the outriders, the crazy jewels and exquisite robes. First-class, air-conditioned comfort wherever she set foot. Being the prince’s favored girl had been one thing; this was a whole new ball game. But Haya was determined to earn her keep. She refused to be one of those spoiled women who spent their lives at polo matches or shopping in Dubai.

“I’m proud of you.” Jaber ran his hands possessively over her body, tugging her toward the bed. “The people love you. Everybody is noticing. Even the queen is starting to approve.”

“After that wedding . . .”

“Never mind that.” He brushed his thumbs across her breasts, feeling her shudder, then slipped the robes from her shoulders, gently biting down upon them. “Come here, Princess . . .”

Haya grinned, remembering. She felt guiltily pleased that today was her last day in North Africa and the royal flight would be taking her home tomorrow. She hated to be away from Jaber.

Her equerry, a Miss Salmah al-Akhtam, was giving her that discreet little wave. Haya stood up, gave an enthusiastic little speech about Salma and the wonderful work being done at the school, shook hands with the bowing and curtsying staff, and allowed herself to be escorted out by her bodyguards.

“You have some calls, Highness.”

“Thanks, Salmah—give me the mobile.”

The diplomat shook her head, emphatically. “No, ma’am. We must get you to a secure place.”

“There’s trouble?” Haya demanded, instantly alert. She beckoned the new nanny to come over with Noor and cuddled the toddler, who was already half-asleep. Emily Wilkins had long since tired of the heat and gone home to Ireland; Haya still missed her.

“Yes—no—please get into the car,
Siti
Haya.”

She obeyed. A face like that was not to be argued with. But as soon as the driver had pulled on to the streets—miraculously cleared by her omnipresent outriders—and they were safely headed to the airport, Haya demanded to know what the problem was.

“His Majesty is gravely ill.”

“The king?” Haya shook her head. “Poor man, God spare him! Where is my husband?”

“That is just it, Highness.The prince asks you come home at once. He says things are happening and you must be there.Your appointments for this afternoon have been canceled.”

Haya did not like that. “At whose orders? I never canceled them.”

“Prince Jaber’s,” Salmah said firmly.

Haya bit her lip. Her husband outranked her, of course, and could do what he liked. She found it slightly sexy that he was ordering her schedule around. On the other hand, Jaber would never do that unless something was up.

“Is there any danger?”

“No, Highness.”

“Then let’s get going,” Haya said.

“And one more thing—your friend rang from the United States. Miss Morgan. She said it was important.”

What now? Haya could tell that this was exactly the wrong time for Jane to be calling her. “That can wait.”

Salmah nodded. “She said if you said that, to tell you they are selling the company.”

A rush of adrenaline poured through Haya; her palms started to sweat; she felt the soft hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle and rise.

“Get me on that airplane!” she said to her driver.

“Yes, Highness,” he replied, and stepped on the gas.

While Noor was settled, eating her lunch of pureed fruit and soft cheese, Haya retreated into her private cabin to call from the Skyphone. They had in-flight TV, and although the national station was censored, she could pick up what was going on; the king, suddenly ill with a stroke, and now recovered, was tinkering with the succession. His eldest son, who had tried to kill him, had long been exiled; the younger brother was a playboy, and was apparently being removed.That meant it was wide open. He had five other boys, a half brother, and a vast array of cousins.

Would the new crown prince favor Jaber?

She wanted to get back there, to be with her husband.

When she got through to him, he was calm.Talked about the king’s health and said it was all in God’s hands; Haya thought the palace lines might be bugged; if he was anxious, he wouldn’t discuss things over the phone.

That left Jane.What the hell? Haya wanted this nonsense out the way, and fast.

She dialed the number Jane had left.

“Morgana, Inc. How may I direct your call?”

“I’m sorry, I was looking for GLAMOUR,” Haya said, confused.

“Were you looking for Ms. Morgan, ma’am? This is her new company. Any queries about the stores can go directly to her office. Whom shall I say is calling?”

Haya felt an icy chill.What the
hell
?

“This is Haya al-Yanna,” she said, angrily.“Put me through to her at once.”

“Yes, certainly, Your Royal Highness.” Haya was impressed; typical of Jane to hire the best staff around, right from the get-go, she thought; even the operators were capable of putting two and two together. “One moment, ma’am.”

There was a pause, and Jane came on directly. Haya supposed she should be grateful for not being put on hold.

“Haya?”

“I got some crazy message, and believe me, Jane, this isn’t the time,” Haya said, crisply. “We’re not doing anything dramatic with GLAMOUR right now. My husband—”

“Yes, it’s on the news. I know you’ll want to focus on him, Haya.”

“If that’s another pitch for my shares . . .”

“Not directly. Look, I’ve known you too long to soft-soap it, and I can see you have your hands full, so here goes: Sally and I are determined to take GLAMOUR public.We’re holding a board meeting on Monday, and this is your notification. You don’t need to be there, because we form a quorum without you, and we are going to instruct banks to put the company on the market.”

Haya gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

“It has to be, Haya. It’s gotten too big. And we all have different visions.” Jane sounded slightly wistful, but she was plowing on. “The fact is both Sally and I want to own the company, and the only way out of the stalemate is to float the shares and compete with the stockholders. We’ll be holding back enough of a personal stake to make sure the three of us still sit on the board—that is, if you still want to.”

“Damn right I do!” Haya was shouting, and she didn’t care who heard her.“Are you two using this crisis to shove me out of the picture? I’m the
soul
of our store, it’s
mine
. I provide half the stock and ninety percent of the vision.Without me you wouldn’t bother with one ethical sale. . . .”

“When you’re a public company, ethical is making money for the pension funds who own your shares. Families have their savings in you.”

“But we’re not public!”

“We’re going to be.” Jane was clearly amused by Haya’s claim, and that drove her to a white-hot fury. “It seems all three of us think we made the biggest contribution here.”

“So much for friendship.”

“We could argue that since you are now a bona fide royal with no intention of working again, you would have been a friend to sell your shares to Sally and me. It’s a bit Marie Antoinette, Haya.”

“I could never trust anybody else with my regional operation. You know how much heart I put into that.”

“Haya, face it.” Jane was blunt. “You’re done.You’re finished. Princesses and boardrooms don’t mix, at least you got that right. You could at least let your cofounders run with the ball.”

“We’ll see if I’m finished,” Haya shouted. “I don’t want to be just somebody’s wife. Ahmed had his business and Jaber has his politics, but GLAMOUR was my own. My store, my stock, my damn business model! I’ll be there on Monday, Jane Morgan. If you start that meeting without me I’ll sue your asses off!”

She slammed down the phone and jumped to her feet, pacing around the cabin, seething with rage.

There was an urgent knock on the door, and Salmah, her face shiny with excitement, poked her head inside.

“Highness!”

“Did I say come in?” Haya was simmering with rage, and her unfortunate lady-in-waiting was in the line of fire.

“Excuse me, Highness!” Salmah said. She bowed her head low, and sunk into a very deep curtsy, which brought Haya up short. Salmah and she had been working together for a while now. Except in public, Salmah never curtsied. “But you must come in here, you must come and see the television!”

Haya hurried out into the main cabin. Everybody was staring at the wall-mounted TV, which was tuned in to CNN via satellite; as she entered, they all turned to look at her.

“Mama!” Noor said, obliviously.

The screen showed her husband, dressed in a dark Western suit, sunglasses on, surrounded by soldiers, exiting from the Queen Fizouleh Hospital in Ghada City; Haya’s mouth dropped open as she saw the anchor began to speak.

“And regional sources confirm, I repeat, we have confirmation,” the redheaded anchor was saying, “that King Nazir has appointed his prime minister, Prince Jaber ibn Mohammed, as the new Crown Prince of Ghada. Prince Jaber’s wife is Princess Haya”—her own face, smiling with Sally and Jane, an old PR shot, flashed up—“an American citizen and a founder of the wildly successful GLAMOUR chain of luxury stores. So we could wind up with two American queens in the Middle East, Jack!”

“Prince Jaber is known for his moderate attitude toward the West and a strong commitment to social justice and democracy,” the coanchor said. “But Ghadan officials were keen to stress that the king’s health remains good . . .”

Haya paled, and steadied herself against a seat.

“Turn it off,” she said quietly.

A soldier leaped to obey her.

“We will all pray for the health of the king,” she added. And as they were staring at her, she covered her face and turned toward Mecca.

Oh, God . . . please spare him!

She didn’t want to be queen. She hadn’t signed up to be a queen!

Haya thought of her daughter, her husband, her new country, her parents. And she thought of the news item she had just seen. If her life was to shift again, in this cataclysmic way, the one thing she was damn sure of was that she was going to save her company.

She hoped Jaber would understand why it mattered. But come hell or high water, Sunday night, she was getting on a plane to L.A.

CHAPTER 15

“Great doing business with you.” The broker shook hands briskly with Jane. “It’s a great space, I think you’ll be very happy. If we can assist you with anything more, do get in touch.”