Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride (23 page)

‘Shall I have him announced, then?'

She had wandered over to the door. Kadar was standing at the window. ‘You were dressed like this when I first met you,' she said. ‘And you were standing just there. White silk from head to toe, a gold cloak, a belt studded with diamonds. You looked so—so—so...' She trailed off, gazing at a point over his shoulder, gave herself a little shake, dislodging a hairpin in the process, and turned back to him with a fixed smile. ‘I am prevaricating. Let us see what he has to say.'

* * *

Christopher Fordyce was dressed for desert travel in a cotton tunic and trousers, a thin cloak, and a headdress, all of which bore the signs of a long, arduous journey across the sands. The scimitar slung on a belt at his waist had the look of a weapon selected for service rather than ceremony, and the lithe figure beneath the peasant robes looked to be more than capable of wielding it.

Standing by Kadar's side, Constance watched with astonishment as the Englishman strode into the Royal Saloon as if it were his salon. Skin tanned a deep brown by the sun, brows bleached almost white, threw the bright brilliant blue of his eyes into stark contrast. Mr Christopher Fordyce, whoever he was, was not a man one would forget easily.

‘Your Highness,' he said, making the briefest of bows and holding out his hand. ‘It is a pleasure.'

Kadar shook the extended hand, but did not return the easy smile. ‘Mr Fordyce. You have me at a disadvantage. You are not, I take it, come from Cairo?'

‘Good grief, no. If I'd come from Cairo I'd have sailed. I've come from the kingdom of Qaryma, actually. In a roundabout sort of way.' Frowning, Christopher Fordyce turned his extraordinary eyes on Constance. ‘Funnily enough Sheikh Azhar also had an Englishwoman in temporary residence. A botanist, name of Trevelyan. Is there some sort of female expeditionary force here in Arabia from the old country that I'm unaware of? You
are
English, are you not?'

‘Allow me to present Lady Constance Montgomery, who is indeed English, and is currently serving as my court astronomer.'

Christopher Fordyce took Constance's hand, though his bow was every bit as brief as the one he had bestowed on Kadar. Despite his ramshackle appearance, he was clearly a man accustomed to commanding respect at the highest level. ‘How do you do, Mr Fordyce.'

‘Montgomery, you say? You wouldn't happen to be related to William Montgomery, by any chance?'

‘He is my father,' Constance said, now thoroughly intrigued. ‘May I ask how you come to be acquainted with him? A business associate, perhaps?' she hazarded, though she could not imagine that this man would be easily hoodwinked as Papa. Charming smile and easy manner aside, those piercing eyes of his burned with a fierce intelligence, the lines around them, she was willing to bet, testament to harsh experience as well as the hot desert sun.

As if to confirm her thoughts, Christopher Fordyce gave a crack of laughter. ‘I fear my pockets are too light, and my outlook too jaundiced to be of interest to your father. Oh, forgive me, Lady Constance, I am rather in the habit of speaking my mind, having been away from polite company for some time. I did not mean to offend you.'

‘You spoke the truth. It is only that I was accustomed to thinking knowledge of my father's somewhat chequered business history—I thought that it was not common knowledge, you see,' Constance replied, flustered. ‘You have not told me how you do come to know him, Mr Fordyce.'

‘Nor what your business is here in Murimon,' Kadar added.

‘A man who likes to come to the point,' Christopher Fordyce said with another of his smiles. They did not reach his eyes, those smiles, Constance noted. And he was turning back to Kadar, deliberately avoiding her question. ‘I've come with regards to this,' he said now, producing a piece of jewellery from a pocket concealed somewhere about his person. ‘Have you ever seen anything similar?'

It was a gold amulet set with jewels. Kadar took it, studying it carefully. ‘This is a very ancient and very valuable piece of jewellery. How did you come by it?'

‘Oh, perfectly legitimately. My mother left it to me.'

‘And how, may I ask, did your mother come to own it?'

‘You may ask, but I'm afraid I'm not prepared to tell you.'

Brilliant blue eyes clashed with grey-green. Tension crackled between the two men. For a moment Constance wondered if they might actually fight. Then Kadar shrugged, handing the amulet back to its owner. ‘There is a stone missing.'

‘Yes, that's part of the mystery.'

‘Mystery?' Constance interjected.

‘I am striving to locate the original and therefore legitimate owner,' the mysterious Christopher Fordyce replied. ‘I can now, presumably, eliminate the kingdom of Murimon from my list.'

‘I believe you can. I have seen nothing like this produced here. It does look to be Arabian rather than Egyptian, but it is definitely not from this region of Arabia.'

Christopher Fordyce sighed, secreting his bracelet away. ‘Then I must thank you for your time, and take up no more of it. I must say, though, that is a spectacular jewel you're wearing on your belt. It's a red diamond, if I'm not mistaken.'

‘I suspect you rarely make mistakes, Mr Fordyce.'

‘Never seen one before. Heard of them. They're very rare. Even those smaller ones on your headdress must be worth a king's ransom. Glad to have seen them, my journey is not completely wasted,' Christopher Fordyce said with a wry grin. ‘Now, I'll bid you good day and resume my quest. Your Highness. Lady Constance.'

‘I will refrain from wishing you luck. I suspect you do not need it,' Kadar said. The Englishman laughed, but his smile faded at Kadar's next words. ‘But before you go I would like to know how you come to be acquainted with Lady Constance's father?'

The answer was some moments coming. For the first time since entering the Royal Saloon, Christopher Fordyce looked uncomfortable. ‘He persuaded my—a mutual acquaintance to invest in one of his schemes. A man who does not take kindly to failure. A man it does not do to make an enemy of. Lord Henry Armstrong. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must be gone.'

This time brooking no argument, he strode across the room, his thin cloak flying out behind him. Abdul-Majid, who had been standing guard at the door, looked anxiously at his Prince lest he should wish the guards summoned, but Kadar shook his head impatiently.

‘What an extraordinary man,' Constance declared, as soon as the door closed behind him. ‘An acquaintance of Lord Henry Armstrong too. I have heard of him. I had no idea that my father...'

‘Sire. Highness. I beg your pardon Lady Constance for interrupting, but something the Englishman said has given me pause for thought—in short, I wonder if— You see, it might solve...' A heavy sigh from Kadar made the chief adviser stop, make a strange little bow, then smile slowly. ‘Old habits die hard, Sire. I will get to the point. The diamonds, the red diamonds of Murimon. The Englishman said that...'

‘Even the smallest is worth a king's ransom. What of it?'

Another little formal bow. Another little smile. ‘Is not a king's ransom precisely what you need, Sire, to fully implement your plans?'

Kadar's mouth fell open in astonishment. A first, Constance thought, trying not to smile. ‘You are suggesting I sell the crown jewels?' he said.

‘Some of them, Sire.'

‘Crown jewels which have been part of this kingdom's traditions for hundreds of years?'

‘But will this kingdom survive for hundreds more years if we fail to progress, Highness?'

Kadar pulled off his headband, studying the diamonds winking there in bemusement. ‘Sell the diamonds? That is an altogether radical idea, Abdul-Majid. And an inspired one,' he said.

The chief adviser tugged his beard. ‘I believe I did say to you that even an old camel can learn new tricks, Sire.'

Chapter Fourteen

T
hree days later, it was time for Constance to go. Though they had agreed on their return from their idyllic trip to the island of Koros that she must leave sooner rather than later, it was Christopher Fordyce's surprise visit to the kingdom which had provided fresh impetus to her departure, following the unexpected turn of events which provided Kadar with the answer to all his financial worries. Once he had embraced Abdul-Majid's radical suggestion he had been transformed, working with a vigour which consumed every available hour. The chief adviser had left yesterday for Nessarah to formally put an end to the betrothal. Kadar's plans had been presented to Council. The plan room would be opened to the people of Murimon this morning to allow them to both inspect them and comment on them. And under cover of all this activity, while Kadar embraced his future, Constance would slip away and embark on her journey towards her own.

The last three days had proved conclusively that she could not stay any longer. Kadar had not been avoiding her, and he had not rejected her, he simply had no time for her. In this new kingdom of Murimon that he was building, Constance had no place. She had known this for some time, but to be confronted by the reality of it had been unbearably painful. A prison of her own making awaited her if she remained any longer. So she had made her arrangements to leave with Abdul-Majid's help, assuring him that she would inform the prince herself of her impending departure, knowing that she would not, and that the chief adviser would be en route to Nessarah and therefore unable to alert Kadar.

Her clothes and notebooks were packed. She had taken her lovely Arabian mare out for one last gallop along the beach. All that remained was to say goodbye, without actually saying goodbye. Though she knew it was probably a mistake, she simply could not deny herself this final meeting and so, carrying her completed star map, she tapped at the appointed time on the door of Kadar's library.

‘Constance.' He was dressed in royal blue silk trimmed with black braid. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Though he stood to greet her, he remained behind his desk, indicating that she sat opposite. ‘I am sorry that I've not been able to—I have been extremely busy.'

He wore his Sphynx expression, but there was something else in his eyes. Wariness? She set the leather-bound folio down on the desk. ‘I may be imagining it, but you do not look particularly pleased to see me.'

That flicker of his eye was her only response to this needy remark. And quite rightly so, she thought. What
could
he say? She had not expected him to fall on his knees and declare undying love, had she? Deciding not to answer that question, Constance opened her folio. ‘I came to give you this. I wanted to explain the annotations, to make sure that you are happy with what I have done.'

‘Is it finished?'

She hesitated only a fraction before uttering the white lie intended to throw him off the scent. ‘Not quite. It will require two, maybe three more nights at most.'

He pulled the folio towards him, opened it at the first page, but made no attempt to examine the chart, which was of the north sky. ‘What will you do, Constance? I wish you would permit me to help you.'

‘You have already done more than enough.'

‘Will you return to your family?'

One question she could answer with certainty. Constance shook her head. ‘No, I won't go back there, even if they did offer me a roof over my head, which I doubt my father will. I don't know what I will do, Kadar. I will find a way to earn my keep that allows me to continue with my stargazing. I don't know what that will be, but I do know you needn't worry about me. You have more than enough to occupy you now you have the funds to create your utopia. You must be very happy.'

‘Yes.' His expression remained blank. ‘I would like to know that you too are happy.'

‘I am happy to assure you that I intend to do my best,' she answered, summoning a smile. ‘Kadar, you have made me— Being here has made me happier than I thought possible. I am changed beyond recognition, and that is in no small part thanks to you.'

‘You are too modest. You have transformed yourself, Constance.'

‘Yes. Perhaps. But you gave me the means, and I am—I will always be grateful.' Her voice was clogged with tears. She dug her nails into her palms, determined not to let him see her distress. She loved him so very much, and this was the last time—no, best not to think of that. ‘It is a small token of my gratitude,' she said, indicating the star map, ‘but I hope it will prove a useful one.'

His long fingers traced a constellation. His eyes were bleak. She waited, but he said nothing. She got to her feet. Seeing him had been a mistake after all. ‘I should go.'

She was halfway across the room before he caught up to her. ‘I too am changed, thanks to you,' Kadar said. ‘I have not thanked you.'

‘There is no need. As you said, transformation has to come from within.'

‘But you gave me the means,' he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘I will always be grateful.'

Now he was smiling at her, and though she was sure she was imagining the tenderness she saw in it, it was breaking her heart. She caught his hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles, and fled. He called after her, saying he would come to see her once he had studied the map. She made no reply, one hand covering her mouth to suppress her sobs, intent only on reaching her bedchamber before her tears fell.

But there was no time for tears. Her dhow was due to sail at high tide. Scrubbing her face with a wet cloth, she returned to the roof terrace for one last time to drape the cover over the telescope and to leave her note to Kadar, for she knew he, like her, considered this roof terrace to be their own special place. And then, as the first of Murimon's people crowded the piazza, eagerly queuing to enter the plan room, Constance crept out one of the many side entrances and made her way down to the harbour.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning after a long, rewarding day spent with his people, Kadar could no longer resist the persistent urge for Constance's company. He told himself it was because he owed it to her to share the excitement of this most auspicious of days. She had been there by his side at the Great Oasis, where the seed was first planted. He had missed her presence today as his plans came to fruition.

But as soon as he set foot on the terrace, he felt her absence and at the same time a horrible sense of foreboding. The moon was high enough, full enough, for him to see that the telescope had been covered over, the stack of cushions which normally lay beside it, gone. Below the awning, the desk was neatly tidied. No notebook. Only, he saw sickeningly, a note.

After lighting a lamp, he broke the seal. The contents were brief, but enough to turn his bones to water. Constance was gone. She thanked him for everything. She would carry Murimon in her heart always. Nothing else. No explanation for the manner of her departure. No apology for not saying goodbye. No mention of any future contact. Nothing.

He felt sick. But what had he expected? They had agreed she would go. She was a distraction. He had proved to himself over the last three days how much of a distraction she was by forcing himself not to be distracted, hadn't he?

Had he?
Though he had been avoiding her, he discovered now that there was a difference, a huge difference, between knowing that Constance was here, gazing at the stars, sleeping the morning away in her suite, writing up her notes, riding out on the mare he had come to think of as hers, and Constance not being here at all. Constance sailing away from Murimon. Away from him. For ever.

But what else could she do? It was the suddenness of it—he decided resentfully—which was what was wrong with it. He felt thwarted. Denied the opportunity to share his success today. Denied the opportunity to tell her just how beautiful her maps were. Denied the opportunity to make one last attempt to persuade her to accept his help in forging her future. Unable to lie up here and discuss the stars with her one last time. To see her face light up as it always did when she talked of the heavens, her eyes shining like stars, her hands fluttering like a meteor shower, her hair like a glorious corona around the sun that was her face.

Kadar looked up at the vast night sky. The moon was too bright for stargazing, but he could just make out Aquarius. The water carrier. Was Constance gazing up at the exact same constellation as the Red Sea carried her far away, across the ocean, to her new life? He had even been denied the small consolation of being able to say goodbye properly. To hold her in his arms one last time, to kiss her one last time. And the biggest frustration of all was that he had been denied the opportunity to tell her that he loved her. Passionately. Completely. With all his heart.

Which he did, he realised with sudden searing certainty. Watching the spectacle of a shooting star blaze across the sky, Kadar wondered at his own blindness. He loved her, and the very fact that it felt so utterly different from what he had felt for Zeinab made him certain that this time his love was true. Not perfect. A love that saw the real Constance, and did not idealise her. A love that loved the imperfect Constance, and did not want to change her or protect her or stifle her. A love that wanted her to be free to be whatever she wanted to be. A love that wanted, above all else, for her to be happy.

That is all I care about, Kadar. I want you to be happy.
Constance's words. His own feelings. His heart lurched. Was it possible that she loved him? But if she did, how could Constance have possibly kept such feelings to herself?

Because she loved him. Could the answer be so simple? Because although she loved him she thought she had no rightful place here? But he could carve a place for her, cast in whatever form she desired if she would let him. Did she love him? Jumping to his feet, Kadar felt invigorated, filled with excitement, hope and just a little bit of fear. He was going to find out. And there was something else he was going to do to prove it.

* * *

Traversing the Red Sea might well be the quickest route to Egypt, but it was still a very long journey, and the dhow which Abdul-Majid had chartered for her was no racing yacht. Fortunately, Constance was in no hurry. Having fled Murimon, she wanted to relish this precious time alone, to capture the scents and the sounds and the sights and the heat of Arabia as she sailed northwards. They sailed only by daylight. The two crew slept ashore at night, while Constance sat on deck and gazed at the stars and remembered. With every passing hour she missed Kadar more. Though she tried to ration her thoughts, she endlessly conjectured about what he was doing, what he was thinking. Was he thinking of her? Was he missing her? Was he looking at the same stars as her? Pointless speculation, but utterly addictive. When she reached Cairo, then she would try to let go of him. When she reached Cairo, then she would try to look forward and not backwards. But not yet.

It was on the third day when they caught up with her. Two men wearing the Murimon insignia who, judging by their appearance, had been sailing round the clock. Her heart in her mouth, Constance broke the royal seal on the letter they gave her. With Abdul-Majid absent, Kadar could not leave Murimon. The matter was urgent. Only she could resolve it. He begged that she return with all speed.

* * *

Adverse winds held them back. It took three days to return despite this smaller, swifter craft. Three days for Constance to speculate and to hope and to quell her hopes and to dream and then to stamp all over her dreams. One thing she did not do was dread. Whatever had prompted Kadar to summon her back, she trusted him. Even if he had guessed her feelings, he would not abuse them. Had he guessed her feelings? And if so, what did he feel in return? The two questions uppermost in her mind. The two questions to which soon, very soon, she would receive an answer.

As they sailed past the twin lighthouses into the port of Murimon, her heart was in her mouth. A chair awaited her. Had been waiting for her every hour of the last two days, she discovered. Memories of that initial journey up the steep, winding road to the palace filled her mind. Her heart thumped so hard she was sure it would leap out of her chest. Her legs felt boneless as she was helped from the chair into the piazza. She was overwhelmed anew with the magnificence of the palace, with the sheer beauty of the bay below. It felt so right to be back here. It was so wrong of her to be thinking this way.

A guard met her. Expecting to be taken to the roof terrace, to the library or even her own suite of rooms, she became extremely apprehensive when she realised he was leading the way to the Royal Saloon. The matter was urgent, Kadar had said. Only she could resolve it. It hadn't occurred to her that it might be an official matter and not a personal one. That an emissary might have arrived from the British consulate in Cairo. Anticipation gave way to disappointment. And then the doors were flung open.

The room was empty. Stepping inside, vaguely aware that the doors had been pulled closed behind her, it took Constance a moment to realise what was different. It seemed darker, though outside it was daylight and the window shutters lay open and the chandeliers...

‘Oh, my goodness!' Above her, the white domed ceiling had been transformed into a depiction of the heavens. Constance stared up in wonder. A night-blue sky littered with stars of gold and silver, stars with bluish hues and red. The summer sky over Murimon. The sky she had worn on her coronation robes. The sky she had mapped for Kadar.

‘The sky which witnessed the most important and profound event in my life.'

She whirled around. Her heart leapt. ‘Kadar!'

‘You, Constance,' he said, taking her hand. ‘And it took you leaving me for me to finally realise that I can't live without you.'

Was she hearing things? Perhaps she was dreaming. She gazed up at the star-filled ceiling and back into Kadar's eyes. He had never looked at her like that before. Not just bone-melting, but heart-melting. ‘You can't?' she asked foolishly, for though hope was blooming urgently, she was afraid to believe.