Hassan took her father and Ethan with him and circulated the room, introducing them to their fellow guests. The timid Medina Al-Mahmud attached herself to Leona’s side like a rather wary limpit and, taking pity on her, Leona found herself taking the older woman with her as they moved from group to group.
It was a success. The evening was really looking as if it was going to be a real success. And then from somewhere behind her she heard Sheikh Abdul say, ‘A clever ploy. I am impressed by his strategy. For how many men here would now suspect Mr Hayes as his lovely wife’s lover?’
She pretended not to hear, smiled her bright smile and just kept on talking. But the damage was done. The evening was ruined for her. For it had not once occurred to her that her father and Ethan were here for any other purpose than because Hassan wanted to please her.
Evie appeared at her side to save her life. ‘Show me where I can freshen up,’ she requested.
As Leona excused herself from those she was standing with, a hand suddenly gripped her sleeve. ‘You heard; I saw your face. But you must not listen,’ Medina advised earnestly. ‘For he has the bad mouth and his wife is in purdah after Sheikh Hassan’s visit yesterday.’
Sheikh Hassan’s visit? Curiouser and curiouser, Leona thought grimly as she took a moment to reassure Medina before moving away with Evie Al-Kadah.
‘What was that all about?’ Evie quizzed.
‘Nothing.’ Leona dismissed the little incident.
But from across the room Hassan saw the green glint hit her eyes and wondered what had caused it. Had Evie let the proverbial cat out of the bag, or was it the timid Medina who had dared to stick in the knife?
He supposed he would soon find out, he mused heavily, and redirected his attention to whoever it was speaking to him, hoping he had not missed anything important.
The evening moved on; the old sheikh grew tired. His two sons appeared by the side of his divan. He did not demur when Hassan gently suggested he bid goodnight to everyone. Once again Rafiq lifted him into his wheelchair with the same gentleness that would be offered a fragile child. His departure was achieved quietly through a side door, as the old Sheikh himself had arranged.
Leona was standing with her father and Ethan as this quiet departure took place. ‘How long?’ Victor asked her gravely.
‘Not very long,’ she answered, then chided he
rself because Sheikh Khalifa wished his thirtieth celebration to be an occasion remembered for its hospitality, not as his obituary.
It was very late by the time people began leaving. Even later before Leona felt she could dare to allow herself a sigh of relief at how relatively pain-free the whole evening had turned out to be.
Which suddenly reminded her of something she still had to do that might not be as pain free. Her heart began thudding as Hassan came to take her hand and walk her towards the stairs. She could feel his tension, knew that his mind had switched onto the same wavelength as her own. Hand in hand they trod the wide staircase to the floor above. The door to the private apartments closed behind them.
‘Did Evie bring—’
‘Yes,’ she interrupted, and moved right away from him. Now the moment of truth had arrived Leona found she was absolutely terrified. ‘I don’t want to know,’ she admitted.
‘Then leave it for now,’ Hassan answered simply.
She turned to look anxiously at him. ‘But that’s just being silly.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But tomorrow the answer will still be the same, and the next day and the next.’
Maybe it was a good thing that the telephone began to ring. Hassan moved away from her to go and answer it. Thirty seconds later he was sending her a rueful smile. ‘My father is restless,’ he explained. ‘Over-excited and in need of talk. Will you mind if I go to him, or shall I get Rafiq to—?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘You go.’ She really was a pathetic coward.
‘You won’t…do anything without me with you?’ he murmured huskily.
She shook her head. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised. ‘W-when I am feeling less tired and able to cope with…’ The wrong answer, were the words she couldn’t say.
Coming back to her, Hassan gave her a kiss of understanding. ‘Go to bed,’ he advised, ‘Try to sleep. I will come back just as soon as I can.’
He was striding towards the door when she remembered. ‘Hassan…My father and Ethan were invited here for a specific purpose, weren’t they?’
He paused at the door, sighed and turned to look at her. ‘Damage limitation,’ he confirmed. ‘We may not like it. We may object to finding such a demeaning act necessary. But the problem was there, and had to be addressed. Inshallah.’ He shrugged, turned and left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
INSHALLAH—as Allah wills. It was, she thought, the perfect throwaway answer to an uncomfortable subject. On a dissatisfied sigh she moved across the room to begin to prepare for bed.