The Unlikely Mistress

‘Is that a yes, Zayed?’ she persisted. ‘Or a no?’

‘What is it that you ask of me, Jane?’ he demanded. ‘When I have given you all that a woman can reasonably expect. I didn’t do trust, or confidences or foreplay until I met you and now I realise just how important they are.’

‘Just not necessarily in that order, right?’

‘Oh, Jane,’ he said, frustrated now. ‘Do you always have to come up with a clever answer?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that I’ve had to survive by using my brain? I didn’t have beauty or charm or an inheritance to fall back on!’ Her voice was fierce. ‘You can’t say you admire my mind one minute, then turn round and criticise it when it doesn’t suit you to hear what I have to say.’ She bent to snap on an extra light, trying like crazy to distract herself and take some of the tension out of the air, but, although an added apricot glow flooded through the room, the tension remained just as high. Think logically, she told herself. Think clearly. Don’t hide behind politeness or subterfuge. Tell him the facts so that he can be in no doubt.

‘You don’t realise, do you, Zayed,’ she said, ‘that you think you’re offering me everything while in reality you’re offering nothing.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Didn’t you hear a word of what I just said?’

‘I heard you loud and clear. But while companionship and sexual attraction and intellectual stimulation tick many of the boxes necessary for a satisfactory marriage, you’ve missed out the most important one of all—especially if you want to make it a happy marriage.’

He froze, his body tensing—as if anticipating her next words. As if daring her to say them. ‘And you’re about to tell me what that is, are you?’ he challenged softly.

‘You know I am, because it’s a fact. And it’s called love.’ The words exploded from her lips in a way she hadn’t anticipated. ‘The feeling which defies all logic or reason. Which strikes when you least expect it—and, in my case, when you least want it.’ The lump in her throat was making speech difficult but what was even harder was knowing she was opening herself up to him and leaving herself with nowhere to hide. But she had to do it. Something told her she had no choice. ‘I didn’t want to feel this way but it got me all the same. And I love you, Zayed,’ she whispered. ‘Despite your arrogance and your outrageousness, I’ve fallen in love with you.’

Her words died on her lips because his body language had suddenly changed. The analytical part of her had suspected her declaration was going to fall on false ears. But the emotional part—the part which had unwillingly been sucked in and enchanted by the man he truly was beneath the macho exterior—didn’t that hold out some flickering hope that he might return her love, even if only a little?

He had moved away to stand by the dying embers of the fire she’d lit earlier. As if in those glowing coals he might find the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. But when he looked up there was no peace or acceptance in his ravaged features. There was anger, yes—and disappointment, too.

‘I have offered you everything that I have to offer,’ he said. ‘And as much of myself as it is possible to give. I have not fed you lies, nor fantasies, Jane. I have made you only the promises I am capable of keeping and if that isn’t enough—’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It isn’t.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t you know that nature abhors a vacuum? And there would be a huge vacuum in our marriage if such a big thing was missing. If our feelings are so fundamentally unequal, it could never work. I would love you far too much, while you would love me not at all. You must know

that, Zayed, just as I do. So...’ She could feel another lump forming in her throat and she was terrified that she was going to break down and do something stupid. Something unforgivable, like clinging to his leg and begging him to stay. ‘I don’t really think there’s any more to be said, do you? It’s been good to clear the air, but you’ll probably want to get going now. It’s a long drive back.’

There was a loaded pause before he nodded and just before he turned away he looked at her—his eyes full of darkness and regret.

‘Goodbye, Jane,’ he said, a note in his voice she’d never heard before. Something she didn’t recognise. Something which tore at her heart with painful claws.

And that was it. There was no kiss or hug. They might as well have been two strangers. She might as well have been someone at whose door he had just stopped to ask for directions. As suddenly as he’d turned up, he was gone and Jane almost thought she might have imagined it if moments later she hadn’t heard the powerful sound of an engine, or seen the sweeping arc of headlights as two cars passed the cottage.

She was trembling for ages after he’d gone, even though she tried to tell herself she should have been relieved. Because she had been true to herself, hadn’t she? And to him. Briefly, she found herself wishing he had been one of those men who said things they didn’t mean. Who could have told her he loved her and managed to do a pretty good impression of loving her. But deep down she knew that would never have been enough. Her own love would have swamped them—trapped him and left him wanting to escape.

Walking into the kitchen, she turned on the tap to pour herself a glass of water, wondering why he couldn’t do love when it was obvious he cared about her. Why he couldn’t go the extra distance and give her what every woman secretly wanted. And then it hit her, like an almighty blow to the head, and she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

She thought about his mother who had loved his father and had married him, instead of settling for a marriage of convenience. Because of that love she had died and Zayed’s father had died in trying to avenge her death. Zayed had been haunted by nightmares of guilt and remorse, yet after he’d talked about it those nightmares had stopped. But the consequences hadn’t. They just kept on rippling down through the ages. Unless you acknowledged them. If you told yourself that you had enough love for both of them, instead of selfishly demanding your own share.

For it was blindingly simple.

He didn’t do love because he associated it with loss.

Fumbling for her phone, Jane punched out Zayed’s number but there was nothing but an empty tone in response and she wondered why he’d changed it. Not caring about the time difference, she phoned Hassan in the Kafalahian palace and she could tell from the drowsiness in his voice that he’d been asleep.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Hassan,’ she babbled. ‘But I need Zayed’s new number and I need it now.’

‘I can’t do that, Your Royal Highness. He gave me specific—’

‘Hassan, please. It’s...important.’

There was a pause. ‘I may just lose my job over this,’ said the aide, with a sigh. ‘Have you got a pen?’