The swish of his rob
es, the click of the prayer beads at his waist, the fine, clean scent…
She turned, her heart juddering at the sight of him. She would never, no matter how long she knew him, become accustomed to the sight of Razi. It was more than his astonishing good looks. When he was in western clothes Razi carried the scent of soap and toothpaste and warm clean man, but the robes of state added the spices of the East and the unmistakeable scent of power. He was a formidable sight, an untouchable sight, this man she loved.
‘What do you have to say?’ he said quietly.
She intended to be calm and rational, but in the event it all burst out of her. ‘I want you to be proud of me—I want my children to have a mother who leads from the front—’
‘And you have to work on a building site to do that?’
‘Whatever it takes! I realise it wouldn’t be right for everyone, but I want to work. I want to earn my keep. I don’t want to be your mistress-in-waiting.’ Her voice broke. She had every intention of making a stand, or reminding him of his mother’s plight, but pregnancy had made her so emotional and all she could think about was Razi’s mother waiting in this same room, looking out at the same view as she waited for a ruling Sheikh around whom Helena’s world had revolved. ‘I want to make a difference.’
‘You can do that without working on a building site!’
‘Don’t roar at me.’ She hugged herself. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Now they both almost laughed.
‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Razi. I just thought if I could talk to Asif and the architects on site before they put the kitchen walls in place I could come up with a really good working plan…’ Her voice tailed away. Razi’s expression was inscrutable.
Seconds ticked by tensely and then his gaze flicked over the papers she had laid out on the table. ‘And are these your notes?’
‘Yes…’
He walked past her and stood, staring down, and then he picked up her clipboard. Having scanned her bulletpointed notes and the scheme she had sketched out, he admitted, ‘This is good.’
She had to tamp down the excitement inside her. If she was going to stay here she had to prove herself effective.
‘I thought if the kitchens could cater for the largest event—or just a family meal—and you have sections that can be brought into play, or shut off—’
‘Yes, I see,’ Razi said thoughtfully. ‘We’ll sit down with the architects tomorrow and discuss this in detail.’
‘We will?’
‘Unless you don’t want to be part of the discussions?’
‘Of course I do.’ Her head was immediately full of more ideas.
‘Well? What did you think of the site I chose for the ecopalace?’ he probed, acting nonchalant as if it didn’t matter hugely to him.
Did love at first sight work with a building site? It just had, Lucy concluded. Yes, there were cranes and diggers and portable buildings and containers, not to mention squads of men in hard hats and high-visibility vests swarming over the scaffolding, but the site itself, framed by mountains and bordered by a sparkling river of the same ice-cold water she had bathed in back at the oasis, was nothing short of fabulous. She’d stood in silence, breathing the warm, spicy air, knowing it was where she wanted to be.
And could never be, because one day Razi must take a wife.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘First impressions?’
She refocused on Razi’s project—his palace, his life—and, with the utmost reluctance, her reality. ‘You’re very lucky.’ She remembered the wise old site manager, Asif, wearing a bright yellow hard hat over his headdress waving to her as she was driven away. She’d waved back, wondering if she’d ever see the building site again. ‘It’s absolutely beautiful,’ she confessed wistfully, ‘and the possibilities are endless.’ Unfortunately, the possibilities open to her were not.
‘You know I’d never keep you here against your will?’ Razi demanded softly, running a fingertip down her cheek. ‘With your talents you have so much to offer the world.’ He pulled away to look around. ‘Seeing you here in this place that was almost a prison for my mother—’ His mouth clamped shut and she knew what he was feeling. ‘The bird in the gilded cage.’ He laughed, but there was no humour in his voice. ‘There’ll never be another,’ he vowed, almost as if speaking to himself.
He ran his fingers across her makeshift desk, which Lucy suddenly realised was almost certainly made of solid gold. ‘All this excess brought my mother nothing but misery.’ Razi’s angry gesture at something he couldn’t change ripped her heart out. ‘All this extravagant glitter is tainted with sadness, which is why I could never live here.’ His eyes were fierce with the need for her to understand. ‘I just hope that when I turn it over to the public—’
‘It will be a wonderful and happy place,’ Lucy exclaimed, unable to keep quiet a moment longer. ‘I can see it now—facilities for culture and education…and for fun, Razi.’ She smiled with encouragement as ideas for the palace bombarded her. She couldn’t have been happier that Razi intended preserving the old palace so people could see how previous generations had lived. Whatever the history behind it, the workmanship was astonishing—the mosaics, the gold work, the mirrors, framed with carved gilt figures and tumbling ribbons so finely worked. ‘I promise you,’ she exclaimed with passion, ‘this is going to be a great attraction. I can see it now. This old palace will come alive for all sorts of people and will become a talking point in the worldwide tourist industry. I doubt anyone could come up with a better competitive differential, if they tried.’
‘A competitive differential?’ Razi interrupted.
Was that humour on his face?