More cameras flashed as Jaul escorted her out of the function room. In the limousine on the way back to the palace, he flashed her a charismatic smile and lifted a lean brown hand to acknowledge the crowds lining the side of the road. ‘One down, only one more to go. We will feel very much married by the end of this day.’
Her turquoise eyes brightened with amusement. ‘Yes...’
‘Tonight we’ll be travelling into the desert for a few days. I have to meet with the tribal sheikhs and it’s the perfect opportunity to introduce you to their families. While we are becoming an increasingly urban society, there is not a family in the country that does not have a connection by birth or marriage to one of the tribes. Their support is influential,’ he told her quietly. ‘Zaliha will travel with us as an interpreter for your benefit.’
‘Of course. I’ll have to get lessons in Arabic.’
‘It wouldn’t be of much use to you in the desert. The tribes speak an ancient dialect,’ Jaul told her ruefully and reached for her hand, disconcerting her. ‘I really do appreciate your can-do attitude to all of this.’
‘I’ll do whatever I have to do to be a good queen,’ Chrissie assured him, lifting her chin. ‘I’m not planning to embarrass you or the children either now or in the future.’
His luxuriant black lashes lowered over a brightly assessing gleam of gold. ‘A commendable goal but I have a rather more personal outlook.’
Chrissie tugged her fingers free lightly. ‘Have you really?’ she dared before she could bite back that cynical challenge. ‘I doubt very much that you see our marriage in personal terms. How could you? The ceremonies today are the ultimate publicity blitz calculated to please your subjects.’
‘What we appear to feel in public can continue in private. It doesn’t have to be fake,’ Jaul countered smoothly.
‘Let’s keep it simple, Jaul. We’ll both do our best in our respective roles and see how it goes,’ she suggested lightly.
‘As you wish.’ Jaul wondered what had happened to the outspoken and passionate young woman he had married. That Chrissie would never have settled for such prosaic goals. No, indeed she would have demanded his love and attention and shouted loudly if she failed to receive her due. Was the change in her the result of his apparent desertion and the struggles of single parenthood? Ultimately was he to blame? The thought appalled him.
Back at the palace a European-style meal was served. Tarif and Soraya joined the table in their high chairs and ate at speed before demanding the freedom of the floor, whereupon they made complete nuisances of themselves crawling below the table and tugging at shoelaces and trouser legs. Highly amused, Jaul hauled Tarif out from below the tablecloth and returned him to his nanny. Soraya was curled up sleepily on her mother’s lap, forcing Chrissie to dip into her dessert with one hand. Zaliha gave her a nod when it was time for her to go off and prepare for her second wedding. Passing Soraya to the nursemaid hovering expectantly behind her chair and closely followed by Lizzie, Chrissie left the table.
Zaliha introduced Chrissie to the crowd of older women waiting in the bedroom suite, which had been set aside for the wedding preparations. Every tribe had put forward a representative to help dress the Queen. Chrissie removed her wedding gown and entered the bathroom, an old-fashioned one with a giant, sunken tiled tub that had evidently escaped Jaul’s improvements. The water in the tub was awash with rose petals and some highly fragrant herbal concoction. A basin was brought to help in the washing of her hair.
‘It must be done five times,’ Zaliha explained in an undertone. ‘Nobody knows why but it has always been done this way.’
Lizzie grinned and parked herself down on the chair provided for her. ‘I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching this process,’ she forecast cheerfully. ‘It’s so wonderfully exotic.’
Chrissie bathed and lay back while her hair was soaked in scented oil and rinsed over and over again. She emerged from the bath swathed in a big towel and climbed straight onto a massage table, where she was expertly kneaded and moisturised while at the same time an artist drew swirling, elaborate henna patterns on the backs of her hands and on her feet. The painstaking care with which every strand of her hair and every inch of her skin were anointed with some special preparation was amazingly relaxing and at one stage she dozed off for a little while, only wakening when she was forced to do so by the woman trilling in the bedroom.