‘You misunderstand, Raschid,’ Jibril Al-Mahmud quickly inserted, eager to soothe the ruffled feathers of the other man. ‘My apologies, Hassan, for feeling pressed to say this.’ He bowed. ‘But it is well known throughout Rahman that your most respected wife cannot bear a child.’

‘This is untrue, but please continue with your hypothesis,’ Hassan invited calmly.

Flustered, Jibril looked back at Raschid. ‘Even in your country a man is allowed, if not expected, to take a second wife if the first is—struggling to give him sons,’ he pointed out. ‘We beg Hassan only take a second wife to secure the family line.’ Wisely, he omitted the word ‘blood’.

‘Hassan?’ Raschid looked to him for an answer.

Hassan shook his head. ‘I have the only wife I need,’ he declared.

‘And if Allah decides to deny you sons, what then?’

‘Then control passes on to my successor. I do not see the problem.’

‘The problem is that your stance makes a mockery of everything we stand for as Arabs,’ Abdul said impatiently. ‘You have a duty to secure the continuance of the Al-Qadim name. Your father agrees. The old ones agree. I find it insupportable that you continue to insist on giving back nothing for the honour of being your father’s son!’

‘I give back my right to succession,’ Hassan countered. ‘I am prepared to step down and let one or other of you here take my place. There,’ he concluded with a flick of the hand, ‘it is done. You may now move on to discuss my father’s successor without me…’

‘One moment, Hassan…’ It was Raschid who stopped him from rising. Worked in and timed to reach this point in proceedings, he said, ‘I have some objections to put forward against your decision.’

Hassan returned to his seat. Raschid nodded his gratitude for this, then addressed the table as a whole. ‘Rahman’s land borders my land. Your oil pipeline runs beneath Behran soil and mixes with my oil in our co-owned holding tanks when it reaches the Gulf. And the old ones criss-cross our borders from oasis to oasis with a freedom laid down in a treaty drawn up and signed by Al-Kadah and Al-Qadim thirty years ago. So tell me,’ he begged, ‘with whom am I expected to renegotiate this treaty when an Al-Qadim is no longer in a position to honour his side of our bargain?’

It was an attack on all fronts. For Rahman was landlocked. It needed Behran to get its oil to the tankers that moored up at its vast terminals. The treaty was old and the tariffs laid down in it had not been changed in those thirty years Raschid had mentioned. Borders were mere lines on maps the old ones were free to ignore as they roamed the desert with their camel trains.

‘There is no question of altering the balance of power here in Rahman,’ It was Sheikh Jibril Al-Mahmud who declaimed the suggestion. He looked worried. Crown Prince Raschid Al-Kadah was not known as a bluffing man. ‘Hassan has our complete loyalty, respect and support.’

‘Ah,’ Raschid said. ‘Then I am mistaken in what I have been hearing here. My apologies.’ He bowed. ‘I believed I was hearing Hassan about to step down as his father’s natural successor.’

‘Indeed no such thing ever crossed our minds.’ You could almost see Sheikh Jibril shifting his position into the other camp as he spoke. ‘We are merely concerned about future successors and question whether it is not time for Hassan to consider taking steps to—’

‘As the old ones would say,’ Raschid smoothly cut in, ‘time is but a grain of sand that shifts in accordance with the wind and the will of Allah.’

‘Inshallah,’ Sheikh Jibril agreed, bringing Sheikh Abdul’s house of cards tumbling down.

‘Thank you,’ Hassan murmured to Raschid a few minutes later, when the others had left them. ‘I am in your debt.’

‘There is no debt,’ Raschid denied. ‘I have no wish to see the spawn of Sheikh Abdul Al-Yasin develop in to the man who will then deal with my son. But, as a matter of interest only, who is your successor?’

‘Rafiq,’ Hassan replied.

‘But he does not want the job.’

‘He will nonetheless acquire it,’ Hassan said grimly.

‘Does he know?’

‘Yes. We have already discussed it.’

Raschid nodded thoughtfully, then offered a grim smile. ‘Now all you have to do, my friend, is try to appear happy that you have achieved your goal.’

It was Hassan’s cue to begin smiling, but instead he released a heavy sigh and went to stand by the window. Outside, skimming across the glass-smooth water, he could see two jet-skis teasing each other. Leona’s hair streamed out behind her like a glorious banner as she stood, half bent at the knees, turning the machine into a neat one-hundred-and-eighty-degree-spin in an effort to chase after the reckless Samir.

‘The victory could be an empty one in the end,’ he murmured eventually. ‘For I do not think she will stay.’

Raschid’s silence brought Hassan’s head round. What he saw etched into the other man’s face said it all for him. ‘You don’t think she will, either, do you?’ he stated huskily.

‘Evie and I discussed this,’ Raschid confessed. ‘We swapped places with you and Leona, if you like. And quite honestly, Hassan, her answer made my blood run cold.’

Hassan was not surprised by that. East meets west, he mused as he turned back to the window. Pride against pride. The love of a good, courageous woman against the—

Tags: Michelle Reid Romance
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