beneath his feet.
‘I am sure you are that,’ she said. ‘When your mother spoke of you, she made it sound as if you were the one who got things done—as if your brother might have had the vision, but you were the practical one who could make things happen. She spoke of a hospital you were building—a hospital for children.’
She was beguiling him—though it couldn’t be deliberate, for how could she have known he’d seek refuge in the rose garden?
He set his suspicions aside as his disappointment about the hospital flooded his being and forced words from his lips.
‘It was to be a special hospital for children, built to accommodate the families so they do not have to be separated from their sick child. It must be a frightening place, for a child, a large, impersonal hospital, although I know these days all hospitals try to make the children’s wards bright and special. In my mind it needed to be more—low set for a start, maybe two or three levels, not a towering, impersonal, corridor-littered monolith.’
‘It sounds a wonderful idea,’ the woman said. ‘But surely you can still achieve it.’
He hesitated, uncertain why he should be discussing his dream with a stranger.
Or was it because she was a stranger that he found it easy to talk to her?
‘I had hoped to make things happen quickly with the hospital—to make my vision come true—but having to take my brother’s place as ruler will put a stop to that.’
She touched his robe above his arm and he felt the heat of her fingers sear through the fine cotton material.
‘You will do it,’ she said quietly. ‘Determined and resolute—remember that—and although I’m sure you’ll have a lot of pressing duties for a while, surely once you’re used to the job, you’ll find time for your own interests.’
‘Used to the job!’ He repeated the words then laughed out loud, probably for the first time since Bahir’s death. ‘You make it sound so prosaic and just so should I be thinking. I have let all that has happened overwhelm me.’
He took her hand and bowed to kiss it.
‘Thank you, Alexandra Conroy,’ he said. ‘Perhaps now I shall sleep.’
Definitely weird, Alex thought as she watched him move away, the swaying robes making it seem as if he glided just a little above the earth.
Not the burning on her hand where he’d dropped the casual kiss, although that was weird, but the way the man had treated her, like a friend almost, when earlier his voice had held a distinct note of suspicion, and later, when she’d asked about the wages, there’d been a faint note of contempt.
Yet out here in the moonlight it was as if the afternoon’s conversation had been forgotten.
Poor man, he’d be devastated by his brother’s death, and now to have to shoulder the responsibilities of the ruler—no wonder he was confused.
‘And confusing,’ she added out loud as she lifted her hand to her lips and touched them with the skin he’d kissed, the warmth his touch had generated still lingering in her body.
She smiled to herself, delighting, for a moment, in the fantasy in which she’d found herself, alone in a rose garden in a foreign country with a rivetingly handsome sheikh talking to her of his dreams …
What was she supposed to do? Alex had eaten breakfast in her room, checked on Samarah, who’d been pale but stalwart, then returned to what was coming to feel like a luxurious prison cell. Not wanting to get inadvertently caught up in the funeral proceedings, she’d stayed in her room until Hafa had explained that the ceremonies were taking place back in the city, nowhere near the palace.
Now she escaped, drawn by the compulsion of their beauty and perfume, to the rose garden. But wandering there, smelling the roses, reminded her of the strange encounter of the previous evening.
When he’d spoken of his brother, she’d felt Azzam’s pain—felt it and seen it—recognising it because she’d carried a fair load of pain herself over the past few years.
Had that recognition drawn her to the man that he’d stayed in her mind, his almost stern features haunting her dreams? Or was it nothing more than the strange situation in which she found herself, making her wonder about the man and the country he was now ruling?
She wandered the courtyard, drinking in the lush beauty of it, freeing her mind of memories and questions she couldn’t answer. One of the fountains spurted its water higher than the others, and she left the rose gardens to go towards it, ignoring the heat burning down from the midday sun, wanting to hear the splashing of the water and see the rainbows in its cascading descent.
As she approached it seemed to shimmer for a moment, or maybe she was still tired, for her feet faltered on the ground. Soon cries echoing from the buildings surrounding the courtyard and figures emerging out of the gloom suggested that whatever had happened wasn’t tiredness or imagination.
‘An earth tremor,’ Hafa told Alex when she found the woman among the chattering crowd of servants who had remained at the palace. ‘Sometimes we have them, though not bad earthquakes like other countries. Ours are usually gentle shivers, a reminder to people, I think, that there are powers far greater than humans can imagine. For this to happen today … well, there are people who will tell you it is the earth’s response to Bahir’s death—the death of a loved ruler.’
Alex considered this, wondering if it was simply accepted form that every ruler would be a loved one, or if Azzam’s brother had been as dazzling and brilliant as his name.
Certain any hint of danger had passed, the women all returned to the buildings, Alex following Hafa.
‘Samarah has returned,’ the young woman told Alex. ‘The women’s part of the proceedings is done.’
‘I should check on her. I still get lost—can you show me to her rooms?’
Following Hafa along the corridors, Alex felt a surge of regret that she’d probably never get to know her way around this fabulous place. Soon she’d be gone, and Al Janeen would be nothing more than a memory of a storybook bedroom and a white-robed man in a scented rose garden.
Samarah welcomed her, and although the older woman looked exhausted, her lung capacity was surprisingly good.
‘See, I am better in my own land,’ Samarah told her, then, to Alex’s surprise, she turned and introduced a young woman who’d been hovering behind her. ‘And now here is my niece, Maya. She arranged her return as soon as she heard of Bahir’s death so she could care for me. But although she is now here, I would like you to stay for a while as my guest. I would like you to see something of this country that I love, and to learn a little about the people.’
Alex acknowledged the introduction, thinking she’d talk to Maya later about Samarah’s condition, but right now she had to deal with her own weakness—the longing deep inside her to do exactly as Samarah had suggested, to stay and see something of this country. It was so strong, this longing, it sat like a weight on her shoulders but she couldn’t stay if she wasn’t needed—well, not stay and take wages, that wouldn’t be right.
And she had to keep earning money!
Her mind was still tumbling through the ramifications of hope and obligation when she realised Maya was speaking to her.
‘Adult-onset asthma?’ Maya asked, holding up the folder with the information and treatment plan Alex had prepared.
‘It could have been the humidity in Queensland. We’ve had a very hot summer and the humidity has been high,’ Alex explained.
‘That, and the fact that she’s been debilitated since her husband’s death a little over twelve months ago. I ran tests before I went away but found nothing, just a general weakening,’ Maya replied. ‘It was I who suggested a holiday somewhere new—somewhere she hadn’t been with her husband. She was excited