Engaged To The Doctor Sheikh. Meredith Webber

now. He has been ill for three years—well, ill, then in remission, then ill again. You must know how it goes.’

      Tariq’s voice told her of his despair and she knew he understood just how little chance his brother had of a full recovery.

      Of any recovery?

      ‘But Khalil is a fighter,’ he added, ‘and we’re all fighting with him. You’ll get to meet him at the hospital, of course, although probably only through glass as his immune system is wrecked.’

      Lila shook her head, aware of the stress and agony this must be causing his family.

      But what could she say?

      Then Tariq was speaking again, so she didn’t have to say anything.

      ‘You should rest now and I definitely need sleep,’ he said. ‘But perhaps, by five, you might be sufficiently rested to visit the hospital. I had planned tomorrow to be an orientation day for you—more learning your way around than work—but this afternoon the unit I ordered for the outreach clinic will be delivered and as you’ll be using it quite a lot, you might like to join me when I take possession of it?’

      ‘I’d love to,’ Lila told him with genuine enthusiasm, because it had been his description of the service he hoped to provide to the children of nomadic tribes that had heightened her interest in Karuba—that had given her more reason to come than just the search for her family.

      ‘Shall we say five at the main entrance to the women’s quarters?’ he said, standing up and moving to ease kinks of what must be tiredness from his limbs.

      ‘If I can ever find the main entrance again,’ Lila said with a smile.

      It was just a smile—nothing more—Tariq told himself as he strode away as swiftly as his tired limbs would carry him.

      But the smile had touched some part of him that rarely recognised emotion.

      Surely not his heart!

      No, he believed his father was right—their people had survived for generations in a dangerous, arid land because the head ruled the heart, making decisions based on practicality, sound business principles and common sense, rather than emotion.

      Worry over Khalil was confusing him, and seeing Nalini again—well, Nalini’s daughter—remembering that bitter time in the palace when even the children had been affected by the poisonous atmosphere—anyone would be confused.

      Barirah was right, he shouldn’t have brought her here.

      But the Ta’wiz!

      With Khalil so ill...

      His head could scoff all it liked but some ancient instinct, not necessarily in his heart but something deep in his soul, told him the Ta-wiz should be here in the palace...

      He made his way slowly through the gardens towards his own quarters. He needed sleep more than anything—just a few hours—but as he reached the small courtyard in front of his wing of the palace, he saw again his father’s words, this time rendered in the mosaic tiles in the courtyard.

      He should speak to his mother, tell her of Lila Halliday’s arrival, even though gossip about it would surely have reached her by now.

      All the more reason to talk to her personally, he told himself. But weariness overcame duty and he walked up the shallow steps and shuffled off his shoes, heading into the house to the sanctuary of his bedroom.

      He would sleep, and later, when he met the doctor, he would set aside the confusion of this morning and meet her as a colleague, a colleague he hoped would help him fulfil a dream he’d held for a long time.

      To bring better health to the children outside the cities and towns—to ensure they were inoculated against the worst of childhood diseases—because he knew the divide between the towns and the desert was diminishing, and the children of the nomads were part of the future of his country. Health and education—with these two platforms, they could become anything they wished...

      He slept...

      * * *

      Lila woke with a start to find a young woman sitting on a mat by her door, her hands busy, fingers flying as she did some delicate needlework.

      ‘I am Sousa,’ she said, rising gracefully to her feet. ‘I am here to look after you. You would like refreshment? A cool drink? Tea, perhaps? I know English people like tea, but I don’t know very much about Australians.’

      She was so openly curious Lila had to smile.

      ‘Australians drink a lot of tea,’ she said, not adding that many of them drank a lot of beer and wine as well. Her family hadn’t, though not for any apparent reason, happy to accept a glass of wine to toast a special occasion but not bothering otherwise.

      But thinking of her family—the one that was real to her—reminded her that she was here on a mission, a double mission now, not only to find out all she could about her parents but also to clear her mother’s name.

      And Sousa might at least know something!

      ‘I’d love some tea,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you could join me and explain a little about how things work at the palace. I am to meet my boss—Sheikh al Askeba—at five, but that still gives us time for a chat.’

      Sousa disappeared with an alacrity that suggested she was dying to find out more about the foreign visitor, returning with a tea tray only minutes later, complete with warm scones wrapped in a table napkin, and jam and cream to go on them.

      ‘Sheikh al Askeba—that’s Tariq, your boss—he should be Crown Prince because he’s the oldest son, but he wanted to study and fought with his father for the right to be a doctor, which is very good for our country as he has built the hospital, and brought in many famous medical people from overseas, but that meant Khalil had to be Crown Prince and now he is so ill, everyone is worried. If he dies, who will the King choose as his successor?’

      ‘Are there only the two sons? And can daughters not take over?’