order to placate her. To keep the little lady quiet. Restlessly, she wriggled in her seat.
Hassan shot her a glance as he saw her tug impatiently at the seat belt which was straining over her swollen belly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘So will you please keep your eyes off me and look at the road instead?’
She had been in an irritable mood all morning, he acknowledged, but he did as she asked, silence falling as they drove along until he saw a familiar marking on the horizon.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead and a little to the left. Can you see it?’
Ella screwed up her eyes to see a small blot on the stark landscape. As they grew closer, she could see that it was a tent, but nothing like as glamorous as she’d been expecting. Apart from its dense, black colour, it just seemed like a much bigger version of the tents you saw at music festivals.
‘Does it stand empty all the time?’ she asked.
‘This one does. Kamal uses it only infrequently. I sent some servants here earlier to make it habitable for us, but they will have returned to the palace by now.’
He stopped the car in a spray of sand and went round to the passenger door. The pure, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply and he looked up into the deep cobalt of the sky before helping his wife down. It had been a long time since he’d been in the desert for the purpose of pleasure, rather than war, and inevitably he felt the fizz of exhilaration. Stealing a glance at Ella’s face, he helped her down from the car. Maybe not quite pleasure, he amended wryly—at least, not for her. Endurance might be a more accurate description, judging by her expression.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘To a genuine Bedouin tent. For the weary traveller, the sight of one of these is like stumbling across an oasis.’
Ella dredged up a smile from somewhere. She was feeling very weary herself, and it was much hotter out here than she’d imagined. But she recognised that Hassan was trying hard to please her, so shouldn’t she just try to enjoy the experience? Fanning her hand across her face, she made her way over to the entrance of the tent, but as she pulled back the flap and stepped inside the surprisingly cool interior, she sucked in a breath of amazement.
Lit by intricate metal lamps, the canopied ceiling was hung with rich fabrics of scarlet and bronze, all shot with shimmering gold. Rose and turquoise wall hangings glimmered with a soft intensity, and on the woven rugs stood low sofas, cushions and bronze tables. The air was scented with something spicy and evocative and for a moment Ella’s niggling backache was forgotten.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly, because it was exactly like stepping into an illustration from the Arabian Nights. ‘It’s beautiful.’
But Hassan’s attention wasn’t on the decor. He was momentarily transfixed by the look on his wife’s face. By the parting of her rose-petal lips and the widening of her ice-blue eyes. She was beautiful, he thought suddenly. Her face bare of makeup and her body swollen with his child, he thought he’d never seen anyone look quite so lovely in his life. And she wants to leave you. She wants to leave you, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
‘Shall we sit down?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘And I’ll make you some of the tea for which the Bedouin are famous.’
A wave of dizziness swept over her as Ella nodded, cumbersomely lowering herself onto one of the cushions. ‘If you like,’ she said.
He set about boiling water and measuring out herbs and sugar before adding them to the heavy pot in which the tea was made. But he turned round when he heard the ragged little sigh she made and saw her eyes momentarily close.
‘Are you okay?’
Her lids flew open again. ‘I would be if you’d just stop fussing!’ She sounded as if she was spoiling for a fight but Hassan didn’t react. She’s just emotional, he told himself. And she has every right to be. He carried over a tray bearing tiny cups and the steaming tea.
‘What’s that funny smell?’ she questioned suspiciously.
‘It’s probably the habak and marmaraya. They’re the desert herbs which gives the tea its distinct flavour. The habak tastes a little like mint.’
Ella swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘It isn’t that bad.’
But his attempt at humour was forgotten as Ella suddenly realised that something momentous was happening to her.
‘Hassan, I feel weird.’
‘What kind of weird?’
She swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to have the baby.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Don’t you dare tell me I’m silly!’ she flared back. ‘How the hell would you know? You’ve suddenly gained a qualification in obstetrics, have you?’
‘You’ve got another four weeks to go.’
‘I know exactly how long I’ve got to go and I don’t care! This baby’s coming now!’ Staggering to her feet, she felt the unexpected warm rush of liquid cascading down her leg and she stared down in numb horror as realisation began to dawn on her. ‘Hassan!’ she gasped, raising her head to meet the disbelief in his eyes. ‘My waters have just broken!’
Hassan froze. He thought of the clean, bright interior of the labour ward at the hospital in Samaltyn, of the fully trained teams of doctors and nurses who could be summoned at a moment’s notice, and denial washed over him. ‘They can’t have done!’
‘They have! Look! Look!’ Reaching out, she caught hold of his hand, her nails digging roughly into his flesh. ‘Hassan, that was a definitely a contraction!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure! Oh, heavens! The baby’s coming and we’re stuck out in the middle of the bloody desert!’
One glance at her was enough to convince him that she was speaking the truth and his instinct was to panic like never before. Desperately, his thoughts whirled as he thought about the options which lay open to them. Was there time to get her back to Samaltyn? He heard her gasp and clutch at her stomach with her free hand and he knew there was not. Sweet flower of the desert, why ever had he brought her out here at such a time?
But her blue eyes were dark with fear and Hassan knew he had to quash his own spiralling terror and get a grip. He had to be there for her. He had let her down so many ways in the past but this time she was relying on him like never before.
Carefully, he laid her back down on the cushions, barely noticing the nails which were digging into his hands so hard he could feel them drawing blood. His heart was pounding frantically as he leaned over her and squeezed her hand. ‘Stay here!’ he commanded.
‘What else do you think I’m going to do?’ She clung onto his hand as she felt him pulling away. ‘Hassan! Where are you going?’
He cursed as he stared down at the flat line on his cellphone. ‘I’ll have to go outside, to ring the hospital. There’s no damned signal in here!’
‘Don’t leave me!’ she whispered.
‘Sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’
Ella felt as if this was all happening to someone else and the unfamiliar sweetheart only compounded it. As if the woman lying back against a pile of cushions, gasping with pain, was someone she’d once met but didn’t really know. Dimly, she could hear Hassan outside the tent barking out a series of instructions in his native tongue. Hurry up, she thought faintly. Just hurry up!
She had never been so glad to see anyone as when he came running back into the tent and crouched down beside her. But then another contraction rocked right through her and she clung to him, panting for breath.
‘It’s