Liz Fielding - The Sheik's Unsuitable Bride

Zahir touched his hand to his heart, bowed formally. ‘My name is Zahir bin Ali bin Khatib al-Khatib.’ Then, when the boy giggled, he lowered himself to the veranda steps so that he was the same level as the child and said, ‘And you, ya habibi ? What is your name?’

‘I’m Freddy.’ Then, as if realising that this came up short, he said, ‘I’m Frederick Trueman Metcalfe. I was named after Fiery Fred, the finest bowler who ever played cricket for Yorkshire and England.’ The words came out all in a rush, as if it was something he’d heard many times but did not quite understand. He suddenly looked less certain. ‘At least that’s what my grandpa says.’

‘It’s a fine name. And are you going to follow in Mr Trueman’s footsteps and play cricket for England?’

‘No. I’m going to be a footballer.’

Zahir managed to hide a smile. ‘We must all follow our own star, Freddy. Dream our own dreams.’

Live our own lives?

No! No…

Then, concerned, ‘Are you alone?’

‘I was looking for Mummy. She wasn’t in her room when I woke up so I came here. She was here yesterday.’

They had both come here looking for her…

‘Have you had breakfast?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then maybe we should go and do something about that.’

‘I had pancakes yesterday. Mummy had a fig.’

‘Wouldn’t you like to try one?’ He indicated the tree above them. ‘You could pick your own if you like.’

The boy needed no second bidding, but leapt to his feet. Then, ‘I can’t, it’s too high!’

‘No problem,’ Zahir said, picking him up, but, as he hoisted him to his shoulder, they both turned as they heard Diana making her way up the steps from the beach. She was singing slightly breathless snatches of lyrics from a familiar song, filling in the missing words with the odd ‘la-la’ as she had when they’d danced.

‘La-la, la-la…La-la, la-la…’

She appeared on the path below them, for a moment totally unaware that she had an audience. Then, as Freddy giggled, she looked up, saw them together and stopped in mid ‘la’…

And his mouth dried.

She had been for an early morning dip and was wearing nothing but a simple one-piece bathing costume. Her creamy skin had dried on the walk up from the beach, but her hair was a mass of wet ringlets that dripped tiny rivulets of water on to her shoulders. Venus herself could not have been more beautiful, more enticing.

‘Zahir…’ She seemed as lost for words as he was. Then, recovering first, she said, ‘I see you’ve met Freddy.’

‘He’s rather younger than I imagined…’

‘I’m not young, I’m five!’ the boy declared.

‘But very big for five,’ Zahir added quickly.

And Diana smiled.

Stood there in his garden, bare legs, bare shoulders, every curve of her body brought into the sharpest focus by the clinging fabric of her wet bathing suit, smiling that sweet, tender smile that would have tempted a saint. And he was no saint.

But then neither, it appeared, was she.

‘I imagine he gets that from his father?’ he prompted and her smile, along with the flush of exertion from the walk up from the beach, disappeared like water poured on sand.

‘Freddy, I think we’d better go and find Grandma.’ She extended her hand. ‘Come on, she’ll be wondering where we are.’

‘I don’t think so,’ he said. Five years old and already resisting the tug of the apron strings.

‘Freddy!’

‘I looked . She’s asleep.’ The boy looked at him, a mute appeal for backup.

‘Freddy and I were about to pick some figs. I’d invite you to join us but, much as I regret the fact, I’m afraid that with your colouring, you need to cover up before the sun gets any higher.’

Cover up…

Diana felt the heat flood into her cheeks as she realised just how little she was wearing. Just an old bathing suit that had been purchased for respectability rather than glamour. Something to wear when she took Freddy to mother and child swimming classes.

She hadn’t even thought to take a towel with her, too locked into the idea of plunging into cold water to cool her overheated body.

Zahir was the last person she’d imagined meeting. Zahir looking at her as if she were Eve and it was the first morning…

‘Um…Good plan…’ she said, backing away in the direction of the house. ‘You two g-go and make a start, while I…’ she made a vague gesture to indicate her lack of covering, instantly regretting drawing further attention to the fact ‘…cover up.’

Then she turned and ran.

By the time she’d showered and gone through her entire wardrobe looking for something that would counteract the swimsuit look without looking as if she were hiding-cropped trousers, a long shirt with the sleeves rolled up-breakfast was well under way.

Zahir looked up, smiled, then continued talking to her father. Her mother passed her a cup of coffee without saying a word. Freddy looked up and said, ‘Z’hir’s taking Grandpa and me out on a boat. Do you want to come?’

She looked up, met Zahir’s eyes and they were both remembering another day, another boat…

‘My father keeps a small dhow here. For fishing. It’s pretty basic.’

‘Then I’ll pass, thanks.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Diana and her mother were sitting on a rock above the beach, looking out over the water, watching the dhow set off down the creek.

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ she said, tossing a pebble into the water.

‘I haven’t seen you this…’ she sought for the word. ‘…this lost since you were expecting Freddy.’

‘That was different,’ she said quickly. Then, when her mother just raised a brow, she shook her head. ‘I can’t explain it, but it’s different, okay?’

‘How different?’

But maybe not that different.

‘It’s easy to see how your sheikh might dazzle you,’ her mother said. ‘Sweep you off your feet. He’s a very good-looking man. And charming too-’

‘No.’ Then, ‘Well, yes. Obviously.’

The difference was that Pete O’Hanlon had dazzled her with his danger. Had tempted her for no other reason than because he could. Because it amused him to take something untouched and mark it as his own. He did not build things, cherish things or people. He destroyed them…

Zahir was nothing like that.

Her mother looked anxious.

‘He didn’t dazzle me.’ At least not intentionally.

All it had taken was one look and she’d lost it. All that painfully learned control, forgotten in an instant, gone in a look.

Okay. That was the same.

But she wasn’t an eighteen-year-old with her hormones on fire. She’d kept it together for Freddy. Just…

She turned to her mother. ‘How can one look change everything?’ she asked, needing someone older, wiser to tell her. ‘How can I feel this way about someone I met a couple of days ago?’

He’d looked at her as if she were the first woman and she hadn’t wanted to run and hide. She’d wanted to touch him. Had wanted him to touch her.

That was different.

She’d made him laugh.

He’d made her want to dance. Made her feel brand-new…

‘I don’t know,’ her mother replied. ‘How do you feel?’

‘As if…’As if he had been made just for her. ‘As if he’s a perfect fit,’ she said. ‘As if it’s… right .’

And that was different too.

She’d known from the moment he’d taken what he wanted that everything about Pete O’Hanlon was wrong. That she’d been an idiot. That the next day he wouldn’t even remember her name…

‘It’s a mystery. They say it’s just chemical attraction. Sexual attraction is nature’s way of keeping the species going. Marriage is society’s way of dealing with the consequences.’ She smiled. ‘Or it was.’ She shook her head, sighed. ‘It doesn’t explain how I knew your father was the one the minute he looked at me, though.’ Then, smiling, ‘Or maybe it does. Maybe it was no more than lust and I just got lucky.’