Sophie Weston - The Sheikh's Bride

‘I hope you weren’t thinking of telling her that,’ he warned.

‘I’m not telling her anything,’ said Hari hastily. ‘I’m not going anywhere near her.’

Amer frowned even more blackly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not the way to stop me seeing her.’

‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ said Hari. A thought occurred to him. He was beginning to enjoy himself. ‘If you want to play at being an ordinary guy, the first thing you’ll have to do is fix up a date in person like the rest of us.’

There was a startled pause. Then Amer began to laugh softly.

‘But of course. I never intended anything else. That’s part of the fun.’

‘Fun!’

‘Of course. New experiments are always fun.’

‘So she’s a new experiment. Are you going to tell her that?’ Hari asked politely.

‘I don’t know what I’m going to tell her yet,’ Amer said with disarming frankness. ‘I suppose it partly depends on what she tells me.’ He looked intrigued at the thought.

‘The first thing she’ll tell you is your name, title and annual income,’ snapped Hari, goaded.

But Amer was not to be shaken out of his good humour.

‘I’ve been thinking about that. If she hasn’t recognised me so far, she isn’t going to unless someone tells her. So you’d better make the arrangements in your name.’

‘Oh? And what about when you turn up instead of me? Even if you can convince the maître d’ to be discreet what about the other people at the restaurant?’

‘I’ve thought of that, too.’ Amer was as complacent as a cat. ‘Now here’s what I want you to do—’

Back at the hotel Leo found her father had tried to return her call twice. He had left a series of numbers where he could be contacted. Immediately, according to the message. So he was serious about it.

Leo tapped the message against her teeth. She did not look forward to it. But years of dealing with her father had taught her that it was better to face up to his displeasure sooner rather than later. She squared her shoulders and dialled.

‘What’s happened?’ Gordon Groom said, cutting through her enquiries after his health and well-being.

Leo sighed and told him.

She kept it short. Her father liked his reports succinct. He had been known to fire an executive for going on longer than Gordon wanted.

When she finished, slightly to her surprise, his first thought was for Mrs Silverstein. ‘How is she?’

‘Sleeping, I think.’

‘Check on her,’ Gordon ordered. ‘And again before you go to bed.’

‘Of course,’ said Leo, touched.

‘There’s a real up side opportunity here. The retired American market has a lot of growth potential for us,’ Gordon went on, oblivious.

That was more like the father Leo knew. She suppressed a grin. ‘I’ll check.’

‘And what about Ormerod? Has he lost it?’

Leo shifted uncomfortably. She had been very firm with her father that she was not going to Cairo to spy on the existing management.

‘Some of the local customer care is a bit archaic,’ she said carefully.

‘Sounds like they need an operational audit.’ Gordon dismissed the Cairo office from his mind and turned his attention to his daughter. ‘Now what about you? Not much point in making Ormerod take you back, is there?’

Leo shuddered. ‘No.’

Her father took one of his lightning executive decisions. ‘Then you’d better come back to London. Our sponsorship program needs an overhaul. You can do that until—’ He stopped. ‘You can take charge of that.’

Leo was intrigued. But she knew her father too well to press him. The last thing he was going to do was tell her the job he had in mind for her until he had made sure that she was up to it.

‘Okay. I’ll clear up things here and come home.’

Other fathers, Leo thought, would have been glad. Other fathers would have said, ‘It’ll be great to have you home, darling.’ Or even, ‘Let me know the flight, I’ll come to the airport and meet you.’

Gordon just said, ‘You’ve still got your keys?’

They shared a large house in Wimbledon. But Leo had her own self-contained flat. She and her father did not interfere with each other.

‘I’ve still got my keys,’ she agreed.

‘See you when you get back.’ Clearly about to ring off, a thought struck Gordon. ‘You haven’t heard from your mother, by the way?’

‘As a matter of fact she’s here. I’m having dinner with her tonight.’

Gordon did not bad mouth Deborah the way she did him but you could tell that he was not enthusiastic about the news, Leo thought.

‘Oh? Well, don’t let her fill your head with any of her silly ideas,’ he advised. ‘See you.’

He rang off.

Leo told herself she was not hurt. He was a good and conscientious father. But he had no truck with sentimentality; especially not if it showed signs of interfering with business.

It was silly to think that she would have liked him to be a bit more indignant on her behalf, Leo thought. When Deborah had ranted about Roy Ormerod, Leo had calmed her down. Yet when her father didn’t, she felt unloved.

‘The trouble with me is, I don’t know what I want,’ Leo told herself. ‘Forget it.’

But she could not help remembering how the dark-eyed stranger had stood up to Ormerod for her. It had made her feel—what? Protected? Cared for? She grimaced at the thought.

‘No regression to frills,’ she warned herself. ‘You’re a Groom executive. You can’t afford to turn to mush.’

Anyway she would not see the mysterious stranger again. Just as well if he had this sort of effect on her usual robust independence.

She made a dinner reservation for herself and her mother. Then she stripped off the day’s dusty clothes and ran a bath. The hotel provided everything you needed, she saw wryly, even a toothbrush and a luxurious monogrammed bathrobe.

She sank into scented foam and let her mind go into free fall. When the phone rang on the bathroom wall, she ignored it, lifting a long foot to turn on the tap and top up the warm water. For the first time in months, it seemed, she did not have to worry about a tour or a function or timetable inconsistencies. She tipped her head back and gave herself up to the pleasures of irresponsibility.

There was a knock at the door.

Mother come to make sure I’ve plucked my eyebrows, diagnosed Leo. She won’t go away. Oh well, time to get going, I suppose.

She raised the plug and got out of the bath. She knotted the bathrobe round her and opened the door, trying to assume a welcoming expression. When she saw who it was, she stopped trying in pure astonishment.

‘You! What do you want?’

‘Very welcoming,’ said the mysterious stranger, amused. ‘How about a date?’

‘A date?’

‘Dinner,’ he explained fluently. ‘Music, dancing, cultural conversation. Whatever you feel like.’

Leo shook her head to clear it.

‘But—a date? With me?’

A faint hint of annoyance crossed the handsome face. ‘Why not?’

Because men don’t ask me on dates. Not out of the blue. Not without an introduction and several low-key meetings at the houses of mutual friends. Not without knowing who my father is.

Leo crushed the unworthy thought.

‘When?’ she said, playing for time while she got her head round this new experience.

‘Tonight or never,’ he said firmly.

‘Oh well, that settles it.’ Leo was not sure whether she was disappointed or relieved. But at least the decision was taken for her. ‘I’m already going out to dinner tonight.’

She made to close the door. It did not work.

He did not exactly put his foot in the door, but he leaned against the doorjamb as if he was prepared to stay there all night.