Marguerite Kaye - Hot Arabian Nights

But she wasn’t contemplating any sort of formal arrangement. She did not want to marry any more than Azhar did. ‘What, then?’ she asked. ‘You become his occasional mistress, spending nine months of the year pining for the three months or three weeks or whatever it is he allots to you? And you think a man as attractive as Azhar would take no other lovers? How would you feel about that?’

She did not want to think about that, and that fact should be caution enough for her. She cared. She was very, very close to caring too much. Azhar liked women, he’d told her so. Women. Plural, not singular. Stupid, foolish, unrealistic Julia to imagine that he would want only her when there was a world of women for him to choose from while she waited alone for a summons as if she was part of a harem. Where was the freedom in that?

The answer was starkly simple. There was none. It was folly, utter folly to allow herself to think that way—or even to dream. She had come to care for Azhar, there was no harm in admitting that, but to cherish any notion that this was anything other than a moment out of time was madness.

Outside, the sky was a strange shade of violet. Aisha, bringing her afternoon mint tea, closed the windows leading on to the terrace, indicating that there was a storm brewing. ‘Prince Azhar had a visitor today,’ she said, speaking in the mixture of English, Arabic and gestures in which she and Julia customarily communicated. ‘The Prince of Murimon, an old friend. For ten years, since Prince Azhar left, he has not been here, but he is every bit as tall and handsome as I remember,’ she added with a saucy smile. ‘After our Prince, the second most handsome man in Arabia. Now they will be rulers together.’

After Aisha had gone, Julia sipped her mint tea pensively. Outside, the sky looked bruised, a mixture of violet and pink, the clouds an odd golden brown, leaden with dust. She felt tense and edgy, a little like the weather, as the sky grew more ominous. On impulse, she opened the long window and stepped out on to the terrace. The paving was gritty, covered with a thin film of sand. She sat down on the edge of the pool, dabbling her feet in the water. The surface of the water was gritty too.

Azhar had not mentioned any friends in their various conversations. Another bond he had cut from his life when he left Qaryma, determined to set himself free of his past. He had severed every single tie, and now he would have to sever them all afresh, if he were to leave again.

If?

She lay back on her hands and gazed up at the sky. A single large drop of rain fell on to the tiles. Above her, the clouds swirled. The surface of the pool rippled and the leaves of the lemon tree shivered as a breeze blew up. Another fat drop of rain fell, followed by a distant rumble of thunder, and then the skies opened.

It was warm, soft rain, not the cold, sharp rain of home. The thunder grew closer, more muffled than the sharp cracks of noise that used to split the sky above Marazion Bay, but she relished both all the same, leaning back on her hands, closing her eyes, letting the rain fall on her face, soak through her tunic, darken her hair and empty her mind.

* * *

Having received no answer to his knock on Julia’s door, Azhar entered, calling her name. The window was open, the gauzy curtains flapping in the breeze. A rumble of thunder was followed almost immediately by a bolt of lightning that lit up the rain-drenched courtyard outside. And illuminated Julia, splayed like a fallen angel on the tiles beside the pool, her feet in the water, her hair streaming out behind her.

His heart in his mouth, Azhar dashed out into the storm, calling her name. So convinced was he that she had been hit by the lightning, when she sat up Azhar thought he was hallucinating.

‘Julia?’

She smiled at him dreamily. ‘Isn’t it fantastic?’

‘It’s dangerous to be out here in a storm. Come in.’

Her clothes clung to her body. Her hair hung in long ropes down her back. Her feet were bare. ‘I love it,’ she said, making no move.

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance. The rain stopped with a suddenness that made the silence seem to ring. Above them, the clouds began to part, and the sun shone weakly through. Julia stared up at the sky looking acutely disappointed. ‘It’s finished.’

‘When I saw you lying there on the ground, for a horrible moment I thought you were dead, struck by lightning.’

‘I was imagining being on the beach at Marazion Bay.’

‘Then you must have a very vivid imagination, because you look as if you have been swimming in the sea there. This bay, it is in Cornwall?’

‘Marazion Bay. Near my father’s home. I learned to swim in the surf there, and to sail.’ Julia’s eyes lit up. ‘It is almost a perfect crescent of sand, set into the cliffs. The path down is almost as steep as a staircase. In the winter, the sea is treacherous, the waves can be thirty feet high. The noise they make as they crash on to the sand is like a lion’s roar, and even when you’re sitting high above the tide line, the spray can drench you.’

‘You are drenched now. Come inside,’ Azhar said, leading her back into the sitting room and closing the latch on the window.

* * *

‘Aisha told me you had a visit from an old friend today,’ Julia said a few moments later, having changed her tunic for a flowing robe of soft lemon muslin sprigged with pale blue flowers.

‘Kadar. Prince Kadar of Murimon, as he is now. The kingdom of Murimon is on the coast, some distance from here.’

‘Was he here on official state business? You must have been delighted to see him after all this time.’

‘Kadar was merely passing through. Yes, it was good to see him. You also have good reason to be glad he came to Qaryma.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘He brought you a present.’ Azhar handed her a small package.

‘A present? But I’ve never even met him.’

‘Open it.’

Julia did as he bid her, staring incredulously at the timepiece. ‘It is Daniel’s watch. How on earth did your friend come by it?’

‘It was recovered from rogue traders at the port in Murimon. He asked me to pass on his apologies, and his regrets that urgent business prevented him from making your acquaintance.’

‘But how did he know it was mine, or that I was here?’

‘When we first arrived at Qaryma I sent out word of the crime which had been committed against you. I know the markets, I know the places where such thieves operate, but I confess, I held out little hope of recovering any of your possessions. It is not your trunk containing your precious notebooks and sketches unfortunately, but I remember you said this watch held great sentimental value for you.’

‘It does.’ Julia pressed it open and read the inscription. ‘It is so—symbolic of Daniel,’ she said softly. ‘Practical and reliable.’ She blinked, for she was close to tears. ‘I’m sorry, it is not like me to be at a loss for words. I hadn’t realised how much I’ve missed it. Thank you, Azhar. What a considerate gesture.’

‘It was nothing.’

‘No,’ she said fiercely, ‘it is not nothing. It matters a great deal to me that you thought of this, of me, when you had so much else to deal with—I am—I don’t know what to say.’

Azhar kissed her forehead. ‘You have said enough. My reward is seeing your delight at being reunited with it.’

Julia sank on to the divan, flicking open the case once more and studying the fascia. The mechanism vibrated slightly in her hand. ‘Daniel is buried in the family plot beside his father, but his mother is still alive. I wonder if I should return this to her when I am back in Cornwall.’ She gazed, mesmerised by the second hand as it relentlessly counted down the time she had left here in Qaryma, second by inexorable second. She wished it would go slower. Absurd thought. Snapping the case shut, she set it down on the table beside her painting materials. ‘Only one more week after the end of this one, and I shall be setting out on that journey,’ she said.