Heart of the Desert (11 page)

I
T DID
not abate.

Not for a single minute.

There were demands and there were questions and he dealt with each and every one.

He flew deep into the desert and witnessed the suffering, then returned to have his competence questioned by a hungry press.

He did not care about tourism was his surly response at the conference.

And anyway, he questioned the questioners, did the tourists want to visit an empty desert—a ghost town of what once was?

He silenced his critics with his performance, yet for Ibrahim there was no respite, for each night he slept alone.

He went for the phone on several occasions, but it wasn’t just sex he wanted. For the first time it was someone else’s opinion he craved.

One other person’s opinion.

‘I tell him he does well.’ Home from the hospital before her baby, Jamal sat at breakfast and spoke in
broken English to Georgie, when Ibrahim made a surprise appearance one morning. She spoke for a little while longer to Ibrahim then turned and smiled at Georgie. ‘Soon Felicity back.’

‘How soon?’ Georgie asked, her eyes jerking to Ibrahim, because she wanted to leave so badly, because even if she hardly saw him, just the occasional passing on the stairs, where the greeting was polite and cool had been hard enough. Now that he was sitting at the table, it was almost more than she could bear.

‘Karim called and said the situation is much improved—he wants her to come home, though he will stay out there.’

‘And the airports?’ Georgie asked.

‘I’m meeting with the doctors today. They are proposing that all visitors be vaccinated … but …’ He paused, waited for her to fill in, to offer her thoughts, but Georgie didn’t. ‘Once the new guidelines are in place, there seems no reason not to reopen them.’

‘How soon?’ Georgie asked, because she did not want a debate, just answers.

‘Perhaps as early as tomorrow.’ Ibrahim selected a fruit from the platter, then changed his mind and Georgie looked down and saw the pomegranate. She could have picked it up herself, could have taunted him a little, but she was too bruised and raw to play games: she just wanted to go home.

‘You stay till I bring the baby home,’ Jamal said—the future king would not be named for some time yet. ‘It will be a good day.’
Georgie gave a noncommittal smile and when the maid came to tell Hassan and Jamal that the car was ready to take them to the hospital, Georgie stood to leave too, but Ibrahim halted her.

‘Will you stay when Felicity gets here?’

‘Why?’

‘As Jamal said, the baby will be home soon and with the illness receding, there will be much celebration.’

‘I don’t really feel like celebrating.’

‘You could have time with your sister.’

‘Not this visit.’ Georgie gave a shrug and went to leave.

‘Georgie.’

‘What?’

‘Maybe we should talk …’

‘Ab out what?’

He didn’t know, but he was aching for her.

‘Maybe tonight, when the palace is quiet, you could come—’

‘As I said,’ Georgie hissed, ‘never.’ And she went to walk out but he called her back and she was more angry than she had ever been in her life, because he thought he could summon her, that sex might soothe the heartache; angry too, that she was considering it.

‘Georgie, you do not walk out—’

‘Am I supposed to curtsey?’ she hurled back at him.

‘You do not leave till you’re excused.’

‘Oh, I’ve already been excused,’ Georgie responded.
‘When you called me damaged goods, Ibrahim, you excused me for life.’

‘Like it or not, we are here together.’ He just wanted to talk, but she was too angry to see that.

‘Not for much longer,’ Georgie snarled. ‘Felicity’s back tomorrow.’

‘We still don’t know about the airports.’

‘I’ll swim home if I have to.’ Georgie said, and she meant it, absolutely she meant it. At the very least she would check into a hotel.

She spent the day packing, in-between looking after Azizah. She did everything she could to keep him from her mind, but as night crept in, she gave in a little and fed her craving—watched the news reports, flicking channels, because sometimes there were subtitles, and even if she didn’t understand completely, there was no denying that the young prince had stepped in and brought calm. His deep voice soothed the troubled nation. Difficult decisions, it seemed, were effortlessly made, but they had taken their toll.

She could see that.

Did everyone notice the clench of his jaw as he listened to questions, or the tiny fan of new lines around those dark Zaraq eyes? Did they see that those magnificent cheekbones had become more accentuated in these past days, or the taut lines of his shoulders?

Or did only love make those details visible?

And she changed channel and changed it again, but it made no difference, because even if she closed her eyes,
his face was still there and, yes, very unfortunately for Georgie, she loved him.

‘Oh!’ She jumped as he walked into the lounge. It was close to ten but still early for Ibrahim to be back and she had wrongly assumed the interview she was watching was live. ‘I thought you were …’ She gestured to the television. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’

‘You don’t have to hide in your room.’

She felt safer there, but didn’t say that. She simply didn’t answer, just walked past the sofa, but he caught her wrist.

‘Did you understand what was being said?’ He glanced over at his own image on the screen.

‘Not really.’

‘Things are improving.’

‘That’s good.’ She could feel his fingers on her skin, feel the pull to join him, to sit, but she stood. ‘I saw the news earlier.’ She still couldn’t look at him. ‘There were subtitles … they were talking about the young prince, what a magnificent job you were doing …’ She watched her tears fall on his fingers. ‘There was talk of a bride …’

‘There is always talk of marriage,’ Ibrahim started, but the plight was real, he could not lie. ‘If I am here as a prince, if I stay …’

‘There’s no if.’ Georgie was angry. ‘You’ve had your taste of power and now you want more.’

‘No.’ He wished it was that simple. ‘It is not about power, it is not about want. I am
their
prince. The people have been patient while I grew up, but now it is time to
accept the responsibility, all of it …’ He looked at the television screen, the arguments, the raised voices. ‘Do you understand what is being said?’

‘No.’

‘That is one of the elders. He asks if our rulers do care, why is there no hospital on the west side? Why does it take five days to get aid? Zaraq is rich, yet its people suffer.’

‘It’s changing, though.’ Georgie swallowed. ‘There are outreach programmes, there is a hospital—’

‘That they cannot access.’ Ibrahim looked at her. ‘They choose to be isolated—that is what the journalist is saying now. They make us promise not to invade their desert, not to take away their ways … It is complicated.’

‘There’s no easy solution,’ Georgie attempted, and then she saw his face, saw the worry and the lines and the pressure on him. ‘Is there?’

‘No easy one,’ Ibrahim said. ‘There is a need for more infrastructure. I told you my father tried once. He brought in experts but they do not understand our people’s ways. There was a road planned, just in from the coastline, but it meant bridges. There were arguments …’ And she started to understand. She felt it in her stomach, in her throat.

‘You do, though?’

He nodded.

‘I sit in London and I design elevators and pools that stretch from high-rise to high-rise and I focus on the skyline, but I have not forgotten the ground. I understand
some of the magic and the science. I can see bridges that can negotiate the canyons. I can see how it can be done, in ways the people would allow, ways that would benefit them yet uphold their desire to live freely …’ She watched as his analytical mind started to dream, then she turned her attention back to the screen, listened and read the subtitles as the interviewer asked if the prince would oversee the changes.

‘For now,’ Ibrahim had answered, ‘we deal with the current issue. Then we move to ensure it never happens again.’

She looked at him, at a face that she could read, an expression that was suddenly familiar—even though he wasn’t asleep, it was the face she had seen on the plane, a troubled face that spoke of inner torment.

‘What’s wrong, Ibrahim?’ He closed his eyes to her question. ‘I did see you when you stepped on the plane and you were nothing like the man that stepped off. Is this where you want to be?’

‘Honestly?’ Ibrahim said, and she nodded. ‘I don’t know. This is where I am needed.’ He opened his eyes and looked to her and he was grateful that she stayed silent, that she didn’t point out that she needed him too, didn’t fight for her corner of his torn heart.

‘When this is over,’ Ibrahim said, ‘when I get back …’

‘You belong here.’ Georgie said, because over the last days it had become clear that he did. He stood up and headed out, but as he got to the door he changed
his mind. As he had in the club, he turned round and walked back to where she was still standing.

‘What I said, about damaged goods …’

‘Please don’t say sorry,’ Georgie said. ‘Because I’d hate myself if I forgave you.’

‘I don’t expect you to forgive me and I don’t expect you to understand—just know that by saying what I did, I had hoped to hurt you less in the long term.’

‘Well, it didn’t work,’ Georgie said. ‘It can never work.’

And somehow, to live the rest of her life, she had to accept that.

‘I
T’S
not long now.’ Georgie tried to soothe the little girl, but she missed her mother. ‘Mummy will be home soon,’ Georgie said, and instantly regretted it, because just the mention of her mother and Azizah’s screams seemed to quadruple. ‘Come on,’ Georgie said, tired of pacing the luxurious nursery. Feeling the heat from her niece’s cheeks, she unlocked the French windows and stepped out onto the balcony. The cool night air surprised Azizah into silence. ‘I’ll take you down to the beach tomorrow,’ Georgie promised and stared into the black eyes of her niece for a moment, but she tore her gaze away, because Azizah had inherited Zaraq eyes.

Georgie felt the air still in her chest as she caught sight of Ibrahim walking on the beach, and when he looked up this time he did not dismiss her; this time he did not look away. She just stood and stared down at him. She could not see for sure, but thought he was looking right at her, unashamedly staring, as was she. She stared, not just at him but at a memory, and she knew they were both reliving the desert.

She did not move, tasted his lips in her mind as he walked slowly on, and she knew what to do.

Georgie put the sleeping babe in her cot, locked the French windows and headed back to her own room.

She did not need to turn the key in the lock—she knew he would never come to her. He had ended it, and would not be so cruel as to revoke it, no matter how much he wanted her this night.

This long night, before tomorrow, before normality returned.

Georgie knew it was their last chance to be alone, their last chance for a goodbye, but not in words.

Her last chance to thank him because, despite his cruel words, he had changed her, had shown her the beauty of her body, had taken her to a very different place.

He would be prince, so she must kiss him goodbye.

He found her in his bed and didn’t humble her with questions.

He kissed her warmly along her neck down to her shoulder and then back to her neck. Then he spoke about that which was so painful they hadn’t been able to speak of it before. ‘I wish you had told me.’

‘Why?’ Georgie asked. He had thought it obvious, but as he went to answer he checked himself and Georgie answered for him. ‘So you could have avoided me, so that it would never have happened.’ And she felt his lips back on her neck and his strong body pressing into hers and she understood why she had chosen to keep quiet. ‘So we could never have known this.’

‘How do we go on now?’ He turned her onto her back, made her look at him. ‘Next time you are here visiting your sister and I am with my bride …’ He was so cross with her, so cross because accepting his father’s choice of bride might not have been great but it would have been bearable. Now, though, it would kill him.

‘We’ll come separately,’ Georgie replied.

‘Weddings, births and funerals generally only have one sitting, which means we will both be there, but separate and somehow denying this.’ He could feel every inch of her skin beneath his, feel the body that belonged to him in every way but by law, and even if he wanted her, he was still angry. ‘Am I to shake hands with your future husband, admire you children?’ He could not, just could not envision it. ‘Or are the next fifty years to be spent slipping out after the meal, hoping we meet in the gardens …’ She shook her head.

‘No.’ Georgie said, because she couldn’t live like that. And Ibrahim recalled something then. ‘Was that why you stopped me? Not guilt about your sister?’

‘My divorce wasn’t through then. It just seemed wrong.’

‘She’s got a conscience too.’ He spoke to the devil on his shoulder with a mixture of regret and wry humour. ‘So that rules out a mistress.’

So, this was the last time. He climbed off her and then walked over and turned on every light, and she lay there as he walked back to the bed and pulled off the heavy silk sheet. Her hand moved to grab it, but then she let it go. She lay silent as his eyes roamed her body
and she was shaking on the bed as she let him look, but she was shaking with desire rather than shame.

He looked at her toes and the fading henna flowers that climbed up her feet. He looked at knees and thighs till they felt like water, to her place that tomorrow would become private, to her stomach and then breasts he had tasted. Without him voicing his request, she heard it and turned round, and she felt like crying as his eyes swept her. Then she let healing tears come as he loved every fault, every bit that made Georgie.

She felt the heat from his gaze linger on her spine, then find a birthmark beneath her ribcage, and the little cluster of faded stretch marks on her hips. He etched his memories in his mind and then climbed into bed and made them with his mouth—touching her everywhere his eyes had been. She could feel his lips on her skin, her calves, her toes and back up again. He turned her over and she felt them rest on her stomach, where she had stopped him once. He took for ever, which was what they didn’t have, but his mouth worked down and he explored her very slowly, till she pleaded with him to stop. She pulsed in his mouth and couldn’t give any more, but still he would not relent, coaxing an orgasm so deep and intense she was scared to go there, and she knew what he was doing. Heard her voice shouting his name, as was his intention—a subliminal branding as he married her with his mouth, because as he took her over the edge, as she sobbed his name, Georgie knew she could never now go there again and not think of him.

She would always hold back for fear of calling out the wrong name.

He was so good it made her angry, so perfect and so exactly her size, yet she could never own him—would forever have to look through the windows of her mind to glimpse this.

Only now, when there was nothing left to give, did he take a whole lot more. He moved up her body and for the first time since the desert he kissed her mouth, and his eyes were open as he entered her and so too were Georgie’s, scared even to blink. To remember this was her priority—because she never wanted to forget how his eyes adored hers so much as he moved deep within her. How pale her arm looked against his dark shoulders, and she tried to imprint in her mind the scent of him when aroused.

The hardest week was wiped from his mind. If he could just have her, then anything would be easy. He wanted to come, but he didn’t want it to be over, so he resisted his body, and it hurt not to give in to it, because his body wanted the release she could give.

‘Please,’ Georgie said, because she was almost there and she wanted him with her. ‘Please,’ she said again, and then pressed her mouth in his shoulder because she didn’t want to beg.

She felt like they were lying on quicksand and being drawn down into it, or sucked back into the vortex the desert had made them create, the world that they had when there was no one around. She would not, could not wait for him a second longer. She would not beg, but
her body demanded on her behalf, for it rose beneath him and tightened around him; it beat a tune that he could never deny. And he gave in so that he could join her. Each urgent thrust took her further, not just to the edge but away from him, and both knew it. They both fanned the last flickers of orgasm from a fire that must die.

His hand moved down to her stomach and rested there and his mind lingered there and so too did Georgie’s.

Hopefully it would hurt less when she was out of his arms, but she lay and tortured herself for a little while longer and Ibrahim did the same.

‘What would happen if you don’t take your Pill?’

‘Nothing, probably.’

‘But perhaps?’

‘We won’t find out,’ Georgie said, her face burning because, yes, she had considered it. ‘Because I took my Pill this morning and I’ll take it tomorrow. I will not force you into a decision.’ She was fragile in his arms but strong in her mind, and he loved her for it.

‘If it was just for a few weeks …’ Her skin was against his and he let his mind wander, explored options that would have once been unthinkable, except her body dared him to dream. ‘Could there be annulment?’

‘It happened.’ Georgie’s voice was hollow. ‘You yourself said it cannot be undone.’

‘But it was such a short time, there are no children … If it was a mistake, something you regret …’ And then she was the bravest she had ever been, the clearest in
her mind she had ever been, because even if she loved him, she was still herself.

‘I don’t regret it, though.’ She watched his face darken.

‘How can you say you don’t regret it? That a marriage to some drunk, a marriage you admit was a mistake, a marriage that has cost us each other, is not something you regret?’

But she would not back down. ‘I don’t regret it because I’ve learnt from it.’ Georgie’s voice was a touch shaky as she struggled to hold onto her convictions. ‘I’ve learnt from my mistakes. And once I would have said I regret it, because it’s what you wanted to hear … I would have done anything to please you.’

‘Because of your past we have no future …’

‘Because of my past I’m a better person,’ she interrupted. ‘Because it taught me to say no, to walk away, to accept nothing but the best … So don’t try to make me say I regret it. I’m not ashamed of my past, Ibrahim. If you are …’ She rose from his bed and put on her gown. She walked when she didn’t want to, because otherwise she might lie there, might bend herself into the woman he needed her to be, instead of the woman she was. ‘That’s your issue.’

‘You’ll come back soon?’ Felicity asked as they sat in the car that was waiting to take them to the airport. Her sister had been shocked when, almost the second Felicity returned from the desert, Georgie said that she wanted to leave. But Georgie had stood her ground.
She needed to get away or she’d be back in his bed that very night, would be back in his bed till his virgin was found for him, and she was worth more than that, and so was his bride.

They needed to be apart to heal.

‘Of course I’ll be back,’ Georgie said, though in her heart she didn’t know how. How could she ever be here and be without him?

‘And I’ll be home in a few weeks.’ Felicity tried to keep her voice light as the car drove away from the palace and Georgie deliberately didn’t turn round.

But she couldn’t stay brave at the airport when she hugged her sister.

‘You’ll get over him,’ Felicity said when Georgie crumpled. ‘You will.’

‘I know I will,’ Georgie said, but her heart wasn’t sure.

The captain told them to look to the right after takeoff for a spectacular view of the sun setting over the desert, but Georgie refused to turn her head because she didn’t want to see a sunset without Ibrahim.

‘Is everything okay, Miss Anderson?’ the steward asked.

‘Ms,’ Felicity corrected him, because it was who she was, whether Ibrahim could accept it or not.