‘If I had let you do it you would have brought Robbie with you and left me behind in London.’
‘No.’ He denied that too.
‘You ruined my wedding day.’
‘I will make it up to you.’
‘You—’
It was no use carrying this conversation any further. So he kissed her. Why not? She needed kissing. So he kissed her until the tears went away. And kissed her some more until she slowly relaxed into a quiet slumber on his lap. He waved away the attendants when they walked down the cabin, and did not bother to move her to a bed because…he liked to have her just where she was.
Which meant…what? he asked himself as the air miles flew by them.
Hell, he knew what it meant. He had known it for a long time. A week—eight years—it mattered little how long he had known it.
They came in to land at dawn, circling around the perimeter of a great modern city which glinted in the early-morning sun. From the jet they transferred to a small Cessna, drawing curious glances from dark-eyed Arabs as they moved from plane to plane.
Rafiq flew them himself, leaving Melanie and Robbie to drink in the dramatic landscape panning out beneath them, with its silver thread of a river winding through a lush valley surrounded by high, lurking dunes and miles of sand. It took only twenty minutes before they were landing again. A four-wheel drive waited to receive them. Rafiq placed himself behind the wheel of this, and began driving them over tarmac towards a sandstone fortress backed by the fertile oasis of Al-Qadim.
Melanie knew all of this because Robbie had maintained a running commentary throughout both the short flight and this short drive towards his father’s home. The child’s grasp of this part of his heritage was so intense that even Rafiq allowed himself a couple of grimaces as he listened to him. But other than grimaces he offered nothing; his expression was sombre, the harsh lines of his profile telling her that he was lost in grim places of his own.
A pair of thick wooden gates swung inwards as they approached them, then closed behind them as they passed through into a beautiful courtyard laid with tropical plants and sparkling fountains. They came to a stop in front of a rich blue dome suspended on sandstone pillars. Rafiq got out of the car and strode round to the other side to open the other door. In silence he offered Melanie his hand to assist her to alight. Robbie scrambled out of his own accord, then stood gazing about him with dark eyes that greedily drank in every detail they could.
Then his father was quietly calling him to heel, and the small boy came with his dark head still twisting in frowning curiosity. ‘Are we going to live here now?’ he asked.
‘No, we will continue to live in London,’ his father assured him. ‘And come here to visit during the school holidays, if you like.’
Nodding his head in approval, Robbie cleared the small frown from his brow, and walked happily beside his father into a vast entrance hall with a beautiful lapis-blue and white domed ceiling and pale sand marble covering the floor.
The first person Melanie saw was Sheikh Hassan Al-Qadim, and her heart slithered to her stomach. Dressed like Rafiq, he was standing straight and still beside a beautiful creature with dark red hair and perfect porcelain skin. She was quite heavily pregnant beneath the sle
nder white tunic she was wearing.
Both of them fixed their eyes on Robbie. Both looked shocked, if not dismayed. Melanie’s fingers twitched within Rafiq’s. He glanced down at her and she glanced upwards, the anxiety in her eyes making his grim mouth flatten as he looked away again.
Sheikh Hassan was looking at her now. One glimpse at his expression and Melanie knew what he was going to say. Her heart leapt from her stomach to lodge in her throat. He took a step towards her. ‘Miss Leggett,’ he murmured deeply, ‘I must beg—’
‘Mrs Portreath,’ she corrected, leaping on anything just to silence him. His dark eyes narrowed and sharpened. With a minuscule shake of her head she tried to relay a message to him.
‘Al-Qadim,’ Rafiq corrected both of them. ‘We married yesterday as you no doubt know by now, Hassan.’
‘Of course. Rafiq, if you had only explained why you wanted me to be in London I would have been there. You know that.’ Sheikh Hassan begged his understanding, taking the diversion Rafiq had unwittingly offered to him.
But Melanie could see he was not happy about remaining silent over their last meeting. As the two brothers greeted with an embrace and words spoken in Arabic those dark eyes so like Rafiq’s remained fixed upon her over his brother’s shoulder. She looked away, found herself gazing at the other woman, who had witnessed the exchange and was now looking very concerned.
She stepped forward with a smile, though. ‘Welcome to our family,’ she greeted warmly, and surprised Melanie by brushing a kiss to each of her cheeks. ‘My name is Leona and I am married to Rafiq’s brother,’ she explained. ‘Our child is due in two months—just in case you did not like to ask me. And this…’ she turned to smile at Robbie ‘…has to be the most handsome Al-Qadim of the three.’
It was all very light, very eager to please, but Melanie could sense the other woman’s tension and she could see it repeated in Sheikh Hassan. She could feel it pulsing in Rafiq. When she added her own tension into it all the vast hall almost sparked with it.
‘My name is Robert Portreath,’ Robbie corrected with a faintly puzzled frown. The business of names was going to take some explaining later, Melanie realised as she watched Leona Al-Qadim dip down to his level to offer Robbie her hand.
‘Then, I am very pleased to meet you, Robert Portreath,’ she said gravely.
‘You’re English?’ he said.
‘Like your mother.’ She nodded.
‘You have very pretty hair and eyes.’