Ah, Leona thought, the truth. Now there was an interesting concept.
‘In the interest of fair play, I do feel that you should be fully informed so that you may make your judgements on your future with the full facts at hand.’
‘Why don’t you just get to the point of this conversation, Zafina?’ Leona said impatiently.
‘The point is…this…’ Zafina replied, producing from inside the sleeve of her dara’a a piece of paper, which she then spread out on the bed.
Leona did not want to, but she made herself walk towards it, made herself look down. The paper bore the Al-Qadim seal of office. It bore the name of Sheikh Khalifa.
‘What is it?’ she asked, oddly unwilling to read the closely lined and detailed Arabian script that came beneath.
‘A contract drawn up by Sheikh Khalifa himself, giving his blessing to the marriage between his son Sheikh Hassan and my daughter Nadira. This is my husband’s copy. Sheikh Khalifa and Sheikh Hassan have copies of their own.’
‘It isn’t signed,’ Leona pointed out.
‘It will be,’ Zafina stated certainly, ‘as was agreed this morning at the meeting of the family heads. Sheikh Khalifa is dying. His loving son will deny him nothing. When we reach Rahman the signing will take place and the announcement will be made at Sheikh Khalifa’s celebration banquet.’
He will deny him nothing…Of everything Zafina had said, those words were the only ones that held the poison. Still, Leona strove to reject them.
‘You lie,’ she said. ‘No matter what this piece of paper says, and no matter what you imply. I know Hassan. I know my father-in-law, Sheikh Khalifa. Neither would even think of deceiving me this way.’
‘You think not?’ She sounded so sure, so confident. ‘In the eyes of his country, Sheikh Hassan must prove his loyalty to them is stronger than his desire to pander to your western principles.’
More certain on having said it, Leona turned ice-cold eyes on the other woman. ‘I will tell Hassan about this conversation. You do realise that?’ she warned.
Zafina bowed her head in calm acquiescence. ‘Face him,’ she invited. ‘Tell him what you know. He may continue to keep the truth from you for his father’s sake. He may decide to confess all then fall on your mercy, hoping that you will still go to Rahman as his loyal first wife to help save his face. But mark my words, Sheikha,’ she warned, ‘my daughter will be Sheikh Hassan’s wife before this month is out, and she will bear him the son that will make his life complete.’
Stepping forward, she retrieved her precious contract. ‘I have no wish to see you humiliated,’ she concluded as she turned towards the door. ‘Indeed I give you this chance to save your face. Return to England. Divorce Hassan,’ she advised. ‘For, whether you do or not, he will marry my daughter, at which point I think we both know that your usefulness will be at an end.’
Leona let her go without giving her the satisfaction of a response, but as the door closed behind Zafina she began to shake. No, she told herself sternly, you will not let that woman
’s poison eat away at you. She’s lying. Hassan would not be so deceitful or so manipulative. He loves you, for goodness’ sake! Haven’t you both just spent a whole afternoon re-avowing that love?
I will deny him nothing… Hassan’s own words, exactly as spoken only days ago. Her stomach turned, sending her reeling for the bathroom. Yet she stopped herself, took a couple of deep controlling breaths and forced herself to think, to trust in her own instincts, to believe in Hassan!
He would not do it. Hands clenched into tense fists at her sides, she repeated that. He would not do it! The woman is evil. She is ambitious. She cannot accept failure.
She used your own inadequacies against you. How dare you so much as consider anything she said as worthy of all of this anguish?
You promised to believe in him. How dare you let that promise falter because some awful woman wants you out of his life and her daughter in it?
A contract. What was the contract but a piece of paper with words written upon it? Anyone could draw up a contract; it was getting those involved to sign it that was the real test!
She would tell Hassan, let him deny it once and for all, then she could put all of this behind her and—
No she wouldn’t. She changed her mind. She would not give that woman the satisfaction of causing more trouble between the families, which was what was sure to happen if Hassan did find out what Zafina had said.
Trust was the word. Trust she would give to him.
The door opened. She spun around to find Hassan standing there. Tall and dark, smooth and sleek, and so heart-achingly, heart-breakingly, precious to her.
‘What is wrong?’ He frowned. ‘You look as pale as the carpet.’
‘N-nothing,’ she said. Then, because it was such an obvious lie, she admitted, ‘H-headache, upset stomach…’ Two tight fists unclenched, one hand going to cover her stomach the other her clammy forehead. ‘Too much food tonight. T-too much water from my dip in the sea, maybe. I…’
He was striding towards her. Her man. Her beautiful, grim-faced man. He touched her cheek. ‘You feel like ice.’ He picked up her chafed wrist between gentle finger and thumb. ‘Your pulse is racing like mad! You need the medic.’ He spun towards the telephone. ‘Get undressed. You are going to bed…’
‘Oh…no, Hassan!’ she cried out in protest. ‘I will be okay in a couple of minutes! Please…’ she pleaded as he picked up the telephone. ‘Look!’ she declared, as he glared at her from beneath frowning black brows. ‘I’m feeling better already. I—took something a few minutes ago.’ With a mammoth gathering together of self-control, she even managed to walk over to him without stumbling and took the receiver from his hand.