His smile, therefore, was rueful. ‘Showtime,’ he said.
And showtime it was. As on the yacht, but on a grander scale, they welcomed heads of state from all over Arabia, diplomats from further afield. Some brought their wives, sons and even their daughters, and some came alone. Some women were veiled; all were dressed in the exotic jewelled colours favoured by Arabian women.
Everyone was polite, gracious, and concerned about Sheikh Khalifa’s well-being. He had not yet put in an appearance, though he had every intention of doing so eventually. This was his night. He had in fact planned it as much as he could from his sick bed. Today his doctor had insisted he be sedated for most of the day to conserve his energy. But he had looked bright-eyed and excited when Leona had popped in to see him just before she had gone to get ready.
‘Rafiq should be doing this with us,’ Leona said to Hassan when she realised that his brother was nowhere to be seen.
‘He has other duties,’ he replied, then turned his attention to the next person to arrive at the doors to the great hall. A great hall that was slowly filling with people.
Sheikh Abdul arrived without his wife, Zafina, which seemed a significant omission to Leona. He was subdued but polite to her, which was all she could really expect from him, she supposed. They greeted Sheikh Jibril and his wife, Medina, Sheikh Imran, and of course Samir.
When Sheikh Raschid Al-Kadah and his wife, Evie, arrived, there were some knowing glances exchanged that made Leona want to blush. But the real blushing happened every time Hassan glanced at her and his eyes held the burning darkness of their secret.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, looking quickly away from him.
‘I cannot help it,’ he replied.
‘Well, try.’ A sudden disturbance by the door gave her someone new to divert her attention, only to have her heart stop in complete surprise.
Two men dressed in black western dinner suits, white shirts and bow ties. She flicked her eyes from one smiling male face to the other, then on a small shriek of delight launched herself into the arms of her father.
Tall, lean and in very good shape for his fifty-five years, Victor Frayne caught his daughter to him and accepted her ecstatic kisses to his face. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me? Ethan—’ One of her hands reached out to catch one of his. ‘I can’t believe this! I only spoke to you this morning. I thought you were in San Estéban!’
‘No, the Marriott, here.’ Her father grinned at her. ‘Thank your husband for the surprise.’
Hassan. She turned, a hand each clinging to her two surprises. ‘I love you,’ she said impulsively.
‘She desires to make me blush,’ Hassan remarked, and stepped forward, took his wife by her waist, then offered his hand to his father-in-law and to Ethan Hayes. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said.
‘Happy to be here,’ Ethan replied with only a touch of dryness to his tone to imply that there was more to this invitation than met the eye.
Leona was just too excited to notice. Too wrapped up in her surprise to notice the ripple of awareness that went through those people who had dared to believe rumours about her relationship with her father’s business partner. Then, with the attention to fine detail which was Hassan’s forte, another diversion suddenly appeared.
People stopped talking, silence reigned as Rafiq arrived, pushing a wheelchair bearing Sheikh Khalifa ben Jusef Al-Qadim.
He looked thin and frail against the height and breadth of his youngest son. A wasted shadow of his former self. But his eyes were bright, his mouth smiling, and in the frozen stasis that followed his arrival, brought on by everyone’s shock at how ill he actually looked, he was prepared and responded. ‘Welcome…welcome everyone,’ he greeted. ‘Please, do not continue to look as if you are attending my funeral, for I assure you I am here to enjoy myself.’
After that everyone made themselves relax again. Some who knew him well even grinned. As Rafiq wheeled him towards the other end of the room the old sheikh missed no one in reach of his acknowledgement. Not even Leona’s father, whom he had only met once or twice. ‘Victor,’ he greeted him. ‘I have stolen your daughter. She is now my most precious daughter. I apologise to you, but I am not sorry, you understand?’
‘I think we can share her,’ Victor Frayne allowed graciously.
‘And…ah…’ he turned his attention to Ethan ‘…Mr Hayes, it is my great pleasure to meet Leona’s very good friend.’ He had the floor, as it should be. So no one could miss the messages being broadcast here. Even Leona began to notice that something was going on beneath the surface here. ‘Victor…Mr Hayes…come and see me tomorrow. I have a project I believe will be of great interest to you…Ah, Rafiq, take me forward, for I can see Sheikh Raschid…’
He progressed down the hall like that. As Leona watched, she gently slipped her arm around Hassan’s waist. She could feel the emotion pulsing inside him. For this was probably going to be the old Sheikhs final formal duty.
But nothing, nothing prepared her for the power of feeling that swept over everyone as Rafiq and his father reached the other end of the hall where Sheikh Khalifa’s favourite divan had been placed upon a raised dais, ready for him to enjoy the party in reasonable comfort.
Rafiq bent and lifted his father into his arms and carried the frail old man up the steps then gently lowered his father down again. As he went to straighten, the sheikh lifted a pale bony hand to his youngest son’s face and murmured something to him which sent Rafiq to his knees beside the divan and sent his covered head down.
The strong and the weak. It was a painful image that held everyone in its thrall because in those few seconds it was impossible to tell which man held the strength and which one was weaker.
‘Hassan, go to him,’ Leona said huskily. ‘Rafiq needs you.’
But Hassan shook his head. ‘He will not thank me,’ he replied. And he was right; Leona knew that.
Instead Hassan turned his attention to causing yet another diversion by snapping his fingers to pull a small army of servants into use.
They came bearing trays of delicately made sweets and Arabian coffee and bukhoor burners, which filled the air with the smell of incense. The mood shifted, took on the characteristics of a traditional majlis, and the next time Leona looked the dais was surrounded by the old sheikhs from the desert tribes sitting around on the provided cushions while Sheikh Khalifa reclined on his divan enjoying their company.