‘No. They’re expecting you.’
From what she could see of the village, with its tumble of mud brick houses, Tori guessed a visit from their Sheikh would be a special event. She couldn’t make him leave and disappoint them.
‘How will you introduce me? Won’t people wonder who I am?’
Ashraf grinned. ‘Don’t worry about that. Just come and meet them. Be yourself.’
Undoing his seatbelt and headset, he alighted from the chopper.
Tori hesitated, a hand going to her hair when she noticed most of the women wore headscarves.
‘I’m not really dressed for this.’ She’d worn a bright red top which usually made her feel good, but now it made her wonder if she should have dressed in a more conservative colour.
‘You’re perfect.’
His gaze lingered for a second, as if he could see through her loose-fitting top and summer-weight trousers. Instantly Tori’s self-consciousness was swamped by awareness. Wind rushed in her ears and her breath snagged at the look in those gleaming eyes.
‘Come.’
He reached out, took her hand and helped her down. The dying rotation of the helicopter’s blades made her hair whirl around her face, but Ashraf didn’t seem concerned that she looked slightly dishevelled. Presumably it didn’t matter.
Then Tori had no time for self-consciousness as she was introduced not only to the village elders but it seemed to every adult in the place. Children stared up at her with wide eyes, but she was used to that. When she’d worked across the border in Assara, people had been fascinated by her pale colouring.
While Ashraf was deep in discussion with the elders one little girl, held in her mother’s arms, swayed towards Tori, reaching out to her. Rather than pulling back, she let the child tentatively touch her hair.
The mother looked horrified, trying to draw away, apologising. But Tori shrugged and smiled. ‘She’s just curious. That’s a good thing.’
The local schoolteacher, acting as interpreter, translated, and suddenly, instead of hanging back, more women approached. There was no more touching, but there were smiles and shy questions which gradually became a steady flow. Not, Tori was relieved to hear, about her relationship with the Sheikh, but about her homeland, so far away, and what she thought of Za’daq.
‘If you’d care to take a seat, my lady?’
The teacher gestured as the small crowd parted and Tori saw, in the scanty shade of what appeared to be the village’s only tree, a striped awning. Spread in the shade beneath it were richly coloured rugs and exquisitely embroidered cushions.
When they were seated a woman arrived with a bowl and a small towel. Another carried a jug of water, offering it to the guests to wash their hands. Then platters of food arrived—dried fruit and nuts, and pastries dripping with syrup. Coffee was prepared with great ceremony and offered in tiny cups.
‘Thank you,’ Tori said in their language. ‘It’s delicious.’ She stumbled a little over the pronunciation but knew by the smiles around her that she was understood.
Ashraf turned and his expression warmed her even more than the pungent coffee.
‘After this I’ll inspect the irrigation scheme behind the village but I won’t be too long. I promise to get you back to the city in good time.’
Because Oliver would be ready for a feed. It seemed incredible that a king would so readily fit his arrangements around that. As incredible as him changing his schedule at short notice to take her out.
‘Would you like to come with me? Or you could stay here and chat? Or maybe see the school?’ Tori saw him glance towards the teacher.
‘I’ll stay.’ She turned to the teacher. ‘Perhaps you could show me around?’
Her choice was a popular one. While most of the men went with Ashraf, the women and children accompanied her. The children pointed out places of interest like the well, now with a pump powered by a solar generator. And then there was the tower on the hill, which had brought modern communication to the valley for the first time. They also stopped to look inside one of the houses, where a loom was set up for silk weaving, and Tori admired the fine fabric.
The school was a one-roomed stone building. But to Tori’s surprise it wasn’t the bare little space she’d expected. It was well-stocked with books, colourful posters and a couple of computers.
Seeing her surprise, the teacher explained. ‘The government is keen to ensure all Za’daqis have a good education. In remote areas where children can’t travel to bigger schools we now have smaller schools, each supporting a village or two. In the old days children here didn’t get any formal education.’
‘It seems to be working well,’ Tori said, watching the children talk to their mothers about the art on one wall. ‘They seem very engaged.’
‘They are. The difference here in just a couple of years is amazing.’
‘Only a couple of years?’