Summer Sheikhs: Sheikh's Betrayal / Breaking the Sheikh's Rules / Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

She wondered how she could ever have imagined such a landscape magnificent. It was nothing but emptiness.

RU still in desert? RU seducing Salah??? What is happening? Plz call as soon as U get coverage.

Desi read this message from another life dimly, hardly taking it in. Reception was poor, and she shut off the phone without answering.

Another hour passed, and then they were winding through a curious forest of rocky outcrops and into a valley between high walls of rock. Green scrub clung to the rock face here and there, and in places the wheels sank into mud or splashed through a stagnant puddle. In other places a thin trickle gave promise that this was a river bed.

‘In winter there are flash floods here,’ Salah said. ‘It is very dangerous.’ It was the first word that had passed between them for over an hour. ‘Two years ago all this area flooded for the first time in living memory. Even in the tribal traditions there was no history of such flooding.’

‘Ever the travel guide,’ she said.

Just before sunset the rock walls fell away and the vista opened up. The sky in the west was a brilliant fire of gold, with Mount Shir shining in white majesty over the growing shadows in the desert. In the distance she saw a collection of tents nestled beneath a stand of rock.

‘My father’s camp,’ said Salah.

It was as if a nomad encampment had entered a technology warp, and half its tents had been converted into air-conditioned caravans and trailers. All the modern equipment was nestled into the protective shadow between two large outcrops of black rock that jutted up from the desert floor. In front of them was ranged a nest of tents, half modern and half the low-slung nomadic type. And in front of that was the massive ancient site, where workers in straw hats toiled in rows, as if the nomads had taken to terrace farming. As they approached, an armed guard sitting on a rock peered at Salah’s face for a moment and waved the vehicle on.

‘I have to find out what arrangements have been made for us,’ Salah said, pulling up to park in the shade of a white trailer. ‘They are not expecting us yet. You can wait in the mess tent, Desi, or I can take you to my father.’

It was far too hot to sit in the car, though that was what she would have preferred. Desi squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, struggling to find focus in her shellshocked, blank state.

‘There will be people in the mess tent?’

Salah nodded.

‘Is there anywhere I can go and sit by myself?’

‘Not till I find out which trailer they have arranged for you.’

‘Your father, then.’

He led her to the long white caravan that served as the site office. Inside it was air-conditioned to a comparatively refreshing twenty-five degrees, nearly eighty Fahrenheit. Desi was desperately grateful to get out of the sun.

The archaeologist Dr. Khaled al Khouri was sitting at a desk inside. He was a solid, square-set man with grizzled grey hair, a face with deep lines furrowing his forehead and carved from his strongly cut nose to the corners of his mouth. When they entered he was engrossed in examining a dirt-impacted object with the sunburnt, intent young woman standing beside his chair.

Neither noticed them enter. They watched for a minute as the professor’s strong, competent fingers prised off the dirt of millennia to fall unheeded on his papers, and revealed a goblet.

With caressing strokes that reminded Desi of Salah’s hands on her body, he dusted down the little cup, turned it over, then held it still, gazing at the face of the bowl.

‘You’re right, Dina,’ he said at last. ‘Congratulations. Well done.’

‘Thank you, Dr. al Khouri.’

‘Leave it with me. I’ll take it to Hormuz later.’

As the young worker slipped through the door beside them, her eyes fell on Desi and she turned around to gasp in disbelief before continuing on her way. At the sound, the doctor lifted his head.

‘Yes?’ he said, and then, ‘Salah!’

‘Desi, meet my father,’ said Salah. ‘Father, this is Desirée Drummond—Desi.’

‘Desi! Hello!’ Dr. al Khouri exclaimed, getting to his feet. He put out his hand, giving her the same focussed attention he had bestowed on the found object. The clasp of his hand was firm, reminding her of Salah’s. The black eyes were friendly, but uncomfortably piercing.

‘I am very happy to meet you at last. We have heard so much about you! It is kind of you to come to visit us.’

He did not sound in the least like a man who suspected her of conspiring to steal priceless objects, and Desi flicked a glance at Salah.

‘It’s very kind of you to let me come,’ she said, and under the warm intensity of his gaze, she managed to find a smile.

Her hand had collected a certain amount of dirt during the handshake, and she absently dusted it down on her khaki shorts. Dr. al Khouri frowned, looking at his own hand.

‘Too much dirt in this job!’ he said, dusting his hands. ‘I must go out now and make my round before they down tools for the night. Perhaps you will like to come with me, Desi. You have come a long way, and I know you will be eager to see the site as soon as possible.’

She nodded agreement. It was long past time to get away from Salah. Salah seemed to agree.

‘I will check on the sleeping arrangements,’ he said. Their eyes caught for a moment, and she sent him a cold warning with her eyes. Then she saw that he did not need it: he had no more interest in their continuing to share a bed than she did. Well, he’d had his closure, of course, she reminded herself bitterly.

If only she could feel closure. But for Desi it was all still boiling up inside her, rage and heartbreak and a deep, abiding sense of betrayal.

A moment later she was out in the late sunshine, listening as Dr. al Khouri began to explain the site. He spoke as if she were the student she was pretending to be, and in spite of everything Desi began to be intrigued.

‘Look at this,’ Khaled al Khouri told her, as they paused by a worker who was carefully excavating a massive slab embedded in the hardened soil, on which she could make out, faintly, an etched image. ‘This piece is our pride and joy.’

Desi peered at it. ‘Is that a woman?’

‘Not a woman,’ he said, with the air of a man used to correcting students. ‘All we can say with certainty at the moment is that this is a female figure. In fact, she is probably our goddess. We believe this lady might have been the tutelary deity of the whole civilisation.’

She bent down to see more clearly. The figure showed the hint of a tiara in the intricately curled hair that fell down over her shoulders above wide-spaced breasts, a curving waist encircled by some kind of string or thong, broad hips and a prominent nest of pubic hair. One hand was at her side, the other held up in what might be a gesture of greeting, palm towards the viewer. She was standing on an animal that Desi could not distinguish.

Excitement bubbled up as she recognized her little goddess.

‘Who is she?’ she demanded.

‘We think, the deity of this temple.’ The archaeologist waved his hand at the long shape marked out in the earth with stakes and string. ‘We don’t know her name yet.’

‘Is she a fertility goddess? A love goddess?’

‘We think so.’

‘Inanna?’

He lifted an eyebrow at her, in a gesture so like Salah her heart kicked a protest. ‘Possibly, but if so it’s an unusual depiction of her that would be specific to this people, and she might have had another name. What made you think of her?’

Desi laughed. ‘She’s the only ancient love goddess I know!’ she confessed. ‘I bought a little statue from some nomads a couple of days ago. I think it’s the same woman…female figure!’

Dr. al Khouri shook his head, sighing. ‘You bought her from nomads?’

‘Yes, for twenty dirhams. She’s in the truck.’