The Sheikh's Reward

‘Well, I couldn’t have kept it,’ she said, genuinely shocked.

‘I sure would have done.’

Fran chuckled. ‘I don’t think he’d have given it to you.’

‘I just can’t believe he agreed to this interview.’

‘I spoke to his secretary, and said that Frances Callam wanted to interview him for The Financial Review. I was given an appointment with no trouble.’

‘Your taxi’s here,’ Joey said, looking out of the window. ‘Sure you don’t want me to drive you?’

‘I think this time I should beard the lion completely alone.’

‘I think I should be there waiting when he throws you out.’

‘He isn’t going to throw me out.’

‘After the way you vanished and left him looking silly?’

‘That merely told him that I can’t be trifled with. Trust me, Joey. I’m right on top of it this time.’

Afterwards she was to remember the supreme self-confidence with which she got into the taxi and had herself taken back to the house of Ali Ben Saleem. It seemed so simple at the time.

At first nothing happened to change her mind. As soon as she rung the bell outside Ali’s house the door was pulled open by the porter, who inclined his head in a silent question.

‘Good morning,’ Fran said. ‘I have an appointment with Prince Ali Ben Saleem.’

She walked past him as she spoke, and into the centre of the tiled hallway. The porter hastened after her. He looked alarmed.

‘Will you please inform His Highness that Frances Callam is here?’

At that moment the door to the office opened and Ali walked out. The porter made a sign of relief and backed towards the door. Fran took a deep breath and faced Ali, smiling.

He frowned when he saw her, then his face lightened and he advanced towards her, both hands outstretched, smiling in welcome.

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t this. He should have been annoyed at the memory of her desertion. Perhaps he didn’t recognise her. But his first words dispelled that illusion.

‘Diamond! My beautiful Diamond. What a pleasure to see you again. Come.’

He gestured towards the dining room, and she followed him in.

‘I know why you’re here,’ he said when he’d closed the door behind them.

‘You—you do?’

‘You’re angry with me about the other night. My poor Diamond, it was so unchivalrous of me to leave you and not return. My only excuse is that I was overwhelmed with business. I sent my secretary to make sure you got home safely, but I would have liked to see you myself.’

Fran took a deep breath, struggling for words while various images flitted through her mind: kicking his shins was the best, but boiling him in oil wasn’t far behind.

He hadn’t come back at all.

All this time she’d been picturing his face when he found her gone, and he didn’t even know. He’d just forgotten about her.

His secretary had probably been too afraid of his wrath to admit that she wasn’t there, and had invented some story about having seen her home. The doorman, too, had probably kept very quiet.

Then she saw Ali’s eyes, glinting behind his smile, and a doubt crept into her mind. Did he really not know that she’d left? Or did he know, and had invented this story to turn the tables on her?

With this unpredictable man, anything was possible.

‘I hope that some day soon we’ll be able to enjoy the evening that was interrupted,’ Ali continued, ‘but just for the moment I’m afraid I’m very busy. In fact, you must leave at once, as I have an appointment with a journalist.’

‘I thought you never saw journalists,’ Fran said, getting ready to enjoy the next few minutes.

‘Normally I don’t, but Mr Callam is from a serious newspaper.’

‘Did—did you say Mr Callam?’

‘Mr Francis Callam. I’ve agreed to the interview because there are things it would suit me to make clear in his pages.’

Fran’s thoughts were in a whirl. When they settled she gazed with delight on the resulting pattern. He was about to get the shock of his life.

‘What kind of things?’ she asked innocently.

Ali’s smile was like a locked door. ‘I wouldn’t dream of boring you with such details.’

‘Well, I know I’m just a stupid woman,’ she said humbly, ‘but I know how to spell financial. F-E—no, it’s I, isn’t it?’

He laughed. ‘Your wit enchants me. Now, I’ve no more time for games. Mr Callam will be here at any moment.’

‘Don’t you want to know my name first?’

‘I’ve already taken my own steps to discover it. I’ll be in touch with you when I have time.’

‘I wouldn’t put you to so much trouble,’ Fran said, breathing hard. ‘My name is Frances Callam. Ms Frances Callam.’

She was fully revenged in the look that crossed his face. It was compounded of alarm, horror and anger.

‘Are you telling me…?’ he asked slowly.

‘That I am the journalist you’re waiting for. And I can not only spell financial, but I can add up. You know, one and one are two, two and two are four. I have a first-class economics degree, you see, and they insisted on it.’

His voice was very hard. ‘You deceived me.’

‘No, I didn’t. I spoke to your secretary, and said Frances Callam wanted to talk to you for an article in The Financial Review. You both took it for granted it was a man because it never occurred to you that a financial journalist could be a woman. You fell into the trap of your own prejudice.’

‘And the other night? Was it mere coincidence that you turned up at The Golden Chance?’

‘No, I was observing you.’