The Widow And The Sheikh

‘Is dead.’

Once again, his expression was blank. He hadn’t moved, but she felt as if he had physically detached himself. It was an extremely effective method of closing down a subject, though it sent her curiosity soaring. Julia reminded herself of the need to keep him on her side. Silence stretched and became uncomfortable. She had to think of something to say. Anything.

‘Are you familiar with the botanical gardens in Cairo, Azhar?’

A blank look was her answer.

‘They were first established during Napoleon’s occupation. A Monsieur Delile was the director then, a correspondent of my husband’s. Monsieur Delile wrote the botanical chapters of Travel in Lower and Upper Egypt, you know.’

‘No, I did not.’

‘And you do not care to know,’ she said, deflated. ‘You would rather be alone.’

‘No!’ Not only Julia, but the Saluki hound flinched at this harsh exclamation. Azhar grimaced. ‘Forgive me. This journey has been—I have been—’ He broke off, shaking his head. ‘Please. Stay a while. Tell me—tell me a little more of your own journey. Did you stop in Cairo on your way to Damascus? It is a city I know well. One of my residences is on the outskirts.’

Julia eyed him warily. She was far more interested in what it was, precisely, about this journey that made him so—so edgy, yes that was it. But already, she knew him well enough not to pursue the subject. ‘You have more than one residence, then? I assume that trade—whatever you trade in—is lucrative?’

‘Silks and spices, mostly. I work hard but yes, it is lucrative. Though I travel a good deal, and have other residences in Damascus and Naples, I spend several months of the year in Egypt. I am well acquainted with Colonel Missett, your Consul-General, though apparently he is shortly to be replaced by a new man, Salt.’

‘I didn’t know that. Do you by any chance mean a Mr Henry Salt? It is such an unusual name, I wonder if it might be the same person.’

Azhar raised his brow. ‘You know him?’

‘A little. I have read his Voyage to Abyssinia, naturally.’

‘Naturally?’

Julia grimaced. ‘Naturally, because Mr Salt is—was—another of my husband’s correspondents.’

‘In fact, I too have read Mr Salt’s account of his voyage to Abyssinia. It is a country with which I trade. I found his insights—interesting.’

‘You mean they were in opposition to your own?’

‘Our experiences of the country were very different.’

‘You mean because your interest in the country is primarily commercial? From what I understand, a large part of Mr Salt’s mission there was to promote trade too. Will you be cultivating his acquaintance in Cairo? Though I believe it is the Pasha who holds the real power there. Are you...?’

Azhar laughed. ‘Yes, I am very well acquainted with him also. In my line of business it pays to be as well connected as possible. Permit me to tell you, madam—Julia—that you are a most singular female.’

‘I don’t know whether that is a compliment or an insult.’

‘A compliment,’ Azhar said, ‘most assuredly, a compliment.’

In the firelight, his eyes seemed like molten gold. She knew she must be imagining the flicker of desire in them, it was the firelight reflected, but for a moment she allowed him to hold her gaze, to imagine what it would be like if he leaned over, closed the distance between them, touched his mouth to hers. Her stomach knotted, making her shiver.

Then reality intervened. Recalling the way he’d snatched his hand away from her earlier, Julia scrabbled to her feet, breaking the spell which could only have been one-sided. ‘It is late, and I am very tired.’

Azhar too got to his feet, with a feline grace she could never hope to emulate. ‘We will set out at dawn.’

‘What about my things—the tent, my clothes...?’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘My mules can carry your personal effects. I will send someone for the remainder.’

Send someone! So he had family in this city they were visiting. Julia added this snippet to the very small list of things she knew of him. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘For coming to my rescue today. For promising to help me when you have business of your own to attend to, and I’m sure the last thing you wish is to be encumbered with an inconvenient Englishwoman.’

‘Cornish,’ Azhar said softly. ‘Goodnight, Julia.’

‘You have not set up your tent.’

‘Goodnight, Julia,’ he said, firmly this time.

He meant to stand guard. And he wanted to be alone. And he didn’t want her commenting on it either. She was getting rather good at understanding his silent communication method. ‘Goodnight, Azhar.’

* * *

It had been a very long day. Clinging to the camel’s hideously uncomfortable box seat behind Azhar, her bottom quite numb, Julia tried to ignore the increasing queasiness that assailed her as they swayed alarmingly atop the beast. The well-named ship of the desert was making her seasick. She would have given much to have been able to travel on one of the pack mules as had become her custom, but with her few remaining personal possessions to add to their existing burden, it had not been possible.

The initial excitement of sitting so intimately close to Azhar, their bodies perforce pressed together, had quite worn off. She was unbearably hot in her woollen skirt and jacket. The sheet which he had formed into a headdress for her provided much more protection from the sun than her hat, but her head was thumping all the same, her eyes were gritty with sand, and her skin damp with sweat. She had never in her life felt so unattractive.

In stark comparison, Azhar was even more good-looking in the daylight. His skin was burnished bronze, the colour of the sand dunes in the shade. His eyes gleamed, dark gold like the sun. His hair seemed almost blue-black, a sleek glossy cap when he took off his headdress to refold it. She couldn’t see a single drop of perspiration on his brow, while in contrast her hair clung in lank tendrils to her forehead and her nape. It was so unfair, and really quite irritating, the way he seemed quite unaffected by the heat, drinking sparingly from his goatskin flask when they stopped, while she had to fight not to empty hers in one long, greedy gulp.

When the sun was at its zenith they had temporarily broken their journey, but Julia had the distinct impression this was for her benefit only. While she dozed fitfully in the shade, Azhar sat staring out at the desert wastes. The frown creasing his brow, the way his mouth was set, gave an austerity to his features today, making him more intimidating rather than handsome. She had a hundred questions to ask, not least of which was where she would spend the night, but with every mile they covered, he grew more distant and remote.

‘Al-Qaryma.’ Azhar brought the camel to a halt at the top of a sand dune, waking Julia from her I-am-not-going-to-be-sick trance, clicking his tongue to bring his camel to its knees and dismounting with annoyingly fluid ease, before helping her to scrabble awkwardly down.

One look at the view, however, and she forgot all about her nausea. The small city rose dramatically from the verdant green fields surrounding the large oasis, which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. Clusters of buildings hugged the contours, interspersed with the sparkle of fountains, connected by dusty grey ribbons which were the narrow winding roads. And above them all, sitting at the top of the low hill, was a huge palace, the domed roofs glittering white, the towers which fronted it trimmed with emerald and gold. ‘It’s beautiful,’ Julia said, gazing entranced. ‘It’s like a magical city, rising up out of the desert. My goodness, how you must have missed it. If this was my home, I don’t know if I’d be able to tear myself away from it, never mind stay away for ten years.’

Azhar was staring at the view, his frown so deep it brought his brows together. ‘It is undeniably beautiful, but a gilded cage is still a cage,’ he said.

‘What a strange thing to say. Whatever do you mean?’

‘What I mean is that this city is no longer my home. This kingdom no longer forms the limits of my horizon,’ Azhar said. ‘I have no home. I have no people. I have no country. I answer to no one. My heart and my life belong to me alone.’

‘You must lead a very lonely life.’

His smile was fleeting but unmistakably sensual. ‘My determination never to burden myself with a wife does not preclude my enjoying the company of women.’

‘I doubt you’ve enjoyed the company of this particular woman,’ Julia responded tartly, because that smile was making her tingle. ‘I’ve been nothing but an inconvenience.’

He shook his head. ‘You underestimate yourself.’

Was he teasing her? He could not seriously mean he enjoyed her company. His attention had turned back to the view of the city. His expression was almost impossible to read. ‘Azhar, what has brought you back here? You have been away for so very long.’

‘Not long enough. I never believed I would return. You know, the parallels of our situations struck me forcibly last night,’ he said bleakly. ‘In fact, you will be surprised to know that my reasons for this journey are very similar to yours. I too come in order to secure my freedom. I am also here at the behest of a dead man.’

‘What can you mean? What dead man? Azhar...’

But he was already walking towards the camel. ‘No more questions. Now is the time for action. All will become clear in due course.’ He clicked his tongue and the ship of the desert once more dropped obediently to its knees.