Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with a Sheikh! - Emma Darcy - Страница 10

TAREQ WAS NOT slow in acting on Sarah’s decision. There was no time given for second thoughts. He moved straight to the telephone, leaving Sarah to listen as he set up his side of the bargain.

“Peter, call Drew Hillyard. Tell him his daughter, Sarah, is here with me. Due to her special pleading, I am inclined to change my decision and leave my horses with him.”

This apparently evoked some expostulation from his trouble-shooter. Whatever was said made no difference to Tareq. He calmly resumed speaking.

“I’m sure you’ll think of a way to put an effective stop to that. Just get Hillyard here, Peter. As soon as possible. We’ll hear him out first, then move to break the link. From both sides.”

Another pause. Sarah wondered what link they were talking about.

“Sarah has agreed to act as surety. She’ll be coming with me when I fly out tonight. You’ll have to stay behind and wrap this up, Peter.”

Tonight! Sarah moved shakily to an armchair and sat down, dizzied by the speed at which her life was about to change. She stared out the window at the view of the city. Where would she be this time tomorrow?

“Tell Hillyard to bring his wife with him. Best to get everything settled in one hit.”

The receiver clicked down.

“Sarah, have you eaten anything this morning?”

She turned blankly to the man who would direct everything she did from now on. He frowned at her, picked up the telephone again and proceeded to order a selection of croissants, muffins, and a platter of cheese and fruit. Having finished with room service, he considered her thoughtfully.

“You’re not going faint on me, are you, Sarah?” he asked. “You’ve stood up bravely so far.”

Brave words, Miss Hillyard… She wondered what Peter Larsen thought of her now. Trouble. Definitely trouble. For some reason the thought gave her satisfaction.

A spark of pride made her answer, “I’m not getting cold feet if that’s what’s worrying you.”

“Good!” He moved purposefully to the kitchenette beyond the dining suite. “Coffee or tea?”

Surprised at his intention to serve her, she asked, “Shouldn’t I be doing that?”

He laughed, a soft ripple of private amusement. “I’m being kind. Which do you prefer?”

No point in arguing. “Coffee, thank you. With milk.”

She watched him make it and bring it to her, noting he seemed more relaxed. Her own tension had eased, whether from the release of having carried through her purpose, or from the weird sense of having her fate taken out of her hands, she didn’t know. Maybe she was suffering some aftermath from the shock of hard decision-making. Whatever the reason, she felt oddly detached, even when Tareq came close, placing her coffee on the low table in front of her and settling on the sofa nearby.

“You said we’d be flying out tonight. Where are we going?” she asked, trying to get some bearings on what would be her new life.

“The U.S.”

She’d never been there. It might have been an exciting prospect under normal circumstances, but she seemed to be anaesthetised to all feeling at the moment. Shock, she decided. She’d been bombarded by the unexpected and driven to accept it. Recovery time was obviously needed.

She sipped her coffee. Tareq watched her, not with the highpowered intensity she had found so disturbing. It was more a clinical observation. It didn’t touch her inner self. Since he appeared disposed to answer questions, she tried to think of what she needed to ask.

“Will I get to say goodbye to the children?” Already they seemed distant to her. It was as though she had stepped from one world into another.

“Yes,” he assured her. “All going well at the meeting with your father, you and I will proceed to Werribee.”

“I drove here in a jeep,” she remembered.

“Your stepmother can drive it home. You will come with me in my car. There’ll be time for you to pack your belongings and take your leave of Jessie and the twins.”

“While you wait for me.”

“Yes.”

A hostage isn’t allowed to roam free, she thought. I’m tied to him. So why aren’t I feeling a sense of bondage?

Because it doesn’t feel real. Not even this conversation seems real. Sooner or later reality will kick in again and then I’ll feel it. In the meantime, talking filled the emptiness.

“Jessie wants to meet you,” she prattled on. Strange irony. Was Tareq a benefactor or a curse? “She watched for you yesterday, hoping to see you featured on television, but you weren’t. She was very disappointed.”

“Then I’ll make up for the disappointment by meeting her this afternoon,” he said smoothly.

“You’ve got the wrong clothes on,” she told him. “A sheikh is supposed to wear sheikh clothes.”

He smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t have them with me. Will the person do?”

The smile made him even more magnetically handsome. “I’m sure Jessie will be impressed.” As she herself had been at twelve…impressed and flattered to be given his attention. Perhaps he was always kind to children. They made it easy. They didn’t question so much.

Her mind flitted forward, away from the past and on to the future. “I guess I’m to have Peter Larsen’s ticket on the plane tonight.”

He shook his head. “There are no tickets, Sarah. I have my own plane.”

Of course. A private luxury jet, no doubt. She was moving up in the world. Like her mother. Only to a higher strata again. That should amuse her but it didn’t. “Will we be accompanied by many people?”

“I prefer to travel lightly. Only Peter came with me on this trip.”

Which meant she would be alone on the plane with Tareq. Though not quite alone. There would have to be a pilot, a steward, perhaps a co-pilot for such a long flight. Whatever… there would be no getting lost in a crowd. Was she to be his closest associate?

“Peter Larsen implied he’d known you a long time.”

“Since school days at Eton.”

So Mr. Larsen was very upper-class English. Sarah wondered if he knew her second stepfather. “I presume you trust him,” she said a little cynically.

“Yes. He’s never given me reason not to.”

A question of trust…

“How long do you expect it to take…for my father to prove himself to you?”

He eyed her speculatively. “Did you watch the running of the Melbourne Cup yesterday, Sarah?”

“Yes. On television.”

“Then you must have seen with your own eyes that Firefly did not run the distance he should have been trained for.”

She frowned, remembering how the horse had tired. “I thought the jockey had misjudged his run.”

“No, it was more than that. The horse wasn’t up to the distance and he should have been.”

Firefly…

A suspicion wormed into Sarah’s mind.

Jessie still loved the horse…but what did her father feel about it?

“I’ll have Firefly entered in the Melbourne Cup next year,” Tareq went on. “If he runs as well as he should…”

“You can’t expect him to win!” Sarah cried in alarm, a rush of agitation smashing the odd numbness that had claimed her. “No one can guarantee a winner in the Melbourne Cup. The favourites hardly ever win.”

“I agree,” Tareq answered calmly. “As long as it’s a fine effort for the distance I’ll be satisfied.”

A year of her life. Then her fate—the fate of her family—hung on Firefly’s performance. Dear God! She had to talk to her father, make sure he understood. If he had some prejudice against the horse, he had to bury it or they would never get to the other side of this bargain.

A knock on the door.

Tareq rose to answer it. The timing was fortunate. Sarah struggled to contain a surge of panic. She had to remain calm, confident. Tareq was far too perceptive. He would pounce on any hint of a problem with Firefly, and if he pursued the truth and found out what had been hushed up, he might decide he had no grounds for even the tenuous trust Sarah had pleaded for.

It was room service arriving. The ordered food was set out on the coffee table. Tareq tipped the waiter and saw him out. “Try to eat, Sarah. We have a long day ahead of us,” came the sensible advice.

She had absolutely no appetite. Her stomach was in turmoil. Nevertheless, eating precluded any dangerous conversation so she started with the fruit which was relatively easy to slide down her throat. Melon, strawberries, fresh pineapple…she picked and nibbled, using up time.

Satisfied she was well occupied, Tareq moved back to the telephone on the desk and made a series of calls. Sarah didn’t listen to what was spoken. Her thoughts were too loud, clamouring over each other. What if she didn’t get the opportunity to be alone with her father? Would Tareq tell him what the test of his training was to be?

Suddenly there were many ifs and buts. Sarah fretted over them until it struck her that her father might actually prefer to be rid of Tareq’s horses, however crazy it was in a professional sense. Although he had held on to them after Jessie’s accident, being paid for their training, he might have had no heart in their doing well. Maybe even taking some dark satisfaction out of making sure they didn’t.

Yet surely that was at odds with a trainer’s character…the drive to win, to get the best results, to chalk up enviable records. On the other hand, it could explain her father’s drinking bouts. She had put them down to stress, though perhaps she had mistaken the cause of stress…a mind divided against itself.

It seemed stupid to have had Firefly not running the distance, with his owner—a man as astute and as knowledgeable about horses as Tareq—watching his failure to perform. Yet…weren’t there people who wanted to be caught, wanted whatever they were doing to end?

She should have waited to discuss the issue with her father. She should have…

Her heart jumped at another knock on the door.

Her father?

She leapt to her feet, spinning around to face…Peter Larsen…as Tareq admitted him to the suite. The two men stood murmuring to each other. With a muddle of anxiety running rampant in Sarah, the question shot from her lips.

“Did my father agree to the meeting?”

It startled both men into turning to her. Her heart kicked into a gallop. She concentrated on Peter Larsen. He was responsible for making the arrangements. His sharply inquisitive gaze told her nothing. He seemed more interested in pegging her into a newly revised slot than answering her question.

“Why wouldn’t he agree, Sarah?”

It was Tareq who spoke, drawing her attention to him, and once again the power of the man came at her full bore, his eyes like electric probes, making her whole body quiver inside. How was she going to cope with this man when he could affect her like this? He’d caught her so off-guard she was hopelessly stumped for an answer. Her frantic mind finally seized on one.

“Pride. You fired him yesterday. He might be angry about me interceding on his business. I didn’t think about him so much as…”

“He’s here. In Peter’s suite,” Tareq stated, removing her uncertainty. His face took on a ruthless cast as he added, “If he doesn’t agree to my terms, I’ll be a very surprised man. Don’t concern yourself with contingency plans, Sarah.”

He was set on the bargain. He wanted it to happen. He would make it happen. She could see it in his eyes. And she had the prickly feeling it had nothing to do with horses anymore. It had to do with her.

“Tell the Hillyards I’m on my way, Peter,” he said, nodding to the man who needed no other signal to do the sheikh’s bidding. “Sarah, it’s best you wait here while we settle this business with your father.”

She tore her gaze from him and stared at the door closing behind Peter Larsen, wanting to snatch him back, wanting the orders altered.

“Have you changed your mind?” Tareq asked quietly.

She flashed him an anguished look. “I want to be in on the discussion with my father. I might have done wrong…”

“Then it’s up to him to say so. You have done your part. The choice is now his.”

Cool, clear reason. Yet she sensed the fire of purpose in Tareq and knew instinctively it wouldn’t be deterred by anything. Tentacles of fear started weaving through her, clutching at her heart and mind. What had she set in motion? Where would it end?

“Speak now if you prefer not to go through with this, Sarah. I won’t take it kindly if you try to back out after I’ve made a settlement with your father.”

She took a deep, deep breath.

The equation was the same.

The future security of the children was at stake.

“As you said, it’s up to my father. If he agrees, my agreement stands.”

Again the flash of satisfaction in his eyes, curling her stomach.

“This may take some time. Please be at ease here. Use whatever facilities you like. Treat the suite as your own.”

He left her to stew over what was transpiring between the two parties.

It was over an hour before he came back, an hour of agitated pacing, of sick turmoil, of swinging through so many emotions, Sarah felt like a limp rag when he re-entered the suite. She could tell nothing from his expression. It was guarded, controlled, yet he carried an aura of success.

“Well?” she challenged, on painful tenterhooks as to the outcome.

“I believe we’ve come to a clear and mutual understanding. Your father will continue training my horses. He and your stepmother would like to speak to you, Sarah. If you’ll come now…”

It was done.

Really done.

The next year of her life belonged to Tareq al-Khaima. He might not be dressed in traditional clothes but Sarah had no doubt he was a sheikh through and through, born to rule, used to dictating his own terms, determined that his will be carried out.

The only question left was…what was his will where she was concerned? Her soul trembled at the thought of finding out that reality.