Читать книгу An Arabian Marriage - Линн Грэхем, LYNNE GRAHAM - Страница 7

LATE afternoon of the following day, Jaspar studied the report from his security team on Erica Sutton’s activities since his visit to her apartment. That she had evidently rushed straight to a solicitor for advice came as no surprise to him.

Jaspar was satisfied that he had put Erica Sutton under considerable pressure, which had been precisely his intent. While his late brother had been gracing ceremonial occasions and cruising the Med with his party girls, Jaspar had been acquiring the brilliant business acumen with which he oversaw Quamar’s considerable investments abroad. Military school and the tough, fast-moving world of finance had honed Jaspar’s natural talents to a fine and ruthless edge. He knew how to negotiate. Once he knew his quarry’s weaknesses and the time was right, he moved in for the kill.

Subjecting Erica Sutton to the fear that she might lose all that she had gained by her son’s birth had been a deliberate ploy. Doubtless, she imagined that to continue enjoying her present lifestyle she had to retain custody of her son but that was not, in fact, the case. When she learned that she could give up his nephew without surrendering her financial security, Jaspar believed that she would rush to do so.

But he was intensely amused to read that Erica had apparently spent two hours in a beauty salon that very afternoon. So the real Erica Sutton was about to make herself known!

His crack about her unlovely appearance had evidently been more than flesh and blood could stand. Had she imagined when he’d set up that first meeting that he was someone who had power over her finances? Why else would she have gone to such ridiculous lengths to present him with that fake image? How could she have thought that he would be impressed by such a disguise? Adil, connoisseur that he had been, would not have looked twice at a woman with a hideous hairstyle, heavy spectacles and frumpy clothes.

But then, possibly, Erica Sutton was not the brightest spark on the block, Jaspar conceded lazily, recalling the reality that she had telephoned the Consulate of Quamar in an apparent effort to confirm his identity. So naive, so clumsy, he reflected, for naturally even the junior diplomat who had dealt with her call had refused to confirm or deny his presence in London on what was essentially a private trip. But then he was surprised that she had not simply recognised him from the many family photographs on his late brother’s yacht, Beauteous Dreamer.

Hopefully, he could wrap up the whole unfortunate business by the end of the day for he did not wish to strain his father’s non-existent patience. He already had nursery staff standing by to take charge of his nephew. Possibly the arrival of a grandson might distract his parent from the rather more personal goal which Adil’s death had sadly made a matter of much greater urgency… Jaspar’s own marriage.

At thirty years old, he was well aware that he was fortunate to still be single. But then his father had feared that Adil’s inability to settle with one woman had been the direct result of having been pressed into marriage while he’d still been too immature to have made that commitment. However, Adil’s death had changed the whole picture where Jaspar was concerned. That he marry and produce a son to safeguard the succession was now of great importance.

He would let his father choose his bride. Why not? For the past two years, the royal household had staged regular social events simply to ensure that he met a great number of young women. On a most discreet basis, innumerable bridal candidates had been served up for Jaspar’s perusal, the hope being that he would do what everybody wanted him to do and fall in love. But the knowledge that he was being targeted with every weapon in the feminine armoury had made him extremely critical. And the concept of love left Jaspar colder than Siberian ice. Adil had always been falling in love, but Jaspar had only loved once and the experience had been traumatic. Love was a weakness that Jaspar had no intention of falling victim to a second time.

The day before, Freddy had visited the first solicitor able to give her an immediate appointment. Having described Ben’s situation without naming names, she had requested an honest opinion of her position.

‘An uncle is a close relative and, in this particular case, the authorities would also take into account Ben’s inheritance as well as his background,’ the older man informed her.

Freddy tensed. ‘His…background?’

‘Naturally with his father having been of Arabic descent there are cultural aspects which would have to be respected in his upbringing.’

Not even having foreseen that likelihood, Freddy paled, but she pressed on regardless to finally reach the climax which she had intended all along. ‘But if I was to apply to have Ben made a ward of court…er…to protect him?’

‘Protect him?’ The solicitor frowned in visible surprise. ‘On what grounds? Have you cause to believe that Ben would be at some risk with his uncle?’

‘Well, not precisely, but…I didn’t like the man at all,’ Freddy proffered feelingly.

‘If necessary, social services would intervene to ensure the child’s well-being but, on the basis of what you’ve told me about the uncle, I don’t see why they should. I also don’t think you need to take quite so much responsibility onto your own shoulders,’ she was told.

Disconcerted by that quiet rebuke, Freddy left his office, dogged by the depressing suspicion that she had been charging at foolish windmills and refusing to accept the inevitable. Why had it not occurred to her that Ben’s cultural heritage would weigh heavily in the balance of what was judged best for him? Such an obvious point, yet she had not even recognised it and there was no way on earth that she alone could meet that need.

Arriving back at the apartment, she contacted the Consulate of Quamar to try to verify Jaspar al-Husayn’s identity. The man she spoke to was not helpful. However, the internet search she then did on Erica’s computer proved more fruitful for the royal family of Quamar had an official website. It contained a small respectful piece on the demise of the former Crown Prince, Adil, and a much lengthier bulletin on King Zafir’s precarious state of health. However, her own attention was immediately engaged by the picture of the present heir to the throne, Jaspar al-Husayn, looking impossibly handsome and grave and indisputably the same arrogant male who had visited her.

Totally disheartened by that final confirmation, Freddy went to bed that night and made herself face facts. Jaspar al-Husayn evidently knew enough about her late cousin’s lifestyle to have deemed her an unfit parent and could she truly blame him for that? Had she been unfairly biased against him? After all, it had been a considerable shock when Ben’s uncle had come out of nowhere to demand him and a hard, hurting blow in terms of her own fond hopes of keeping Erica’s child, Freddy acknowledged with scrupulous honesty. But it would be very wrong of her to allow selfish personal feelings to blind her to what would be best for Ben.

Ultimately, it seemed, Crown Prince Jaspar would gain custody of Ben and there was nothing she could do about that. However, if she continued, just in the short term, to let him believe that she was Ben’s mother, she could at least learn what his plans for Ben entailed and try to persuade him to make the break between herself and Ben a gentle one. Then she would have to come clean about only being Ben’s nanny and no doubt Crown Prince Jaspar would be absolutely furious with her on that score.

Even as she choked back a sob at the prospect of being parted from Ben, Freddy recognised that it was Jaspar al-Husayn’s demand for total discretion that worried her the most. How could he take personal charge of an illegitimate child whose very existence would surely cause an enormous scandal in a conservative Arab country? It was not as though he could adopt Ben: as far as Freddy was aware, Muslim countries did not practise adoption.

Recalling how suspicious the Crown Prince had been of her staid appearance on his first visit, Freddy decided that she had better make what effort she could to look the part she now felt forced to play for a little longer. So the following afternoon she went to get her hair done. Afterwards, she was rather stunned by the foaming mane of eye-catching blonde curls she seemed to have developed.

Freddy had always worn her hair tied back. Indeed, she would have had it cut short had her late father not once remarked on how pretty her hair was. Well, long hair was all very well but not practical during working hours, and long thick curly hair was something else again unless one was talented with a blow-dryer, which Freddy was not.

A couple of early and very wounding experiences with boys had confirmed her conviction that she was a born spinster just as Ruth had once confessed herself to be. In recent years, only amorous drunks or self-pitying types desperate for a sympathetic audience had demonstrated any interest in her. Why? Well, as Erica had said, ‘You’re a little plump and homely, Freddy.’

Freddy loathed her body and loved to cover it. A mere glimpse of her too ample bosom and curvaceous behind when she was undressing was enough to depress her for the rest of the day. Developing far in advance of her schoolmates had been a severe embarrassment in primary school and hiding beneath capacious sweaters and T-shirts had become a necessity when she’d compared her own burgeoning shape to Erica’s reed-slender delicacy. No matter how hard she exercised, her full curves remained.

After tucking Ben in, she hovered by his cot, gazing down into his peaceful and sleepy little face. Her throat thickened and she felt as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart and dared not even think of what her life would be like without him. She went for a quick shower and then wound herself into a pink towel. In the cloakroom, she stood at the vanity unit, which had marvellous lighting, and painstakingly applied eye-shadow and mascara. She rarely bothered to use cosmetics yet she knew every trick, lessons learned by watching Erica as both teenager and woman.

The doorbell buzzed just as she was putting on lipstick. She smiled because she had ordered herself a pizza as a treat. Once a week, where was the harm? Taste buds watering, she went to answer the door. It didn’t matter that she was only wearing a towel as the take-away employed a woman to deliver in the area.

But when Freddy opened the door, she got a surprise. Jaspar al-Husayn strode into the hall without awaiting an invitation.

‘I thought you were my pizza being delivered,’ Freddy mumbled, aghast at his early arrival and then shocked all over again by the sheer impact of him in the flesh.

She encountered stunning eyes the colour of pure gold and was dazzled. If I had three wishes, it would be him…and him…and him, she thought dizzily, her heartbeat taking off like a jet plane. Electric tension held her fast and breathing was a challenge. The tall wrought-iron lamp cast shaded light that shimmered over the luxuriant black hair swept back from his brow, accentuated the smooth planes of his hard cheekbones, and lingered on the sculpted curve of his firm male lips.

His lean, tightly muscled frame was sheathed in a dark grey business suit that was exquisitely tailored to his powerful physique. A study in shades of vibrant bronze, he was lethally attractive. And meeting those eyes, those extraordinary eyes that she could not look away from, she felt an enervating charge of tension pulse through her, tautening every tiny muscle. Yet her body was filling with a sensation of liquid, languorous warmth, making her outrageously aware of the heaviness of her breasts and the sudden embarrassing prominence of her nipples.

‘Pizza…’ Jaspar murmured huskily, rooted to the spot by the sight of her.

Where the hell had his attention been on his previous visit? he asked himself with stark incredulity. Her eyes were the aqua colour of the sea, that curious blending of blue and jade and turquoise that changed according to the light. And she had the kind of hair mermaids had in fairy tales, a wild golden mane that fell round her shoulders in glorious, rippling abundance. But no legendary sea creature could have competed with the luscious swell of her creamy breasts above the towel or that glorious hourglass shape. Even as he hardened in hot-blooded male response to that sensual vision, Jaspar was shifting cool mental gears, knowing that he had severely underestimated the opposition and that was a rare error for him. He wanted to rip the towel off, propel her back against the wall and sink deep into her, lose himself in the kind of raw, urgent sex he hadn’t fantasised about since he was a teenager. And maybe he would, once he had got what he wanted.

‘P-pizza,’ Freddy stammered like a belated echo, dazed by the throbbing silence, the almost painful tension and heat inside her, the sheer terrifying emptiness of her own mind.

‘Are you planning to take the towel off?’ Jaspar enquired silkily. ‘Or are you just a tease?’

Slow burning colour flushed her throat in a wave and climbed up into her cheeks as she tore her dilated gaze from his intent scrutiny and glanced down at herself in dismay, absorbing the fact that she truly was still hovering a few feet from him clad only in a towel. With a stifled moan of embarrassment, she blundered into sudden movement in the direction of the cloakroom.

Afterwards, she could never work out how it happened, but as she accidentally brushed against him he caught her to him, one lean brown hand anchoring into her hair, the other splaying to her hip. Her startled aqua eyes flared into mesmeric gold and it was as if fireworks were flaring inside her, setting every inch of her ablaze.

‘The stammer was overkill…’ he told her huskily, white, even teeth flashing as he slanted a mocking smile down at her, ‘but the welcome invitation was ace—’

‘You’ve got the wrong idea!’ Freddy gasped, all composure crumbling.

‘I don’t think so… I hate to sound like a jerk, but women have been throwing themselves at me since I was a teenager.’

And before Freddy could even absorb that unashamed assurance that wickedly sensual mouth had descended with devouring heat down onto hers. Intense excitement surged up inside her in a sheet of multicoloured flame. Reaching out blindly, she gripped his arm to stay upright. She felt as if she were falling, falling so fast and furiously that she would burn up before she reached solid earth again. And nothing mattered, nothing mattered but that that connection with him remained. She was in a wonderland of sensual discovery, gasping at the plundering invasion of his tongue inside the tender interior of her mouth, shivering violently, desperately longing for him to pull her close and crush her up against him.

She heard the doorbell buzz with a kind of delayed recognition only as he tensed and then pulled back from her.

‘Oh…crumbs…’she framed, blinking rapidly and then shooting into the cloakroom behind him like a scalded cat.

Thrusting home the bolt on the door, Freddy flung herself back against it, shaking like a leaf in a gale. The mirror surrounded with lights opposite confronted her with her own image. Literally cringing with mortification, she studied her swollen mouth, her dilated pupils and the expression of shock and bewilderment still etched there. How are you ever going to go out there again and act as if nothing happened? screamed the first thought to emerge from her reawakening brain.

He thought she had deliberately flaunted herself in the towel too. True brazen hussy stuff. At that realisation, she writhed in even greater embarrassment, but over and above that discomfiture lurked an entire new level of self-knowledge. She honestly hadn’t known that a man could make her feel like that. There was a sort of shameless fascination still gripping her: that one smouldering kiss could make her forget everything. Who she was, who he was, everything. It also seemed especially cruel that she should have made that discovery with Jaspar al-Husayn. In fact, could there be anything more infuriating? All this time she had wondered why most women’s magazines raved about sex as though it was a truly exciting pursuit when her own slender experience had taught her otherwise.

And then this guy she hated like poison grabbed her and showed her that the excitement might actually not be a giant con practised on the female sex. How dared he have done that to her? What was the point of finding out that a Crown Prince had more than a fighting chance of persuading her out of celibacy? A blasted Crown Prince, she thought afresh, eyes scorching with sudden tears.

He had come to talk about Ben, she reminded herself. Paling, she forced herself to move and unlocked the door sneakily and silently, before pressing down the handle equally quietly and peering out into the hall through a gap barely an inch wide. The coast seemed clear. Had he left? She crept out and then fled down the corridor to her bedroom faster than the speed of light to find some clothes.

Pulling on an oversized T-shirt and a jersey skirt which fell almost to her ankles, she dug her feet into clumpy shoes. The whole time she was dressing, she was rationalising what had happened between them. He had taken her by surprise. She had been temporarily deprived of her wits by the simple fact that he was so gorgeous. But he only had to speak and his mythical attraction vanished, so really she was quite safe from making an even bigger ass of herself. So women were forever throwing themselves at him…oh, the poor love, how did he bear the torment of being so unbearably fanciable? He had the most gigantic ego and she would have done anything to puncture it.

She trudged back down to the main reception rooms, very much hoping he wouldn’t be waiting for her. But the guy had no tact, no shame and the kind of self-assurance that would have ensured that the Titanic sank the iceberg instead of the other way round. There he was, large as life and twice as bold in the drawing-room, which she had barely entered since Erica’s death. But then he had found his natural milieu, hadn’t he? He looked more at home there against the elaborate furniture and the curtaining weighed down with excessive swagging, fringing and tassels.

‘Your pizza…’ Indicating the shallow box parked on the coffee-table, Jaspar al-Husayn sent her a slow, slashing smile that made her heart skip a beat and told her too many things that she didn’t want to know.

‘Look, I don’t fancy you!’ Freddy heard herself state with shocking baldness before she could think better of it. ‘So you can stop looking so pleased with yourself because what happened out in that hall was just one of those stupid things and there is not the smallest danger that I am going to be tempted to throw myself at you! Not unless I get a brain transplant.’

He said nothing. In the silence that dragged even in the first second, and which was working like a shriek alarm on her nerves by the tenth second, Jaspar gazed back at her with measuring cool.

Freddy could feel her face burning up like a bonfire. While those ten seconds limped past, she went from defensive defiance to shrinking chagrin. What on earth had come over her? Instead of ignoring what had happened, she had dredged it back up again and attacked him like a teenager desperate to save face.

‘Let’s discuss my nephew,’ he finally murmured in his rich, dark drawl. ‘Feel free to enjoy your pizza.’

Freddy pictured an imaginary headline: ‘Crown Prince battered to death by pizza box’. She hated him, oh, boy, did she hate him. Every time he opened his mouth, he put her down, and only a minute ago he had proved that he didn’t even have to speak to achieve that feat. Freddy plonked herself down on an overstuffed sofa. Her tummy gurgled and she stiffened with embarrassment and stared a hole in the pizza box. She had a healthy appetite and she was starving, but she was convinced that if she started eating he would take one scornful look at her and think, No wonder she’s that size!

Mind you, he had kissed her, hadn’t he? Her downbent head came up a notch. Obviously he hadn’t found her that unattractive. There must have been some spark on his side of the fence. Maybe he liked women who weren’t skin and bone. It was such a seductive thought that Freddy had an instant vision of herself lying in a desert tent being stuffed with sweets by an adoring male, who would die if she mentioned going on a diet. What was the matter with her? For goodness’ sake, this was probably the most important discussion she would ever hold in her whole life, for Ben was her life, and yet her mind was filled with nothing but nonsense!

‘I understood that you employed a nanny for my nephew,’ Jaspar remarked without warning. ‘Where is she?’

Wondering how on earth he could seem to know so much about Erica’s life and yet not know that her cousin was no longer alive, Freddy stiffened and then forced herself to look at him. ‘She has a family emergency to deal with right now. Look… you said you wanted to take charge of Ben. I’d like to know why.’

Jaspar al-Husayn surveyed her with narrowed golden eyes. ‘He is my nephew.’

‘But your brother wanted Ben’s existence kept a secret. He didn’t seem to want anything further to do with him either.’ Freddy was choosing her words carefully.

‘I will not comment on my late brother’s decisions,’ Jaspar murmured, his strong jawline clenching. ‘It would be inappropriate.’

‘But I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to ask why you have this sudden desire to give Ben a home,’ Freddy persisted.

‘I have in my possession a recent investigation report into your lifestyle.’

Instinctively resenting that superior tone as much as she disliked the news that a private detective had been snooping into Erica’s life without her late cousin’s knowledge, Freddy tilted her chin and said with helpless defiance, ‘Bully for you!’

Jaspar dealt her a grim appraisal. ‘The report made it clear that you are a neglectful mother. You have continually left my nephew to the sole care of an employee, sometimes for periods of six weeks at a time. When you are at home, you throw wild parties for your drunken friends. The police have been called on more than one occasion to settle violent disputes at this address.’

Freddy reddened with sudden shame because it was all true and she turned her head away for a moment, no longer able to meet his challenging gaze. She could still recall lying nervously awake behind a locked door with Ben on the night that Erica had staged her first party since her son’s birth. Neighbours had complained to the police about the excessive noise and offensive behaviour of the guests. When, on a subsequent evening, someone had tried to force their way into the bedroom, Freddy had been really scared. After that experience, whenever Erica had decided to throw a party, Freddy had simply taken Ben over to Ruth’s and spent the night there with him in peace.

‘I…’ She swallowed hard, wondering what on earth she could say in her cousin’s defence, but on the score of her constant absences and those rowdy parties there was little she could say. ‘I can see that it looks bad—’

‘It looks worse than bad,’ Jaspar interposed with cutting contempt. ‘It’s obvious that you have no taste for being a mother and even less concern for your child’s welfare. Adil’s son is an al-Husayn. Honour demands that we now acknowledge our responsibility towards him.’

‘And who does “we” cover?’ Freddy prompted, because she knew he was single after looking at that website. In fact there had been some emphasis on the subject of the current heir to the throne of Quamar still being unmarried. Maybe they were subtly advertising him as being up for grabs, hoping that some veiled Middle Eastern princess of unimpeachable virtue and blue-blooded lineage would apply for the privilege of becoming a queen-in-waiting.

‘My family,’ Jaspar enunciated with pride.

‘But you’re single and a young child needs a mother figure,’ Freddy pointed out with some satisfaction.

His fabulous bone structure tightened. ‘I have many relatives within the extended family circle. I hope that some one of them will offer my nephew a caring home.’

‘But not you,’ Freddy noted, angry at the concept of Ben being casually rehomed with the first party willing to take him in.

‘As I am unmarried, it would look very suspicious were I suddenly to produce a child out of nowhere and announce that I intended to bring him up. I am not in a position to even consider that possibility.’ Jaspar dealt her a look of flaring impatience, his firm mouth compressing. ‘Had I had a wife and had she been willing to enter such a pretence, we might have been able to pass him off as an orphaned relative of hers. But, right now, it is not an option.’

So, although he was Ben’s uncle, he would not be person-

ally involved in his nephew’s future. Freddy was dismayed. Such a proposition was hardly what she had imagined.

‘You must understand that our society is not liberal and discretion is a necessity. My nephew’s parentage must be concealed for his own sake. Illegitimacy is still a mark of shame in Quamar,’ Jaspar al-Husayn continued with gravity. ‘Naturally we also wish to avoid creating a scandal which would cause severe embarrassment to Adil’s family.’

From beneath her lashes, she noted the brooding tension of his stance. ‘You resent me asking questions…but I love Ben very much and all I want is what is best for him.’

‘In the light of what I know about you, I find that claim difficult to credit.’ His lean, strong face set hard. ‘You have valued your son not for himself but only for his worth in financial terms. I have little taste for this dialogue with you, so let me assure you that your current income will continue at its present level if you give your son into my care.’

‘Whatever you think of me, money does not come into this,’ Freddy breathed tightly, her tummy giving a sick little somersault at the idea. ‘Ben needs to be loved. All children need to be loved and he’s an affectionate child. You talk about honour and responsibility but I’m talking about daily love and support—’

‘You have no right to question me in this way. Whatever we offer will be immensely superior to the level of care that Ben currently receives,’ Jaspar stated with hard finality.

Freddy snatched in a ragged breath. ‘But it will take time for Ben to adapt to a new home and new people.’

‘I don’t have time to waste. My father is at present ill and most eager to meet his grandson. I would like to fly back to Quamar with my nephew tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Freddy was aghast. ‘Ben hasn’t even met you yet and you know nothing about him. He’s not a parcel you can just lift and toss onto a plane!’

‘I have highly qualified nursery staff waiting to take charge of him.’

Freddy shook her blonde head slowly and looked at him with shaken aquamarine eyes. ‘You really don’t know anything at all about young children, do you?’

‘He is still only a baby and he will soon adapt to a new life with caring people,’ Jaspar delivered.

‘He would be traumatised if he was suddenly taken away from me. He needs to be eased into that transition,’ Freddy told him with spirit. ‘It can’t be done overnight—’

‘If the break must be made, it should be quick and clean. I cannot accept that his attachment to you or your attachment to him is of any true consequence,’ Jaspar countered with perceptible derision. ‘After all, you have spent most of his short life sunning yourself on tropical shores and partying without him!’

Freddy was thinking frantically fast and she came up with what seemed like a solution on the spur of the moment. ‘I’d be willing to come out to Quamar with him and stay in a guesthouse or something until he was able to manage without me for longer periods—’

Brilliant golden eyes shimmered over her. ‘You’re talking nonsense. This is the same child who had to get by without you for weeks on end, and I have no hesitation in telling you that you won’t be welcome in Quamar at any time now or in the future.’

He was a bone-deep stubborn male, Freddy registered, her anxiety on Ben’s behalf steadily mounting. He had not a clue about children but it was quite beneath him to admit it. He did indeed believe that he could remove Ben from everything familiar without causing him distress. For the first time, it occurred to her that she had made a cardinal error in allowing Jaspar al-Husayn to continue believing that she was Erica. He was all too well acquainted with her cousin’s poor record as a parent and it was hardly surprising that he was impervious to her arguments. So did she now tell him the truth?

If she confessed that she was only his nephew’s nanny, he would be outraged. He did not strike her as a forgiving type of male. He might feel that she had tried to make a fool of him. He would be furious that he had discussed what he clearly regarded as very private family matters with a humble employee. Worst of all, he would immediately realise that she had no power to prevent him from removing Ben from her care. He might walk straight into Ben’s bedroom and just lift him out of his cot without any further discussion, she thought fearfully.

‘Tomorrow morning, I will send the nanny here to collect my nephew so that she can spend the day with him and get to know him. Will that satisfy you?’ Jaspar asked drily.

Freddy saw that she was fighting a losing battle. She remembered the solicitor who had suggested that she was taking too much on her own shoulders in seeking to interfere and she lost colour at that recollection. How much was she truly thinking of Ben? And how much was her judgement being influenced by her own wants and wishes? After all, she did not want to give Ben up and wasn’t that very selfish of her?

‘Will Ben have proper parents in Quamar?’ she whispered shakily.

‘Of course. There is more than one childless couple in the family.’

Freddy hung her head, shame enclosing her. Had there ever been grounds for her to suspect his motives in seeking to change his late brother’s arrangements for Ben? Wouldn’t it have been much more simple for the al-Husayn family to leave those discreet arrangements in place? Even the investigation report that he had mentioned suggested that his family’s most driving concern had been for Ben’s welfare.

‘If it suits,’ Freddy muttered tautly as she stood up, ‘I’d like to speak to you again tomorrow evening.’

In the hall, Jaspar al-Husayn gave her a keen appraisal. Perhaps she felt that she had to go through the concerned maternal motions, he reflected. Perhaps she couldn’t help herself; perhaps, as was often the case, she could not see herself as the appalling parent that she in fact was. But he had won and he knew it. She would give up her rights to her son on his next visit. He was surprised to feel a faint pang of compassion as he scanned her strained face and the tense down-curve of her ripe mouth.

As the apartment door closed behind him a painful shuddering sob broke from Freddy. Ben was as good as gone. When she admitted that she was merely his nanny, who knew what Jaspar al-Husayn would do? He would certainly never accept the strength of the bond between her and Ben. ‘If the break must be made, it should be quick and clean.’ No, had she confessed her true identity, Ben might have been removed from her care even sooner.