Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 37

‘A FRIEZE?’

The prince frowned as he looked at Mariella.

It was three days since the charity breakfast, and two since she had visited the new enclosure.

After what had happened with Xavier, the temptation to simply pack her bags and return home had been very strong, but stubbornly she had refused to give in to it.

It wasn’t her fault that he had totally misinterpreted things. Well, at least not entirely! And besides… Besides, the commission the prince was offering her had far too much appeal for her as an artist to want to turn it down, never mind what her agent was likely to say!

So instead of worrying about Xavier she had spent the last two days working furiously on the idea she had had for the prince’s new enclosure.

‘The semi-circular walkway that leads to the enclosure would be perfect for such a project,’ she told him. ‘I could paint your horses there in a variety of different ways, either in their boxes, or in a string. I have spoken to your trainers and grooms and they have told me that they all have their individual personalities and little quirks, so if I painted them in a string I could include some of these. Solomon in particular, they tell me, does not like anyone else to lead the string, and then Saladin will not leave his box until his groom has removed the cat who is his stable companion. Shazare can’t tolerate other horses with white socks, and—’

The prince laughed. ‘I can see how well you have done your research, and, yes, I like what you are suggesting. It will be an extremely large project, though.’

Mariella gave a small shrug.

‘It will allow me to paint the animals lifesize, certainly.’

‘It will need to be done in time for the official opening of the stables.’

‘And when will that be?’ Mariella asked him.

‘In around five months’ time,’ he told her.

Mariella did a quick mental calculation, and then exhaled in relief. That would give her more than enough time to get the work completed.

‘It would take me about a month or two to finish. It has to be your decision, Highness,’ she informed him diplomatically.

‘Give me a few days to think about it. It is not that I don’t like the idea. I do, but in this part of the world, we still put a great deal of store on “face”, and therefore, no matter now innovative the idea, if it is not completed on time, then I shall lose face in the eyes of both my allies and my competitors. I certainly have no qualms about your work or your commitment to it, though.’

He needed time to check up on her and her past record of sticking to her contracted time schedules, Mariella knew, but that didn’t worry her. She was always extremely efficient about sticking to a completion date once it was agreed.

The nursemaid provided by the prince to look after Fleur whilst she had been working smiled at her as she went to collect the baby.

‘She is a very good baby,’ the young woman told Mariella approvingly.

Once she was back in the Beach Club bungalow, Mariella tried to ring Tanya to both update her on Fleur’s progress and to tell her about her work, but she was only able to reach her sister’s message service.

If the prince did give her this commission, then at least she would be earning enough to ensure that Tanya did not have to work away from home. She knew her sister wanted to be independent, but there were Fleur’s needs to be considered as well, and besides…

She was going to miss Fleur dreadfully when the time came to hand her back to her mother, Mariella acknowledged. She was just beginning to realise what her determination never to become involved in a permanent relationship was going to mean to her in terms of missing out on motherhood.

A little nervously, Mariella smoothed down the fabric of her skirt. She had arrived at the palace half an hour ago to see the prince, who was going to give her his verdict on whether or not he wanted her to go ahead with the frieze.

A shy nursemaid had already arrived to take Fleur from her, and now Mariella peeped anxiously at her watch. Fleur hadn’t slept very well the previous night and Mariella suspected that she was cutting another new tooth.

‘Miss Sutton, His Highness will see you now.’

‘Ah, Mariella…’

‘Highness,’ Mariella responded as she was waved onto one of the silk-covered divans set around the walls of the huge audience room.

Almost immediately a servant appeared to offer her coffee and delicious-looking almond pastries glistening with honey and stuffed with raisins.

‘I am pleased to inform you that I have decided to commission you to work on the frieze,’ the prince announced. ‘The sooner you can complete it, the better—we have lots of other work to do before the official opening.’

Quickly Mariella put down her coffee-cup and then covered it with her hand as she saw that the hovering servant was about to refill it.

Whilst he padded away silently the prince frowned.

‘However, there is one matter that is of some concern to me.’

He was still worrying about her ability to get the work finished on time, Mariella guessed, but instead of confirming her suspicions the prince got up and picked up a newspaper from the low table in front of him.

‘This is our popular local newspaper,’ he told her. ‘Its gossip column is a great favourite and widely read.’

As he spoke he was opening the paper.

‘There is here a report of our charity breakfast, and, as you will see, a rather intimate photograph of you with Sheikh Xavier Al Agir.’

Mariella’s heart bumped against the bottom of her chest, her fingers trembling slightly as she studied the photograph the prince was showing her.

It took her several seconds to recognise that it had been taken when she and Xavier had been quarrelling, because it looked for all the world as though they were indeed engaged in a very intimate conversation, their heads close together, her lips parted, Xavier’s head bent towards her, his gaze fixed on her mouth, whilst Fleur, whom she was holding in her arms, beamed happily at him.

Even though she had not eaten any of the pastries, Mariella was beginning to feel sick.

The article accompanying the photograph read:

Who was the young woman who Sheikh Xavier was so intimately engaged in conversation with? The sheikh is known for his strong moral beliefs and his dedication to his role as leader of the Al Agir tribe, and yet he was seen recently at the prince’s charity breakfast, engaged in what appeared to be a very private conversation with one specific female guest on two separate occasions! Could it be that the sheikh has finally chosen someone to share his life? And what of the baby the unknown young woman is holding? What is her connection with the sheikh?

‘In this country, unlike your own, a young woman alone with a child does cause a certain amount of speculation and disapproval. It is plain from the tone of this article that the reporter believes you and Xavier to be Fleur’s parents…’ the prince told Mariella, his voice very stern.

‘But that is not true, Your Highness. We are not,’ Mariella protested immediately. ‘Fleur is my niece.’

‘Of course. I fully accept what you are saying, but I think for your own sake that some kind of formal response does need to be made to this item. Which is why I have already instructed my staff to get in touch with the paper and to give them the true facts and to explain that Fleur is in fact your niece and that you are in Zuran to work for me. Hopefully that will be an end to the matter!’

Mariella frowned as for the third time in as many hours her sister’s mobile was switched onto her message-taking service.

Why wasn’t Tanya returning her calls?

Because of the length of time it was going to take her to complete the frieze, it had been decided that, instead of her returning to England as had originally been planned, she and Fleur should remain in Zuran so that she could commence work immediately.

The prince had announced that she would be provided with a small apartment and the use of a car, and Mariella was planning a shopping trip to equip both herself and Fleur for their unexpected extended stay.

Fleur’s new tooth had now come through and the baby was back to her normal happy self.

Someone was knocking on the door of the bungalow and Mariella went to open it, expecting to see a member of the Beach Club’s staff, but instead to her consternation it was Xavier who was standing outside.

Without waiting for her invitation he strode into the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

‘Perhaps you can explain the meaning of this to me,’ he challenged her sarcastically, throwing down the copy of the newspaper she had been reading earlier, open at the gossip column page.

‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Xavier,’ Mariella replied as calmly as she could.

‘It says here that you are not Fleur’s mother.’

‘That’s right,’ she agreed. ‘I’m not! I’m her aunt. My sister Tanya is her mother… and the woman who I have had to listen to you denouncing and abusing so slanderously and unfairly! And, for your information, Tanya is not, as you have tried to imply, some… some…

she is a professional singer and dancer, and, whilst you may not consider her good enough for your precious cousin, let me tell you that in my opinion he is the one who isn’t good enough for her… not for her and certainly not for Fleur!’ All the anger and anguish Mariella had been bottling up inside her was exploding in a surge of furious words.

‘Your cousin told Tanya that he loved her and that he was committed to her and then he left her and Fleur! Have you any idea just what that did to Tanya? I was there when Fleur was born, I heard Tanya cry out for the man she loved. It’s all so easy for a man, isn’t it? If he doesn’t want the responsibility of a woman’s love or the child they create together, he can just walk away. You don’t know what it means to be a child growing up knowing that your father didn’t want or love you, and knowing too that your mother could never again be the person she was before her heart was broken. I would never, ever let any man hurt me the way Tanya has been hurt!’

‘You wantonly and deliberately let me think that you and Khalid were lovers,’ Xavier interrupted her savagely, ignoring her emotional outburst.

‘Well, at first I thought you were Fleur’s father, so I assumed you knew I wasn’t Fleur’s mother. But, face it, you wanted to think the worst you could about me, Xavier. You enjoyed thinking it! Revelled in it. I tried to warn you that you were getting it wrong, when you totally misinterpreted those comments by the prince! Remember?’

‘Have you any idea just what problems this is causing?’ he demanded harshly.

‘What I have done?’ Mariella gave him a disbelieving look. ‘My sister is a modern young woman who lives a modern young woman’s life. Her biggest mistake, in my opinion, was to fall in love with your wretched cousin, and yet you have talked about her as though—!’ Mariella compressed her lips as she saw the flash of temper darkening his eyes.

‘Are you trying to say to me that you too are a modern young woman who lives a modern young woman’s life, because if you are I have to tell you—!’

Xavier broke off abruptly, remembering the character references the prince had insisted on him reading when he had stormed into the palace earlier in the afternoon, demanding an immediate audience with him.

Mariella was not only a very highly acclaimed artist, she was also, it seemed, a young woman of the highest moral integrity—in every facet of her life!

‘That is none of your business,’ Mariella told him angrily.

‘To the contrary. It is very much my business!’

Mariella stared at him, her heart thumping.

‘Fleur is my cousin’s child, which makes her a member of my family. Since you are also of her blood, that also makes you a member of my family. As the head of that family I am, therefore, responsible for both of you. There is no way I can allow you to live here in Zuran alone, or work unchaperoned for the prince. Our family pride and honour would be at risk! It is my responsibility!’

‘What?’ Mariella looked at him in open angry contempt. ‘How can you possibly lay claim to any right to pride or honour? You, a man who was quite prepared to take the mother of his cousin’s child to bed, just so that you could enforce your wish to keep them apart? This has got to be some kind of joke! I mean, you… you abuse me verbally, and physically. You insult and denigrate me and… and now you have the gall to turn round and start preaching to me about pride or honour! And as for your so-called sense of responsibility! You don’t even begin to understand the meaning of the word, as decent people understand it!’

Mariella could see the tension in his jaw, but she suspected that it was caused by anger rather than any sense of shame.

‘The situation has now changed!’

‘Changed? Because you have discovered that instead of being, and I quote, your cousin’s “whore” paid to have sex with men, I am a career woman.’

‘I have received a… a communication from Khalid confirming that he is Fleur’s father, and because of that—’ his mouth tightened ‘—I have to consider Fleur’s position, her future… her reputation!’

‘Her reputation!’ Mariella gave him a scathing look. ‘Fleur is four months old! And anyway, His Highness has already done everything that is necessary to stem any potential gossip.’

‘I have been to see His Highness myself to inform him that, whilst you are here in Zuran, you will be living beneath the protection of my roof! Naturally he is in total agreement!’

Mariella couldn’t believe her ears.

‘Oh, no,’ she denied, shaking her head vigorously from side to side. ‘No, no, no. No way!’

‘Mariella. Please see it as a way for me to make amends by offering you my hospitality. Besides, you have no choice—the prince expects it.’

He meant it, Mariella recognised as she searched his implacable features.

‘I shall wait here until you have packed and then we will return to my home. I have arranged for my widowed great-aunt to act as your chaperone for the duration of your stay in Zuran.’

Her chaperone!

‘I am twenty-eight years old,’ she told him through gritted teeth. ‘I do not need a chaperone.’

‘You are a single woman living beneath the roof of a single man. There will already be those who will look askance at you having read that article.’

‘At me, but not, of course, at you!’

‘I am a man, so it is different,’ he told her with a dismissively arrogant shrug that made her grind her teeth in female outrage.

Mariella couldn’t wait to speak to her sister to tell her what had happened!

Right now, though, Mariella dared not take the risk of defying him! He could, after all, if he so wished, not merely put his threats into action, but also take Fleur from her here and now if he chose to do so!

It took her less than half an hour to pack their things, a task she performed in seething silence whilst Xavier stood in front of the door, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with smoulderingly dangerous eyes.

When she had finished she went to pick Fleur up, but Xavier got there first.

Over Fleur’s downy head their gazes clashed and locked, Xavier’s a seething molten grey, Mariella’s a brilliantly glittering jade.

The limousine waiting for them was every bit as opulent looking as the one the prince had sent for her, although Mariella was surprised to discover that Xavier was driving it himself.

Somehow she had not associated him with a liking for such a luxurious showy vehicle. She had got the impression that his tastes were far, far more austere.

But, as she had discovered, beneath his outwardly cold self-control a molten, hot passion burned, which was all the more devastating for being so tightly chained.

It didn’t take them long to reach the villa, but this time the gates were opened as they approached them and they swept in, crunching over a gravel drive flanked by double rows of palm trees.

The villa itself was elegantly proportioned, its design restrained, and Moorish in inspiration, Mariella noticed with unwilling approval as she studied its simple lines with an artist’s eye.

A pair of wrought-iron gates gave way to a gravelled walled courtyard, ornamented with a large central stone fountain.

Stopping the car, Xavier got out and came to open her own door. A manservant appeared to deal with her luggage, and a shy young girl whom Xavier introduced to her as Hera, and who, he told her, would be Fleur’s nanny. Smiling reassuringly at the nanny he handed Fleur to her before Mariella could stop him.

She certainly held Fleur as though she knew what she was doing, Mariella recognised, but even so! A pang of loss tightened her body as she looked at Fleur being held in another woman’s arms.

‘Fleur doesn’t need a nanny,’ she told Xavier quickly. ‘I am perfectly capable of looking after her myself.’

‘Maybe so, but it is customary here for those who can afford to do so to provide the less well off amongst our people with work. Hera is the eldest child in her family, and her mother has recently been widowed. Are you really willing to deprive her of the opportunity to help to support her siblings, simply because you are afraid of allowing anyone else to become emotionally close to Fleur?’

As he spoke he was ushering her into the semi-darkness of the interior of the villa. Mariella was so shocked and unprepared for his unexpectedly astute comment that she stumbled slightly as her eyes adjusted to the abrupt change from brilliant sunlight to shadowy darkness.

Instantly Xavier reached for her, his hand gripping her waist as he steadied her. Her dizziness must be something to do with that abrupt switch from lightness to dark, Mariella told herself, and so too must her accompanying weakness, turning her into a quivering mass of over-sensitive nerve endings, each one of them reacting to the fact that Xavier was touching her. Confused blurred images filled her head: Xavier, naked as he swam, Xavier leaning over her as he held her down on the bed, Xavier kissing her until she ached for him so badly her need was a physical pain.

Her need? She did not need Xavier. She would never, never need him. Never… She managed to pull herself free of him, her eyes adjusting to the light enough for her to see the cold disapproval with which he was regarding her.

‘You must take more care. You are not used to our climate. By the end of this month the temperature will be reaching forty degrees Celsius, and you are very fair-skinned. You must be sure always to drink plenty of water, and that applies to Fleur as well.’

‘Thank you. I do know not to allow myself to get dehydrated,’ Mariella told him through gritted teeth. ‘I am a woman, not a child, and as such I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. After all, I’ve been doing it for long enough.’

The look he gave her made her feel as though someone had taken hold of her heart and flipped it over inside her chest.

‘Yes. It must have been hard for you to lose your mother and your stepfather having already lost your father at such a young age…’

‘Lost my father?’ Mariella gave him a bitter look. ‘I didn’t “lose” him. He abandoned my mother because he didn’t want the responsibilities of fatherhood. He was never any true father to me, but he broke my mother’s heart—’

‘My own parents died when I was in my early teens—a tragic accident—but I was lucky enough to have my grandmother to help me through it. However, as we both know, the realisation that one is without parents does tend to breed a certain… independence of spirit, a certain protective defensiveness.’ He was frowning, Mariella recognised, picking his words with care as though there was something he was trying to tell her. He broke off as Hera came into the reception hall carrying Fleur.

‘If you will go with Hera, she will show you to your quarters. My aunt should arrive shortly.’

He had turned on his heel and was striding away from her, his back ramrod straight in the cool whiteness of his robe, leaving her no alternative other than to follow the timidly smiling young maid.

The villa obviously stretched back from its frontage to a depth she had not suspected, Mariella acknowledged ten minutes later, when she had followed the maid through several enormous reception rooms and up a flight of stairs, and then along a cloistered walkway through which a deliciously cool breeze had flowed and from which she had been able to look down into a totally enclosed private courtyard, complete with a swimming pool.

‘This is the courtyard of Sheikh Xavier,’ Hera had whispered to her, shyly averting her gaze from it and looking nervous when Mariella had paused to study it.

‘Normally it is forbidden for us to be here, as the women of the household have their own private entrance to their quarters…’

‘Let me take Fleur,’ Mariella told her, firmly taking her niece back into her own arms and relishing the deliciously warm weight of her.

A door at the end of the corridor led to another cloistered walkway, this time with views over an immaculate rose garden.

‘This was the special garden of the sheikh’s grandparents. His grandmother was French and the roses were from France. She supervised their planting herself.’

For Mariella the rigid beds and the formality of the garden immediately summoned up a vivid impression of a woman who was very proud and correct, a true martinet. Her grandson obviously took after her!

The women’s quarters, when they finally got to them, proved to be far more appealing than Mariella had expected. Here again a cloistered walkway opened onto a private garden, but here the garden was softer, filled with sweet-smelling flowers and decorated with a pretty turreted summer house as well as the customary water features.

They comprised several lavishly furnished bedrooms, each with its own equally luxurious bathroom and dressing room, a dining room, and a salon—Mariella could think of no other word to describe the delicate and ornate antique French furniture and decor of the two rooms, which she suspected must have been designed and equipped for Xavier’s French grandmother.

On the bookshelves flanking the fireplace she could see leather-bound books bearing the names of some of France’s most famous writers.

‘The sheikh has said that you will wish to have the little one in a room next to your own,’ Hera was telling her softly. ‘He has made arrangements for everything that she will need to be delivered. I am not sure which room you will wish to use…’

Ignoring the temptation to tell her that she wished to use none of them, and that in fact what she wished to do was to leave the villa with Fleur right now—after all, none of this was Hera’s fault and it would be unfair of her to take out her own resentment on the maid—Mariella gave in to her gentle hint and quickly inspected each of the four bedrooms.

One of them, furnished in the same Louis Fifteenth antiques as the salon, had quite obviously been Xavier’s grandmother’s and she rejected it immediately. Of the three others, she automatically picked the plainest with its cool-toned walls and simple furniture. It had its own private access to the gardens with a small clear pool only a few feet away and a seat next to it from which to watch the soothing movement of the water.

‘This room?’

When Mariella nodded, Hera smiled.

‘The sheikh will be pleased. This was his mother’s room.’

Xavier’s mother’s room! It was too late for her to change her mind, Mariella recognised.

‘What… what nationality was she?’ she asked Hera, immediately wishing she had not done so.

‘She was a member of the tribe… The sheikh’s father met her when he was travelling with them and fell in love with her…’

Fleur was beginning to make hungry noises, reminding Mariella that it was her niece she should be thinking about and not Xavier’s family background.