The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Hilary chose that moment to enter the room, wheeling a trolley bearing a silver coffee-pot, two cups and saucers, milk, cream and sugar, together with a plate of petit fours.

  ‘Thank you, Hilary. The meal was superb, as usual,’ Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed complimented her while Kristi inwardly seethed with anger. Somehow she managed to dredge up a smile and add to her host’s praise. However, the instant that Hilary disappeared out the door she launched into immediate attack.

  ‘What is wrong with presenting me to your family as a guest?’ she demanded heatedly.

  His eyes hardened measurably, and she felt the beginnings of unease. ‘I accord Nashwa and her two daughters the respect they deserve. Whenever I visit Riyadh I observe the customs of my father’s country for the duration of my stay. As sponsor, I must vouch for your good behaviour while you are in Saudi Arabia, take responsibility for your welfare, and ensure your departure when it is time for you to leave.’

  Kristi lifted a hand, then let it fall in a gesture of helpless anger. Her main consideration was Shane, and the influence that Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed could wield with Mehmet Hassan in negotiating her brother’s release.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t particularly like the idea of pretending to be your woman but I’ll go along with it.’

  He made no comment. Instead, he rose to his feet and proceeded to pour dark, aromatic coffee into the two cups. ‘Milk, cream, or a liqueur?’

  ‘Black.’ She helped herself to sugar, then sipped the strong brew, watching as he did likewise. When she finished she placed her cup and saucer down on a nearby table and stood up. ‘If you could arrange a taxi for me, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed, I’d like to return to my hotel.’

  ‘Shalef,’ he corrected silkily. ‘As we’re to be linked together, it will be thought strange if you continue to address me with such formality.’ He unfolded his lengthy frame with lithe ease. ‘I’ll drive you into the city.’

  Why did that cause an immediate knot to form in her stomach? ‘A taxi would be less inconvenient.’

  ‘To whom?’

  She looked at him carefully. ‘To you, of course. An hour’s drive each way seems unnecessary at this time of night.’

  ‘There are several spare bedrooms, any one of which you would be welcome to use.’

  The hint of mockery brought a fiery sparkle to her eyes. ‘As long as you’re aware it wouldn’t be yours.’

  One eyebrow slanted. ‘I wasn’t aware I implied it might be.’

  She drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t find verbal games in the least amusing.’

  It was impossible to detect anything from his expression. ‘I’ll get your coat.’

  Polite civility edged her voice. ‘Thank you.’

  In the car she sat in silence, grateful when he activated the stereo system and Mozart provided a soothing background that successfully eliminated the need for conversation.

  He drove well, with considerably more speed than his chauffeur. Or had it been his bodyguard? The miles between Berkshire and London diminished quickly, although once they reached the inner city any attempt at swift passage was hampered by computer-controlled intersections and traffic.

  Kristi sighted the entrance to her hotel and prepared to alight the instant that Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed brought the car to a halt.

  ‘Thank you.’ Her hand paused on the door-clasp as she turned towards him. It was difficult to fathom his expression. ‘I imagine you’ll be in touch with the flight time?’

  ‘I have been invited to a formal dinner on Saturday evening. I’d like you to accompany me.’

  ‘Why?’ The single query slipped out unbidden, and his eyes hardened slightly.

  ‘In less than a week you will meet members of my late father’s family. It would be preferable if we are seen to share a rapport.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I consider it does. Be ready at seven.’

  She felt the stirrings of resentment. ‘I don’t like being given an order.’

  ‘Are you usually so argumentative?’

  ‘Only with people who refuse to respect my right to decline an invitation,’ she responded coolly.

  ‘Are you dismissing my request?’ His voice was dangerously soft, and despite the car’s heating system she felt suddenly cold.

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘merely stating that I prefer to be asked rather than told.’ She activated the door clasp and stepped from the car, hearing the refined clunk as she carefully closed the door behind her; then she turned towards the main entrance and made her way into the foyer without a backward glance.

  It wasn’t until she was inside her suite that she allowed herself the luxury of releasing an angry exclamation.

  Sheikh Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed was beginning to threaten her equilibrium in more ways than one. She didn’t like it, any more than she liked him. Nor did she particularly like the idea of partnering him to a formal dinner party. Except she couldn’t afford to anger him.

  Not yet, a tiny imp inside her taunted with mischievous intent. Not yet.

  ‘Formal’ was particularly apt, Kristi reflected with idle interest as she scanned the room’s occupants. Twenty-four people sat at the table, and were served cordon bleu courses by uniformed maids and offered finest vintage wines by impeccably suited waiters. Gold-rimmed bone china vied with gleaming silver and sparkling crystal, and the floral centrepieces were a work of art.

  Expensive jewellery adorned the fingers of the female guests, and there was little doubt that their gowns were designer originals.

  ‘Dessert, Miss Dalton? There is a choice of tiramisu, strawberry shortcake, or fresh fruit.’

  Although each single course had comprised a small portion, she’d lost count of the courses served and was reluctant to accept yet another. She offered the waitress a faint smile. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You have no need to watch your figure.’

  Kristi turned towards the man seated on her left and felt the distinct pressure of his knee against her own. Without any compunction she carefully angled the tip of her slender-heeled shoe to connect with his ankle. ‘I doubt Shalef would appreciate your interest,’ she ventured sweetly.

  ‘Point taken,’ he acknowledged with sardonic cynicism. ‘literally.’

  Her smile held no sincerity. How much longer before they could leave the table and adjourn to the lounge?

  ‘Try some of this cheese,’ Shalef suggested smoothly as he speared a small segment onto a wafer then offered it to her. His eyes were dark, their expression enigmatic, and her own widened marginally at the studied intimacy of his action.

  Kristi’s mouth curved slightly in response as she sampled the wafer. ‘Superb,’ she acknowledged. She had never doubted that he was dangerous. When he set out to charm, he was positively lethal.

  ‘Would you like some more?’

  ‘No. Thanks,’ she added.

  ‘So polite.’

  ‘Don’t amuse yourself at my expense,’ she warned in a silky undertone.

  He considered her thoughtfully. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing?’

  ‘You’re playing a game for the benefit of fellow guests who are intent on displaying a discreet interest in Sheikh Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed’s latest companion.’

  ‘What is it you particularly object to?’ he queried musingly. ‘Being a subject of interest, or labelled as my latest conquest?’

  Her gaze was level. ‘I have little control over the former, but as the latter doesn’t apply I’d prefer it if you would decline from indicating an intimacy which doesn’t exist.’

  ‘You have a vivid and distorted imagination.’

  ‘While you, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,’ she responded evenly, ‘parry words with the skill of a master chess-player.’

  A soft chuckle started at the back of his throat and emerged with a genuine humour that was reflected in the gleaming warmth of his eyes. ‘Shalef,’ he insisted quietly.

  Kristi looked at him carefully. ‘I imagin
e it is much too early to request that you take me back to the hotel?’

  His mouth curved with slow indolence. ‘Much too early.’

  ‘In which case I shall attempt dazzling conversation with a fellow guest.’

  ‘Alternatively, you could attempt to dazzle me.’

  She picked up her glass and sipped the chilled waiter, then set it down carefully. ‘Don’t you tire of women who strive to capture your attention?’

  ‘It depends on the woman,’ he said mockingly. ‘And whether it’s more than my attention she attempts to capture.’

  The request for guests to adjourn to the lounge was timely, and Kristi rose to her feet with relief, glad of the opportunity to escape the close proximity of Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed.

  But her freedom was short-lived as he moved to her side, and she didn’t pull away when he caught her elbow in a light clasp as they made their way from the dining room.

  Her senses seemed more acute, and she was conscious of his clean male smell mingling with the subtle tang of his cologne. His touch brought an awareness of sexual alchemy together with a heightened degree of sensuality that quickened her pulse and had the strangest effect on her breathing.

  Such feelings were a complication she couldn’t afford, and she deliberately sought to impose a measure of control.

  ‘Shalef, how wonderful to see you again.’

  Kristi heard the distinct purr in the light, feminine voice and glimpsed the perfection of scarlet-tipped fingers an instant before a model-slim, dark-haired young woman slid an arm through his.

  Beauty enhanced by the skilful application of cosmetics and the clothes of a noted European couturier lent and exclusivity that was unmatched by any of the other female guests, and Kristi couldn’t help the uncharitable thought that such a stunning result had probably taken the entire afternoon to achieve.

  ‘Fayza.’

  Was it her imagination or did she sense a barrier of reserve fall into place?

  ‘Allow me to introduce Kristi Dalton. Fayza Al-Khaledi.’

  The features were exquisitely composed, and her mouth curved into a smile that revealed perfectly even white teeth. But the brilliant dark eyes were as cold as an Arctic floe.

  - ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch some coffee.’ Kristi took longer than necessary in adding sugar and a touch of cream to the aromatic brew.

  She started to show an interest in the mingling guests, assured her hostess that the coffee was fine and indulged in polite small talk. Not once did she glance towards Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed or the glamorous woman who had commandeered his attention.

  ‘There was no need for you to desert me.’

  She turned slightly as he rejoined her, and met his solemn gaze. ‘Just as there was no need for me to compete.’

  Shalef chose not to comment, and Kristi finished her coffee, refused a second cup and managed to contain her relief when he indicated that they would leave.

  ‘You found the evening boring?’

  The illuminated clock on the dashboard revealed that it was after midnight, and she sank back against the deep-cushioned seat as the large car gained the motorway and gathered speed.

  ‘Not at all,’ Kristi assured him with polite civility. ‘The food was superb, and one would have to grant that the company was equally so.’

  ‘Including the guest who indulged in a surreptitious play for your attention during the main course?’

  ‘You noticed.’

  ‘He has a certain reputation,’ Shalef informed her drily.

  ‘I don’t need a protector.’

  ‘In London you can rely on Sir Alexander Harrington for friendship and support. In Riyadh it will be different.’

  She turned to look at him in the semi-darkness of the car, noting the harsh angles and planes of his profile. ‘Are you issuing a subtle warning?’

  ‘A suggestion that you accept the political and religious dictates of my father’s country,’ he corrected.

  ‘I won’t attempt to wield any Western influence or encourage the younger members of your family to challenge your will, Sheikh bin Al-Sayed,’ Kristi said with a touch of mockery.

  ‘Shalef.’ His voice was silky soft, and her stomach began to knot with nerves as she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen.

  It had begun to snow—light flakes that settled with an eerie whiteness on tree branches and hedges.

  City lights appeared in the distance, and soon they were traversing inner suburbia at a reduced speed. Streetlights gave out a regimented glow, and most of the houses were shrouded in darkness, their occupants tucked up warmly in bed.

  Kristi shivered despite the car’s heating. In a few days she would board a plane in the company of a man she hardly knew, forced to place not only herself but the fate of her brother in his hands.

  How long would the rescue mission take? It had to be successful. She couldn’t, wouldn’t contemplate failure.

  The car eased to a halt outside the hotel’s main entrance, and she turned towards the man behind the wheel.

  ‘What time shall I meet you at the airport?’

  He shifted in his seat and leaned an arm against the wheel. ‘My chauffeur will collect you from the hotel. I will have you notified of the time.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She reached for the door-clasp and stepped out of the car. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight, Kristi.’ His voice was a deep drawl that seemed to mock her long after she’d gained her suite and undressed for bed.

  It kept her awake, then haunted her dreams as she slept.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  RIYADH rose from the desert like a high-tech oasis of glass, steel and concrete, with office towers, freeways, hotels, hospitals and, Shalef informed Kristi as his private jet landed and taxied down the runway, the largest airport in the world.

  The subdued whine of the engines wound down to an electronic hum as the pilot wheeled the jet round towards an allotted bay. With almost simultaneous precision they slid to a halt as the hostess released the door and activated the steps for disembarkation.

  Ten minutes later Kristi followed Shalef into the rear seat of a black stretch Mercedes. A man already occupied the opposite seat and Shalef effected an introduction.

  ‘Fouad is the son of the daughter of my father’s first wife,’ he informed her quietly. ‘He holds a managerial position with one of the family companies here.’

  Kristi turned towards the man and inclined her head in silent acknowledgement. ‘How many daughters are there?’

  ‘Four. Two from my father’s first wife, both of whom are older than me, and two younger, the daughters of my father’s third wife.’

  ‘Happy families,’ she quipped lightly. ‘I imagine there is a variety of distant aunts and cousins?’

  ‘Several. My father’s first wife developed cancer and died five years ago.’

  The two men lapsed into Arabic as the large vehicle slipped free of the terminal traffic, and Kristi transferred her attention beyond the tinted windows.

  This was a land where the muezzin called the faithful to prayer five times a day, where the male was revered while the female remained subservient.

  She was intrigued by a culture that viewed women as less important than their male counterparts, their role so defined and protected that it amounted to almost total discrimination.

  Did the women silently crave for more freedom, both in speech and action? To dispense with the abaaya and the veil, and adopt westernised apparel? And, if they did, would they dare speak of it to a stranger, albeit a stranger presented to them as Shalef bin Youssef Al-Sayed’s current companion?

  The Mercedes began to slow, and Kristi felt the nerves in her stomach awaken as it paused beside massive gates, cleared security, then swept through to a large courtyard.

  The architecture was interesting—solid walls plastered in stark white, surprisingly small windows, given the hot climate, and an impressive set of carved wooden doors overlaid with ornate, metal-pre
ssed panels.

  One of the doors swung inwards as the Mercedes slid to a halt, and a middle-aged couple emerged to extend a greeting.

  ‘Amani and Abdullah manage the house and staff,’ Shalef informed her when he’d completed an introduction.

  Indoors there was an assemblage of neatly attired staff waiting to greet their sheikh, and, although Shalef made no attempt at individual introductions, he presented her as a close friend from England.

  The reception hall was the largest that Kristi had seen, with imposing marble columns and Carrara marble floors covered in part by a matched selection of exquisitely woven rugs. Tapestries adorned the walls, and expensive works of art vied with giltedged mirrors.

  ‘At your request I have made ready the east suite for Miss Dalton,’ Amani revealed. ‘Refreshments are ready to be served in the sitting room.’

  ‘Thank you. Shall we say half an hour?’

  ‘I will take Miss Dalton to her room.’

  Shalef inclined his head, then turned towards Kristi. ‘I am sure you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.’

  Dismissal, she determined wryly. Yet she had expected no more. With a faint smile she turned and followed Amani towards a wide, curving staircase leading to an upper floor.

  The palace was sufficiently substantial to house several families and still ensure individual privacy, she realised as she traversed a long, marble-tiled hallway.

  Ornate side-tables and velvet-upholstered, gilt-framed chairs lined the walls and expensive silk rugs covered the marble floor.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here, Miss Dalton. If there is anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

  Kristi preceded the manageress into a magnificent suite comprising sitting room, bedroom and en suite bathroom. The furnishings were an exotic blend of deep emerald, gold and white.

  “Thank you.’

  With twenty-five minutes in which to shower and change, Kristi managed it in less, choosing to use minimum make-up and leave her hair loose. Aware of a preference for women to wear clothes that covered their legs and arms, she’d packed smartly tailored, loose-fitting trousers, a variety of blouses and a few tunic-style tops.