A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  He followed her, took the damnably uncomfortable sofa, and drew a deep breath.

  ‘I know you would like more time to think through my offer, but I realised, as we drove Nimr to his kindergarten, that I may have put you both in more danger just by being here.’

  He paused, aware of the tension he’d caused with his words but needing to get them said.

  ‘If I could find you, so could others, and while they may have taken longer, I may also have unwittingly led them to you. You will need a passport, of course—’

  ‘I have a passport—and Nim is on it. At one time I thought we might go to New Zealand, but I hardly see—’

  ‘New Zealand would never have been far enough away from someone who wished harm to Nimr. In Madan I can keep you both safe.’

  Even as he said the words, he knew it was somehow important to him that this woman stay as safe as the child...

  Lauren stared at him—the bit about New Zealand not being far enough kept echoing in her head. It had always been in her mind as a last resort.

  New Zealand had always seemed safe...

  And if it wasn’t?

  ‘But why the marriage?’ she asked. ‘Could we not just go with you and live there? I could get work and Nim could go to school, like normal people.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You would be living in my home—not the palace—and that would be unseemly for an unmarried woman. It need be marriage in name only, but only if we are married, and Nimr my son, can I keep you both safe.’

  She ignored the shiver the word ‘married’ had given her, told herself she should feel relieved about the ‘in name only’ part of the conversation, but once again her brain was flooded with too much information and too many questions for her to think straight.

  She must have been looking as lost as she felt because he said gently, ‘I am sorry. This has been too great a shock for you to take in all at once. I have lived in torment that I could not save my beloved brother.’

  He sighed before continuing, ‘We, well, I, had thought he and Lily had split up, she returning to her family in Australia. Tariq had settled down, his wild lifestyle seemingly over. He was taking an interest in affairs of state and readying himself to take over from our father.’

  Another pause, and Lauren could almost feel the anguish in Malik’s soul.

  ‘Then one day he was gone—out of the country, flying first to the United Kingdom, then the US. I was angry that he hadn’t spoken to me or told me what he was doing. But for six months he’d been the perfect heir, the model Madani, and I had no suspicion he would end up in Australia. And no idea he was heading this way for the birth of his son.’

  ‘You hadn’t known Lily was pregnant?’

  ‘No one did, not at home, I’m sure of that. And I suppose that hurts more than anything—that my brother, whom I loved for all we were so different, hadn’t felt able to confide in me. Hadn’t told me such joyous news...’

  The pain in his voice pierced deep into Lauren’s heart because she knew he’d carried it with him every day for four long years.

  She wanted to say something—but what?

  I’m sorry?

  Too late—he was speaking again.

  ‘Since he was killed, I’ve realised Tariq must have known he had an enemy and had sent Lily away for safety. When Nimr was born, he contacted our father to tell him the wonderful news, and two weeks later he was dead.’

  ‘They were all dead—except for Nim,’ Lauren reminded him, and he nodded, looking directly at her, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

  ‘I have vowed to avenge them, Lauren, all of them. I will not kill their murderers, but I will find and punish them, I promise you.’

  Lauren closed her eyes and tried to still her heart rate, to control whatever it was that fizzed along her nerves, for Malik hadn’t finished his dramatic tale.

  ‘My father was an old man even then, but he would not have betrayed Tariq’s trust. He would, though, not have been able to hide his delight and someone close to him guessed...’

  ‘But why?’

  It was the question she’d asked herself a thousand times four years ago, and, so far, had no answer.

  ‘To be the leader of Madan is a powerful position in our land and neighbouring states. There is wealth, but many people have wealth now. It is the power of the position that some men crave.’

  ‘The men who are building hotels instead of schools and hospitals?’ Lauren asked, remembering their earlier conversation.

  ‘Those, and others like them,’ Malik told her. ‘I know I am asking something almost impossible of you, but believe me when I say I would give my life for Nimr, and I ask that you trust me to take care of both of you.’

  He paused, then added, ‘I know I cannot prove my words and that I am asking you to put your faith in a stranger, but I swear, on my brother’s name, that I will prove myself worthy of it.’

  Lauren closed her eyes.

  ‘I need to think,’ she said, trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. ‘To start with, you said we won’t be living in the palace, and I assume that means you think someone in the palace, close to your father, is the—enemy?’

  It was totally ridiculous. Like a spy story, but even that didn’t make sense. Not that anything much had made sense these last four years.

  ‘But surely the people in the palace aren’t prisoners? They can come and go? I’m sure no high-up person came to Australia to kill your brother—they would have sent someone. Can they not send someone to your home?’

  She saw broad shoulders lift with a sigh, and looking at his face, saw the shadows beneath his eyes.

  Perhaps he’d had less sleep than she had.

  Perhaps he was genuinely very worried about all this...

  ‘My home is staffed by my people who, as I have told you, would give their lives for me, or mine. Tariq was foolish to think distance would protect his family. It was far easier for whoever wanted him dead to have him killed in a foreign country. To kill him at home, there would have been a furore—accusations flying, suspicion everywhere, our police battling against age-old traditions of secrecy and conspiracy.’

  ‘Which is why you feel it is safer for us to be there rather than here?’

  Lauren hoped the shiver that ran down her spine wasn’t echoed in her words.

  ‘I believe it with all my heart,’ he said, and although there were probably a hundred reasons why she not believe this man, she could sense the depth of passion in his words, and understood he’d loved his playboy brother as deeply as she’d loved her wayward sister...

  And she’d heard the pain in his voice when he’d spoken of the wrongs being done in his country, and to its people, by those who put tourism and the money it might bring in above improving the health and education of the population. His commitment to a better future had shone through his words—he was doing this for Madan.

  The words were powerful, but an even more powerful thought occurred to her. She got up and walked to the window, her mind tracking back through the conversation—his father dead, a year of mourning, now a succession to be settled...

  There it was!

  She’d had warnings the last two times someone had come from Madan, but not this time.

  There had been no warning of this man’s presence in the country, which could only mean the police no longer believed Nim was in danger. Yet with the succession in doubt, surely this was when he’d be in the most danger?

  She clutched her stomach where fear ran rampant, and breathed deeply.

  She had to think.

  She returned to her chair, hoping her inner turmoil wasn’t showing on her face.

  ‘We’ll go with you,’ she said, and where she’d expected to feel dread she was surprised to find the words, once out, made her feel lighter, as if the burden she’d c
arried for four years had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders.

  All the running, the phone calls to and from police, the checks in places as far apart as Coolgardie and Coober Pedy. And behind it all the sense of guilt that she’d never, for a minute, taken Lily’s words of plots and murder seriously—never believed her own sister that such things could happen.

  All of it over...

  Don’t be stupid, she warned herself. You will still have to be wary and suspicious, careful whom you trust...

  But Malik had moved to stand in front of her. He bent and took her hand.

  ‘I swear by all that is holy you will not regret that decision.’

  His hand was warm, the palm firm, and he drew her to her feet so that she stood before him, close enough to smell his maleness, to feel the warmth of his body.

  Then, to her astonishment, he kissed her lightly on the forehead, squeezed her fingers, and said, ‘How long will it take you to pack?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DARNED MAN!

  He’d walked out of her life again—well, out of her home—before she’d had time to register what he was saying, let alone throw up objections like having to give notice at work.

  On the other hand, his being gone meant she could sit quietly and try to get her head around all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Except her mind refused to cooperate. It kept telling her it didn’t know where to start thinking about it.

  For a while, she just sat in her corner of the sofa and tried to relax. Only now her brain had found something it could think about—practicalities.

  She’d have to get rid of the furniture before she could rent the flat—or should she rent it furnished?

  No, there were things from her parents’ home she didn’t want to part with. Should she store them? Or leave the flat empty? She needed to talk to Aunt Jane—maybe Joe would like to live in the flat. Aunt Jane?

  What on earth was she going to tell her?

  And if she was leaving as soon as the man, Malik, seemed to think possible...

  She clasped her head in her hands, ran her fingers through her hair, trying to stop the panic rattling in her mind.

  She needed to take one thing at a time.

  She had to go to work this afternoon—did she have something in the freezer for dinner, or should she shop?

  This was easier—there was plenty in the freezer, including Nim’s other favourite, bolognaise sauce, and she had pasta in the cupboard, but she could make jelly and custard for afters as a treat for Nim.

  Nim, who was about to be thrust into a whole new world, far from his friends and all that was familiar to him.

  Why was she thinking of jelly and custard when she had Nim’s immediate future to consider?

  She had a book somewhere—a book Lily had sent when she’d first landed in Madan, which was quite by accident, of course, she’d simply got her flight bookings muddled...

  And Nim had looked at the book quite often, though probably not for a year. He knew his father had come from the place in the pictures. They could look at it together—really look from Lauren’s point of view—to get some idea of what lay ahead of her, as well as Nim.

  She knew from her previous foray on the internet that Madan was an extremely traditional country, still holding onto the past as far as the separation between men and women’s roles. Men were heads of the households—the decision-makers—well, she could have guessed that, having met with the strong will of Malik Madani!

  No doubt that was what Lily had found difficult, although from the little she’d seen of Tariq and Lily together, Lily had had him wound around her little finger.

  Well, she, Lauren, could handle that, and was happy to go about her own business. But the kind of essential part of what lay ahead of her—the marriage deal—was a bit harder to think about.

  Although it wouldn’t be a real marriage, so maybe she didn’t need to think about that part. Malik was an attractive man, and her body was aware of that attraction, but it need go no further—could go no further. It could definitely not become love. She already had one hostage to love in Nim and, given the past, that was more than enough.

  It would be a marriage in name only.

  And having come full circle in her head, she groaned, stood up and headed for the bathroom. She should have another shower—to clear her head?—then get dressed and go to work. It didn’t matter that she’d be early, she could tell whoever needed to be told that she was leaving, then find something to do. Young Eve Lassik rarely had visitors, she could spend some time with her...

  But even that plan, feeble though it was, was doomed, for she arrived on the ward to be greeted by Andy, who was duty sister for the day shift.

  ‘Thank heavens you’re here,’ he said. ‘I’ve just had word from on high that some potential benefactor has arrived and has to be shown around our wards. He’s particularly keen to see the new kids’ cancer centre and as it’s practically your second home, there’s no one better to show it to him.’

  Should she have felt a premonition of disaster, or a feeling of strange apprehension?

  Probably, but she didn’t, going blithely to the door of the new unit to meet the representative of the powers-that-be and his or her visitor.

  How could she ever have compared Malik to a tailor’s dummy? The man walking towards the entrance to the centre seemed to zing with life, his face animated as he spoke to Ross Carstairs, Head of Paediatrics, hands moving with precision through the air as he explained some detail of his conversation.

  Was this how Lily had felt when she’d seen Tariq unexpectedly?

  Lauren closed her eyes on the thought!

  ‘Ah, Lauren,’ Ross greeted her. ‘I’m delighted you’re here. Andy thought you weren’t on until later, but there’s no one better to show Sheikh Madani around the new centre than you.’

  Ross turned back to his guest.

  ‘I can leave you in Lauren’s capable hands. Lauren, this is Sheikh Madani. Malik, this is Lauren Macpherson, the angel of the cancer centre.’

  Lauren muttered something she hoped Ross would take as a welcome to the visitor, while the wretched man looked down at her and smiled—in delight.

  Lauren could see the laughter in his eyes as he said, ‘“The Angel of the Cancer Centre”, huh? That’s some position!’

  Lauren turned away from the distraction caused by laughing eyes.

  ‘This way, please,’ she said, brisk and efficient. ‘The new centre has only recently opened. It means we can treat more children with cancer closer to their homes, which means less stress on their families. Before it opened, we could do some treatments, but mainly provided follow-up services when the children returned from the city hospital.’

  ‘And Susie, was she treated here?’

  The question pulled Lauren out of her ‘showing the centre’ spiel, and she looked directly at the visitor, saw the smile still lingering in his eyes, felt something flutter inside her, and all but growled at him.

  ‘Are you following me?’ she demanded.

  And he smiled again.

  ‘You’re the one not supposed to be here, and I made this appointment yesterday with your friend Mr Marshall. Well, he arranged it.’

  It was hopeless trying to argue with the man, Lauren realised, and she should forget about those smiling eyes...

  ‘Yes, Susie was treated here. She was one of our first patients.’

  They’d been walking through the bright lobby, with native birds and animals painted on the walls.

  ‘This is the reception area, as you can see,’ Lauren said, in perfect tour-guide mode. ‘There are paediatric specialists’ rooms at the back on this floor. Most of the city’s paediatricians now work out of here.’

  She led the way to the elevator.

  ‘The first floor is Day Surgery—and treatment rooms for outpa
tients. Along here to the left are rooms where children who need intermittent chemo come for treatment, or those who need minor surgery to repair a venous access port.’

  ‘Do you have much trouble with the ports?’

  It was an intelligent question, but it was easier to just rattle off information than actually speak to this man she’d said she’d marry.

  But she did stop her spiel and turn to him, look at him, as she answered.

  ‘We used to have some trouble with infection, but the new ports, plus more hands-on instruction with the parents or caregivers, has lessened it considerably.’

  ‘Hands-on instruction?’

  A serious question, no teasing smile lurking in his eyes, but just looking at him was causing her any number of problems, ninety-nine percent of them physical.

  ‘With new parents—well, parents new to the apparatus—we not only show them what to do and what to look for—slight reddening or a hint of swelling around the port—but we have our own large doll, complete with port, in the children’s room so parents can feel the bump beneath the skin. For parents on outlying properties, we have syringes they can use to practise flushing the port themselves, rather than returning here every four weeks so a nurse can do it.’

  ‘And hygiene?’

  Lauren shrugged.

  ‘Once the wound has healed where it was inserted, and the dressing removed, it’s normal skin care, really. With very young children, we usually keep them overnight after the port’s implanted, just to check there are no reactions, but with the older ones, it’s day surgery.’

  ‘At home the danger would be infection.’

  ‘Not if the wound is kept dry until it heals,’ Lauren emphasised, then his words echoed in her head and she asked, ‘Would be infection? You’re not doing it already?’

  He sighed.

  ‘I explained our hospital needed money spent on it, not hotels. I have made what improvements I can, but for children, particularly those needing chemo, well, I would not allow them to be treated in it. They were sent to a neighbouring country, but now I have a new children’s hospital just opened and a dedicated oncology centre within it.’