A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  ‘The law hasn’t changed yet,’ she reminded him. ‘And even if it does, would our marriage be the answer to the future? Won’t the people who voted it in the first time be angered by the change—or more angered because they must already have been furious to have done that to you. Could it put Nim at risk?’

  Malik shook his head.

  She was right.

  Changing the law changed nothing—except maybe to put Nimr back into danger.

  He had information and supposition—some scraps of proof but nothing definite. Before they could move forward he had to prove his uncle’s wife had been behind the so-called accident, and arrange for her to be detained or maybe exiled.

  Which should have been his priority all along.

  What an idiot he had been!

  Here he was, running around trying to protect his own future when his brother’s killers remained at large...

  He bent and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Forget the house for the moment,’ he said. ‘Should you want one in another week, I will find one for you—where you want it, how you want it, I promise you.’

  He kissed her again.

  ‘But give me a week,’ he said, then departed, because one more kiss and he’d have lifted her into his arms and carried her to bed.

  * * *

  Give him a week?

  Two days into this allotted time—had she even agreed?—Lauren was no wiser as to what was going on. She was back at work so there was no time for house-hunting anyway, but of Malik there was no sign—not even a scrawled signature on a child’s chart...

  She worked, and at home continued her language lessons with Aneesha, going with her to the markets now and then to hear the language spoken all around her—steeping herself in it, and in the lives of the people.

  She learned oranges were much prized, and that watermelons grew wild at some oases. She learned the names of many of the spices used in traditional dishes, and bought some beautifully embroidered, fine, silk shawls, even a few tunics that would go over the trousers she’d already been wearing.

  But a shadow followed wherever she went, and as the days passed, it grew darker. To her way of thinking, Malik already knew who’d been behind the deaths. Was he concerned that his uncle might also have been involved?

  His uncle was a blood relation, and the most important thing she’d learned in her time in Madan was the strength of family ties. For people who had begun as nomadic tribes, or were intermarried with such tribes, the family unit had always been their defence against outsiders—quite often in the past, it had been a physical defence.

  So the last thing Malik would want to believe was that his uncle had been involved in his brother’s death.

  Lauren turned her attention back to work. She was in the nursery, in an isolation room, cuddling a baby with diphtheria.

  ‘If Malik gets his way, your brothers and sisters will never get this horrible disease,’ she told the baby as she rocked him to sleep in her arms.

  She thought of all the good he could do for this country, and suddenly knew that staying here was probably not going to be an option. If she simply walked away—or flew—changed Nim’s citizenship to Australian, which would surely cut him off from any position in Madan, then Malik would have no choice but to marry a local girl and get on with his life.

  He would be ruler rather than regent, and his children would inherit and Nim would be safe.

  It was so simple she didn’t understand why she hadn’t reached that decision earlier.

  Because you love him...

  The days passed slowly. The leopard cubs were too big now for Nim to safely play with them and he was back to wanting a rabbit or a dog.

  He was happy at school, but he’d been happy back home.

  As she had been?

  She shook her head, aware that ‘kind of content’ would be a truer description of her condition.

  And I can be that again, she told herself, even with a pain that would lessen, but probably never leave her heart.

  * * *

  Again, it was Keema who hurried her into the small salon to see the local news.

  ‘It is the wife of the sheikh’s uncle,’ she said. ‘She is being banished from Madan.’

  ‘And her husband?’ Lauren asked.

  Keema shrugged.

  ‘They only talk of the woman, who must have done very bad things to be...you have a word, “exiled”, I think?’

  ‘Yes, exiled,’ Lauren said, absentmindedly.

  But that wasn’t something she could talk about—not to Keema, or anyone at the hospital, although there too speculation was rife.

  What could a woman have done to be exiled? people asked.

  Had she cheated on her husband, which could, under local law, have had a much harsher penalty?

  Lauren, aware of the answers, ignored the talk and gossip—and waited...

  * * *

  Malik came at dusk, playing with Nim in the garden, having dinner with the pair of them, talking of nothing much, his face so bland Lauren wanted to hit him for not telling her what was going on.

  But with Nim in bed, they could wander into the garden, a place Lauren knew had become special to both of them.

  ‘You saw the news?’ he said, and she nodded, but when he said no more, she had to ask.

  ‘She left alone. What of your uncle? Could he not have gone too? Will he not be heartbroken?’

  Malik smiled at her.

  ‘I tell you something and you think of someone else—someone who might be hurting.’

  ‘I know about hurting,’ she snapped, ‘so of course I think of it. Was your uncle not part of it?’

  ‘No! Not at all. In fact, he was horrified when she came to him a few days ago with a plan to hire someone to plant a bomb in a car to kill me, you and Nimr—to get rid of any opposition once and for all.’

  ‘Horrified?’

  Malik took her hands in his and drew her closer.

  ‘He came straight to me, beside himself that his wife should think such a thing, let alone plan it, but the similarity to Tariq’s death was what hurt him most, and he demanded to know if she’d planned that as well.’

  ‘Did she admit it?’

  Malik put his arms around her.

  ‘Not right away, but when she saw his reaction she sneered at him, called him old and worthless, and demanded to know if he’d never realised how powerful it would make him to be rid of all his brother’s children. He arrested her himself—called the palace guards and had her taken to the police station, but you’re right, I couldn’t let him see her face a public trial, so we chose this way.’

  ‘We?’ Lauren asked, needing to know the whole story for all she’d rather just be in his arms.

  ‘My uncles and myself—the elders all agreed. To do more would embarrass my uncle and the country would look bad in the eyes of the world.’

  ‘Oh, Malik,’ Lauren whispered, and now she did move into his arms, hugging him to her, the week that had seemed more like a year finally over.

  It was a long time before they spoke again—apart from whispered promises of love.

  But as they lay together in Lauren’s bed, watching the dawn light creep slowly into the room, aware they had to part before Nim woke, Malik spoke of their future, of a wedding, of wanting to present the woman he loved to his people.

  ‘We don’t need to make a fuss,’ Lauren said, but he kissed her opinion off her lips.

  ‘I want to make a fuss!’ he told her. ‘I want the world—well, our part of it—to see the wonderful woman I am marrying. The woman who will help me achieve all my dreams for this country.’

  He turned and took her face in his palms.

  ‘I couldn’t do it without you,’ he said. ‘I know that now. I knew it as soon as you sent me away and told me to marry a Madani wom
an. It was as if I’d lost my dreams as well as you. As if nothing mattered any more. I would happily have taken you and Nim back to Australia and lived there with you both, but you refused to let me run away. And you were right.’

  He kissed her lips, a deep kiss of commitment, and gratitude and love, all wrapped up in the touch of lips to lips.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AS PREPARATIONS FOR the wedding began, Lauren had to wonder what she was letting herself in for. To begin, Malik took her to the palace, an enormous, almost fantasy building, once again set in beautifully designed and kept gardens.

  She was shown the state rooms that would be their new home, the huge salons where they would entertain both local and foreign dignitaries, then into a guarded and securely locked vault of some kind—as big as a bedroom—with golden treasures, precious stones, tiaras, necklaces, bracelets and rings set out along the shelves.

  ‘Before we had oil—or knew we had oil—this was our bank, our insurance against bad times. For thousands of years the people have traded back and forth, and the ruling tribe has always kept enough of the treasures to add to this collection, so there would always be something to sell in order to provide food for the people, even in the leanest years.’

  Lauren could only shake her head in disbelief at the beauty of the objects arrayed in front of her.

  ‘A lot of these things were gifts—from one tribe to another—gifts exchanged. Other things were bought from travellers, either for their beauty or their value. But the personal things, they have been kept for the family, so you must choose a ring—it is tradition.’

  ‘I couldn’t choose one of these rings,’ Lauren said, waving her hand at an array of dazzling rings in a glass case. ‘I’d be uncomfortable wearing any of them.’

  Malik smiled at her.

  ‘Of course you would,’ he said, ‘but maybe this?’

  He reached up high and pulled down a small box, opening it to show a beautifully cut sapphire, set in tiny diamonds.

  ‘This is more you,’ he said, and took her hand to slip the ring on her finger.

  Where it fit perfectly!

  ‘You planned this,’ she said, grinning at him then checking the ring again to make sure it was real.

  ‘I did,’ he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘I had Keema bring me the ring you sometimes wear that was your mother’s to get the size and I knew this one was meant for you, so I had it sized and cleaned and there you are.’

  ‘And Keema never said a word. She took me to look at houses, and still never said anything,’ Lauren complained, but Malik just grinned at her, then kissed her, and held her left hand very tightly, as if he had to feel the stone on her finger to make it real.

  The tour continued, and though Lauren looked around in wonder, there was a growing disquiet deep inside her.

  Until finally she had to ask.

  ‘Do we have to live here? Could you not be regent just as easily living where I am now?’

  Malik shook his head.

  ‘This is where the people expect me to be,’ he said. ‘This is where they wish to see me. Come!’

  He led her down more corridors, back towards the front of the building, as far as she could make out, until they came to a huge room—more like a concert hall but open along the front and one side.

  ‘This is where, on the first day of each month, people come to me with their problems. Ordinary people—school teachers, doctors, shopkeepers and street sweepers—anyone can come.’

  ‘And you listen?’ Lauren asked, thinking of the many times she’d visited her local councillor back at home for shade sails over the play equipment in their nearest park. He’d listened, agreed even, but as far as she knew there were still no shade sails...

  ‘I listen, and do something to help if I can,’ Malik assured her with a smile. ‘I can’t remember every request but I have some very efficient advisors who stand behind me and make notes of what needs to be done.’

  ‘And can most things be done?’ Lauren asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Tariq and I, we often stood behind our father, listened to requests, then checked later if this system worked. We saw new wells sunk, and canals cleaned out in some of the suburbs, even once took a camel to a man who needed it as a dowry for his daughter so she could get married.’

  Lauren laughed.

  ‘Now, that I can believe you’d do.’

  She thought about it for a while.

  ‘Do women come? Or only men?’

  ‘Mostly men, but I have been thinking—maybe we could begin a new tradition. The women could come and speak to you. We would have to find a suitable area—’

  ‘In the garden,’ Lauren said. ‘They would be more relaxed there, and the children could run around.’

  He reached out and hugged her.

  ‘How could you have ever thought I could do this without you?’ he demanded.

  They wandered out into the gardens, finding an area shielded by hedges that would make a fine audience area.

  ‘Thank you for this idea,’ she said to Malik. ‘Now I feel I can really help you follow your dreams, but right now I should go back to the house so I can organise more language lessons with Aneesha.’

  He held her again, looking into her eyes, his own dancing with amusement.

  ‘Am I not a good language teacher?’ he teased.

  And although she tried to remain cool and calm, she knew she was blushing.

  ‘I already know the words you can teach me,’ she said, and put her arms around him to hold him close, to rest her head against his chest and draw in the essence of the man she loved with all her heart.

  But though he returned her hug, it was only momentary for there was far too much to be done.

  ‘We need a date, and I must introduce you to the people as my future bride, and you must consult with Aunt Jane and Joe about when it will be convenient for them to come—and any friends of yours or theirs as well. We will send a plane. You will need a dress, no, two dresses, I think, one for the parade through town and the ceremony and one for the wedding feast with just friends and family and the council of elders and their wives—maybe a few hundred people, no?’

  The words swirled around in Lauren’s head like papers caught in a whirlwind.

  So much for a small wedding!

  They made their way back to the state apartments, and this time Lauren looked around the dark rooms ostentatiously decorated with treasures from the vault.

  ‘May I change these rooms?’ she asked, and Malik kissed her.

  ‘Do whatever you like. My father’s second wife decorated them like this, but as well as the vault there are rooms full of carpets and furnishings in the palace, and shops in the city should you need something special. I must go to work—work here, not at the hospital. I shall send someone to bring Keema and Aneesha to you to help.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lauren whispered as he kissed her goodbye.

  * * *

  Over the next days, with help from the two women, Lauren organised for all the treasures in the entire apartment be returned to the vault, for surely they belonged to the people, not to individuals.

  ‘They should be put on display in the public rooms,’ she told the women, ‘but we’ll get on to that later.’

  She looked around.

  ‘The curtains have to go,’ she said. ‘Heavy gold damask is hardly the perfect choice for this climate. And all the furniture, too. It is too heavy and ornate.’

  Aneesha gave orders and strong men miraculously appeared to remove things, and while Aneesha stayed to supervise, Keema and Lauren wandered through the palace, peeking into all the rooms, seeking things Lauren was sure she’d recognise as right when she saw them.

  It took a week, between shifts at the hospital, to get the apartments emptied and painted in a sand colour, so pale it looked whit
e in some lights but golden in others.

  And then the furniture Lauren had found in her hunt around the palace began to appear. Low divans, piled high with colourful cushions, a huge bed with a carved headboard that looked as if it might have come from China millennia ago. Snow-white sheets and an ornately embroidered silk coverlet Lauren had found hanging on a wall in a dark corridor. A small table and two chairs were set beside the window, dressed now with sheer cream curtains that billowed into the room in the wind.

  With her two patient helpers, she then scoured the palace for carpets, knowing what she wanted for the bedroom—hand-woven silk on silk that was blissful beneath bare feet.

  Her search took her to the back regions of the palace where, to her surprise, she found what could only be described as a village. Out beyond all the state apartments and housekeeping and catering sections of the palace she found the staff housing, with children running around kicking footballs and riding bicycles.

  And although she was pleased, for Nim would surely find some friends among these children, it was an old woman that she sought. A weaver and expert on all traditional carpets and mats and camel bags who, she was told, knew every rug the palace owned.

  Aneesha introduced them and translated, and the old woman, now retired, stood up and beckoned them to follow her.

  She chatted to Aneesha as they walked through corridors unknown to Lauren and into a darkened room.

  ‘She says these carpets are not for everyone,’ Aneesha explained. ‘She says the last woman could not have these carpets. She, the old woman, would not allow.’

  Lights came on and Lauren stared in wonder at the beautiful carpets, piled on each other according to size, their dazzling colours a feast for the eyes.

  ‘This one she made herself,’ Aneesha said, and Lauren knelt to examine it, running her hands over the unbelievable softness, tracing the intricate patterns with her finger.

  ‘May I have it?’ she asked, aware just how special it was.

  Aneesha translated and the woman beamed at her and nodded.

  ‘She would be honoured,’ Aneesha said, then followed the old woman to where she was turning back some carpets at the top of another pile, stopping at one in particular that sang with the colours of the desert in pale cream and gold and red.