The Sheikh's Bride

by Sophie Weston

‘Shouldn’t we be going back to London?’ she whispered to Claire.

  Lady Hartley, whose hearing would have roused envy in a bat, intervened.

  ‘Simon, darling. You haven’t shown Leo the river. Why don’t you go now? You might see a kingfisher.’

  ‘Who are the Kingfishers?’ said Leo nervously.

  Simon stood up, laughing. ‘It’s all right. The feathered kind. No more socialising, I promise.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Leo.

  ‘Is it like this every weekend?’ she asked as they walked up the hill behind the house.

  Simon shook his head. ‘Mum wanted to make sure you had a good time.’

  ‘Is that why I feel like I’ve been heavily marketed to?’ Leo mused. She saw Simon’s expression and said remorsefully, ‘Oh I’m so sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Of course your mother wasn’t marketing. What would she be selling, after all?’

  But Simon was a gentleman.

  ‘Me, I’m afraid,’ he said quietly.

  Leo was deprived of speech.

  Simon took her hand again and held it in a steady clasp.

  ‘I won’t pretend any nonsense, Leo. I respect you too much for that. Anyway, you’d see through it. The family fortunes have pretty much hit rock bottom, you see. The only way out is an injection of capital from—well—’

  ‘Me,’ said Leo. She still felt bewildered. ‘Do they want to sell? I mean, I can see this place has potential. But would your parents really like to see it as part of the Groom Hotel chain? Anyway, they’d be better talking to my father or the Head of UK Operations than me.’

  Simon looked down at their clasped hands. His expression was rueful.

  ‘It’s not the house they want to sell.’ And as Leo still stared at him, brows knit in confusion, he said roughly, ‘They want me to ask you to marry me.’

  ‘What?’

  Simon dropped her hand. ‘There’s no need to sound so shocked. You must have realised.’

  ‘I—’ Leo felt a fool. What was it Amer had said? You don’t know how to play this game, do you? Oh boy, was he right. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Simon looked wretched. ‘I thought at least your father would have hinted…’

  ‘My father—?’

  And then she saw, quite suddenly, what it was all about. Why Gordon Groom had brought Simon to Cairo; why her mother had asked about her feelings for him all those months ago; why ever since she got back she had been pushing files around her office trying to find the job that her father assured her was there.

  Fool. Fool. Double fool. If you want a son and heir and all you have is an ugly duckling daughter, buy her an amenable husband and go for the next generation.

  ‘There never was a career for me at Grooms, was there?’ said Leo. She was not talking to Simon. ‘It was just to keep me quiet until I got married.’ She did not know which was worse, the hurt or the humiliation.

  Simon did not seem to notice. He nodded, relieved. ‘Will you?’

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to rage at the Heavens. She wanted to tell her father exactly what she thought of him before stamping out of his house and his nonjob.

  But none of that was Simon’s fault and Leo was fair minded to a fault.

  ‘No, I won’t marry you,’ she said quite gently.

  Simon was taken aback. After all, thought Leo savagely, he worked for Gordon Groom, too.

  ‘I won’t give up hope,’ he assured her kindly.

  And then she did scream.

  ‘Well,’ said Amer in quiet satisfaction, ‘you said you’d do it and you have. I’m impressed.’

  Major McDonald shrugged. ‘I put my team on it. The statistician pointed out that Leonora is so unusual it doesn’t even get recorded in most profiles of first names. Add that bit of information to someone who was able to hide her identity from the start of her arrival in Cairo, and you’ve got a spy, a criminal or an offspring of the seriously rich. Fortunately for you, she is the latter.’

  ‘Fortunate indeed,’ agreed Amer affably.

  He showed his teeth in a smile that made the Major wonder what Leonora Groom had done. He liked and admired Amer but, just for a moment, he felt almost sorry for the woman.

  Amer flipped open the file.

  ‘Leonora Groom,’ he said. He rolled it round his mouth like a fine wine. ‘Leonora Groom.’

  ‘There’s only one picture,’ the Major pointed out. ‘At the Antika opening. She seems to keep out of the photographers’ way, even at these charity receptions. It’s almost as if she wants to stay anonymous.’

  ‘As you say,’ Amer agreed suavely.

  He was very angry. How dared she lie to him? She had strung him along like some negligible tourist.

  A small voice reminded him that he had been less than candid with her, too. He had not even told her his full name, after all. He ignored it and closed the dossier decisively.

  ‘Hari will settle your account. Goodbye and thank you.’

  Hari handed over a substantial cheque and showed the Major out. He came back to Amer. He was surprised to find that he was bent over his desk writing fast and he did not like the look of his friend’s expression at all.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he said in trepidation.

  Amer narrowed his eyes at the paper in front of him. He gave a soft laugh. It made Hari’s blood run cold.

  ‘Need you ask? Make her come to me, of course.’

  Leo intended to have the whole thing out with her father as soon as she got back. Only she had forgotten that he was away on an extended trip trying to rescue his Far East operation. In his absence it almost seemed as if she had a real job after all.

  So she stayed.

  May came, sending long tendrils of engulfing wisteria all over the front of the Wimbledon house. In the morning Leo sniffed the heady scent in pure pleasure. But at night, in the dark, it recalled another night, when you could see the stars and the only scent was a man’s skin and unfamiliar cologne. She would remember that cologne for ever.

  ‘Don’t think about him,’ she told herself fiercely. ‘Just—don’t—think.’

  But it was not easy with Simon calling regularly, pointing out that she liked him—didn’t she?—and she wasn’t committed to anybody else. He did not phrase that, Leo noted wryly, as a question. And anyway, she could hardly say that she was haunted by the shadow of a man whose body never touched hers.

  In the effort of not thinking about that, Leo ripped through all the work she could find and looked around for more. This turn of events terrorised her secretary to such an extent that when a cardboard parcel arrived by courier, Joanne rushed it into her office as if it was a communication from Mars.

  Leo considered it without interest. ‘Looks like a souvenir programme of some sort,’ she said indifferently.

  ‘But biked over,’ said Joanne, impressed.

  Leo shrugged.

  ‘Okay. Open up and see what it is.’

  But Joanne was doomed to disappointment. ‘It’s just that book of essays the Antika Project were putting together. Mr Groom got one of the PR writers to do it for him.’ She flicked through the index. ‘Yes here it is. “Gordon Groom on how to ruin a hotel.” It was funny.’

  Leo was mildly interested. Her father was not noted for his sense of humour.

  ‘That’s what they asked for,’ explained Joanne. ‘Everyone was supposed to write a piece sending themselves up.’ She ran her finger down the index. ‘“Food Poisonous Food” by the Chef of the Year. “Come With Me To The Casbah” by Sheikh Amer el-Barbary. “Heartthrobs Don’t Get Measles” by Jeremy Derringer.’ She looked up. ‘What?’

  ‘Run that by me again,’ said Leo. She was very pale, suddenly.

  ‘“Heartthrobs Don’t Get Measles”’, said Joanne obligingly. ‘Do you know Jeremy Derringer then? Gosh, he’s gorgeous.’

  Leo did not answer. She put out a shaking hand for the book. Joanne gave it to her. Leo did not even no
tice when Joanne left the room.

  Amer had enjoyed writing the article. He had started it in a white hot rage with Leo. How dared she challenge him like that when all the time she knew she was deceiving him about her identity? And then to run away, covering her tracks so totally that he had the devil’s own job to find her! She knew he had intended to see her again. How dared she disappear, without so much as a word of regret? He was going to bring her back on her knees.

  But then, as he wrote, Amer’s fury began to dissipate in sheer amusement. He finished it at a tearing rate. Then he sent it off before he could have second thoughts.

  Leo, of course, did not know that. But she did know Amer. As she read, she could hear his gleeful voice. That arrogant cynicism stretched a mocking arm off the printed page and tweaked her nose until tears started.

  “Rudolf Valentino has much to answer for,” Amer had written enjoyably. “He gave women what they wanted. Then said it was to be found in men of the desert. For those of us who carry this terrible responsibility, I suggest a few tips.”

  What followed was a precise outline of his strategy for their evening together. He had forgotten nothing. Not lifting her into the boat. Not her reluctant capitulation to the comfort of the cushions. Not putting his jacket round her shoulders. Leo shivered to remember it. That made her even more furious. Not—oh God, her heart beat in an agony of shame as she remembered—her mesmerised unsophistication.

  ‘You really don’t know how to play this game, do you?’ he had said. And there it was in black and white.

  “Never forget you are taking them on an exotic journey through their own fantasies.”

  ‘Oh no,’ moaned Leo.

  “Stay in charge. They will accept any rules you lay down, however lunatic. It is what they secretly want. Only they cannot bear to admit it.”

  Leo put the article down. ‘I’ll kill him,’ she said aloud. For a moment she could almost believe she meant it.

  She flung the book so hard across the room that its spine split. Good, thought Leo. She was shaking and very cold. She felt as if he had stripped her publicly.

  How many women had he taken on his Nile fantasy? she thought savagely. How many had he looked at in that way until they started to shake with tension? While all the time he was laughing at them.

  Leo hugged her arms round herself protectively. It was like the worst of her adolescence, all over again. The painfully acquired assurance counted for nothing. Suddenly she was awkward, clumsy, unsubtle and plain. No man would look at her, ever.

  Except Simon. He might not be in love with her, but he liked her. He even respected her, for God’s sake. And he was honest about it.

  Leo picked up the phone.

  Amer took breakfast in the conservatory of his Mayfair house. He basked in the warmth of sun filtering through glass, while he sipped orange juice and leafed through the morning papers. He was not, he assured himself, waiting for anything. Just because Leo would have had the booklet with his article in it four days ago was no reason to stretch his ears for the burr of the telephone.

  Still, the Embassy had been briefed that Miss Groom was, exceptionally, to be given his private London number. And no one could say that the papers were gripping. Amer reached the ‘Forthcoming Marriages’ column without interest and was on the point of turning that page, too, when—

  The crystal glass fell from his hand, scattering shards and orange juice all over the marble floor.

  She could not have done it; she was not stupid. She could not.

  But it was there. Irrefutably. “Leonora Jane, only daughter of Gordon Groom of the Wisteria House Wimbledon and Mrs Deborah Groom of Kensington, W8 to Mr Simon Hartley, eldest son of Sir Donald and Lady Hartley of Seren Place, Devon.”

  She had got herself engaged.

  ‘I’ll kill her,’ yelled Amer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LEO rang her father in Singapore to tell him that she and Simon were engaged. Gordon Groom’s reaction startled her.

  ‘At last.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘It’s taken you long enough. Still, he’s a good lad and I’m pleased.’

  Why did it sound like the approval he used to dole out when she came home with a good school report?

  ‘Thank you for your good wishes,’ said Leo drily.

  ‘I’m going into a meeting. Tell Hartley I’ll call him tomorrow eight o’ clock UK time.’ He rang off.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure we’ll be very happy,’ Leo said to the buzzing phone. She flung it back onto its stand and attacked her In box as if it was a personal enemy.

  Maybe her mother would react more normally, when they had their girls’ lunch, she thought.

  But, unlike Gordon, Deborah disapproved and made no bones about it.

  ‘You can’t fool me,’ Deborah announced. She knocked back a gin and tonic as if it was medicine. ‘This is your father’s doing.’

  Leo shook her head. ‘Pops hasn’t done anything. Simon asked me to marry him. I said yes. That’s all. I did think about it first, Ma.’

  Deborah looked at her with tragic eyes. She had just come from a whole morning at her favourite Bond Street beautician and her exquisite make-up enhanced the tragic vulnerability. Leo’s feet felt like boats. Under the table, she shuffled them. Her mother took no notice.

  ‘Think,’ she said dramatically. ‘If you’re in love you don’t think. You just fly.’ Her gloved hands made a large gesture similar to a plant bursting into flower.

  It was all too reminiscent of childhood dance classes. Leo looked over her shoulder to check that no passing waiter had had to dodge Deborah’s expressiveness.

  ‘Come on, Ma. Keep the music and movement down.’

  Deborah blinked the long silky lashes which were the only feature she had bequeathed to her daughter.

  ‘You’re laughing at me. You don’t know how serious this is.’

  ‘I take getting married very seriously,’ Leo said stiffly.

  Deborah ignored that. ‘Have you been to bed with him yet?’

  ‘Mother!’

  ‘I thought not,’ said Deborah, pleased with herself. ‘Don’t you think that’s odd? If he is in love with you, I mean.’

  ‘He’s not in love with me,’ Leo said quietly.

  That stopped Deborah as nothing else would have done.

  ‘Oh, Leo. Oh, darling.’

  ‘Ma, you’re barking up the wrong tree.’ Leo leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘It really was my decision. Simon doesn’t love me and I don’t love him. But we have a lot in common. It will work out.’

  Deborah looked as if she was going to cry.

  Leo thought desperately for something to reassure her. ‘He tells me the truth.’

  It did not have the effect she expected. Her mother sat bolt upright.

  ‘Tells you the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The truth about what?’

  It was unexpected. Leo floundered. ‘Well who he is. What he feels. What he wants.’

  Deborah put her head on one side. ‘So who doesn’t?’

  Leo was scornful. ‘Oh come on, Ma. You know more about men than I do. You know they play games. Tie you up in knots. And not one damn thing they tell you is true.’

  She stopped. She realised that Deborah’s eyes were uncomfortably shrewd.

  ‘Are we talking about the man who told you to grow your hair?’ her mother asked interestedly.

  Leo could have thrown something. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ve cut your hair like a space helmet for years. Then suddenly it’s on your shoulders. Looks good, too. So someone has been giving you style advice. Who is he?’

  Leo tensed. ‘No one. You’re imagining it, Ma.’

  She spoke more curtly than she meant to. Deborah’s eyebrows flew up. Leo was never curt with her.

  ‘He hurt you,’ she said on a note of discovery.

  ‘Nonsense.’

  Deborah ignored that. ‘Darling, we all get hurt sometimes. Me
n,’ she said largely, ‘don’t think. That doesn’t mean…’

  But Leo was not listening. She gave a harsh laugh.

  ‘Some of them think. Some of them think a whole lot. In fact, they have a tried and trusted plan of campaign ready for use on any woman they come across.’

  Deborah stared. ‘But—’

  ‘Any woman,’ Leo said with emphasis.

  ‘Oh, darling,’ said Deborah with compunction, ‘you haven’t fallen for a Don Juan? Not you?’

  ‘I haven’t fallen for anyone,’ said Leo furiously. ‘And I’m not going to.’

  ‘Well, lucky old Simon,’ said Deborah.

  None of which sent Leo back to the office any happier. She was still fuming when she sat down and applied herself to her e-mail. Almost at once she found a name that added fuel to the fire.

  Quickly she paged through the list of the day’s callers. He had called again. And again. And—

  She buzzed Joanne.

  ‘I’m looking at my message list. Tell me about Sheikh el-Barbary. What did he want?’

  Amer was in a cold rage.

  ‘Are you telling me she won’t take my call?’ he demanded.

  Hari shrugged. He was puzzled by this excitement over a woman he had never heard of.

  ‘The secretary claims Miss Groom is not in the office.’

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  Hari started to shrug again. Then caught sight of Amer’s steely expression and thought better of it.

  ‘The switchboard operator said she has just announced her engagement. They have been swamped with calls of congratulation this morning, apparently,’ he offered placatingly.

  ‘I am not,’ said Amer between his teeth, ‘offering my congratulations. What the hell is she doing?’

  ‘Out choosing the ring, I expect,’ said Hari crisply.

  He encountered a look that startled him.

  ‘Who is this woman?’ he demanded, shaken.

  Amer picked up Major McDonald’s file and flung it at him. Hari picked it up and started to leaf through it curiously. Amer paced the floor, his shoulders hunched.

  Hari finished reading and looked up. ‘Leonora Roberts? Your mystery lady in Cairo is the Groom heiress?’

  ‘Quite,’ snarled Amer.

  ‘Well, she sure didn’t behave like an heiress,’ said Hari, astonished.