Bundle of Brides

by Kay Thorpe

  Winning was fantastic, but preparing the project had given her a second chance, and that was even more important. Even the lingering anger she had still felt over the bank letting her down had faded away as she’d been drawn deeper into her work. Interestingly enough, the sale of Westbury Hall had realised far more than she had anticipated, allowing her to clear her debts and make some provision for the future. But as far as business was concerned she was determined to concentrate on what she knew best, and that was interior design.

  At the awards ceremony, at a swanky London hotel, Lucy remembered the Abadanese ambassador announcing that she had won because she’d gone the extra mile for his client. According to him, she had uncovered facts that even the ruling family was not aware of. It had made her smile at the time, and she smiled now, draining her glass.

  The ‘ruling family’ was the one element she had found impossible to research in any detail. The Sheikh and his son remained shadowy figures. For security reasons, she guessed. Sensible, really. She didn’t expect to meet up with them. And she wasn’t unduly concerned. The design brief she had been given was quite specific, and she had already embellished it with her own suggestions. Passing ideas to and fro by e-mail was an easy matter. And everything she had submitted so far had been met with a positive response. She didn’t anticipate any difficulties.

  ‘Which is just as well, my darling,’ she crooned, double-checking the safety harness on the travel cot by her side as the plane came in to land, ‘since you’re going to be celebrating your first birthday in Abadan.’

  It wasn’t every day she got to stay in a palace, Lucy thought, reining in her excitement as she tried to take everything in amid the overload of visual information. She had hardly believed it when the Sheikh’s representative, a smartly dressed middle-aged woman, had explained almost apologetically that she was being housed in one of the older parts of the palace.

  The palace! Lucy had been expecting to stay in a nearby hotel. But the palace accommodation deemed suitable for her had a nursery attached…

  ‘Oh, yes, everything is more than satisfactory. Thank you,’ Lucy said, hardly able to believe where she was. And if this was shabby, as the woman seemed to imply, she couldn’t wait to see smart!

  The older woman looked relieved. ‘And Leila will take care of your son,’ she said, turning to introduce a young girl who was standing in the background.

  Lucy felt instantly reassured. Leila wore the casual uniform of a Barton nanny. The chinos and white polo shirt with the distinctive ‘B’ embroidered on the breast pocket marked her out as a top professional in her field. Originally Lucy had planned to leave Edward at home with his grandmother, but an unseasonal bout of influenza had put paid to that idea. The officials she had been speaking to at the palace had quickly reassured her. Edward would be well looked after in Abadan, they said. ‘What’s the problem? Bring him with you.’

  The prospect of missing her child’s first birthday had been terrible, but miraculously fate had conspired to keep them together. So now she could enjoy Edward’s birthday and begin to secure his future, with the money she expected to earn from the contract.

  ‘What do you think of Abadan so far?’ Edward’s newly appointed nanny asked, reclaiming her attention.

  ‘Fantastic,’ Lucy admitted. ‘The scenery on the drive from the airport to the palace was amazing—rolling sand dunes stretching away to the horizon, and then,’ she said, her face animated as she remembered, ‘when the sun dropped lower, there were camels marching in procession along the hilltops, inky-black silhouettes against a dazzling vermilion sky.’

  ‘You do like it.’ Leila laughed. ‘Can I take him?’ She smiled at Edward.

  Lucy hesitated only a moment, then, seeing Edward’s reaction, she said, ‘Of course. It looks like you’ve made a friend of him already, Leila.’

  Lucy relaxed. If Edward was happy she knew everything would go smoothly. It was beginning to look as if his first birthday was going to be every bit as memorable as she had always hoped it would be.

  Padding barefoot around her spacious quarters in her pyjamas with Edward soon after dawn, Lucy felt happier than she could remember for a long time. And, despite a restless night, she was on good form, too, she realised, hugging her wriggling bundle a little closer.

  Edward constantly exclaimed and pointed as they explored the opulent interior together. Even the incredible height of the ceilings inside their suite of rooms was a revelation to him, and he was growing increasingly hard to carry as he leaned back in Lucy’s arms to marvel at them.

  Blowing her hair out of her face, Lucy laughed out loud with sheer happiness. She felt a growing conviction that this trip to Abadan marked a new start in life for both of them. The prestige that came with winning the competition meant her professional future was more assured, which in turn meant things would be better for Edward. And everything she did was for him.

  Her life was one big balancing act, but—touch wood—it was going well, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She knew she mustn’t get complacent. She couldn’t risk anything going wrong later that morning in her first meeting. But there was little chance of that. She had been up half the night, pacing the room, as she went over everything in her mind.

  And she wasn’t the only early riser, Lucy remembered, dropping a kiss on the top of Edward’s head. At one point something had drawn her to a window overlooking the interior courtyard. But by the time she’d leaned out there had been just a shadow disappearing through one of the arched doors facing her apartment.

  She glanced out of the window at the same archway now, remembering that shortly afterwards the whole palace had sprung to life—temperatures later in the day would be less conducive to activity, she supposed. Then, thinking of the shadow again, she shivered involuntarily.

  Edward’s baby prattle stopped immediately, and he turned his face up to look at her.

  ‘It’s all right, my darling,’ Lucy crooned, turning his attention to a pair of vases taller than she was, to make him laugh again.

  The shadow, Lucy reassured herself, had doubtless been one of the servants who had left his bed ahead of the rest…his? His bed? She thought about it for a moment. The shadow had been long, and the impression she’d gained when she caught a glimpse of it had been of a man—a large man—one of the palace guards, perhaps?

  ‘Miss Benson?’

  Lucy turned, smiling, as Leila hurried towards her across the vast marble-tiled floor. It took a few words of reassurance before Leila would be convinced she wasn’t late, and that Edward’s early start to the day was due entirely to Lucy’s excitement.

  It was fun arranging Edward’s day together. When her meeting with the palace officials was over, Lucy was determined they should do something about a birthday tea for him the next day. But as they discussed the particulars she became increasingly conscious of time slipping away—and she wasn’t even showered or dressed yet.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Leila said, ‘I’ll start making enquiries while you are in your meeting—’ She stopped talking as Edward claimed their attention.

  ‘He wants to go to the window for some fresh air,’ Lucy guessed. ‘Try and get him outside to play while it’s cool, if you can. He’s got far too much energy to be cooped up in here all day.’

  ‘I will,’ Leila promised.

  Lucy was halfway across the room when Leila called her back.

  ‘Come and see this,’ she insisted, beckoning to Lucy. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘What is it?’ Lucy said, hurrying to join Leila and Edward by the open window. She was struck by Edward’s unusual stillness as he stared down from his grandstand position in Leila’s arms.

  Following Edward’s lead, Lucy gazed down into the courtyard. A group of men in flowing robes were striding across it at speed. She felt a thrill of excitement. There was something so majestic in their carriage, so romantic. It really brought home to her the fact that she was a guest in a great desert kingdom. The men looked nothing short of magni
ficent, with their white gutrahs held in place by agals of black and gold, and the man spearheading the group was particularly striking. He was clearly the leader in every respect. She smiled to see a shorter man scurrying along at his elbow, trying to keep up as he mouthed notes into a small black Dictaphone.

  ‘That’s Prince Kahlil ben Saeed Al-Sharif—the ruling Sheikh’s son,’ Leila explained, seeing Lucy’s interest. ‘He practically rules Abadan now. His father is retiring more and more from public life. They say Sheikh Kahlil will take over full responsibility for the country very soon.’

  ‘What else do they say?’ Lucy murmured as the men disappeared through an archway.

  ‘They say Abadan is going to be catapulted into the twenty-first century, thanks to Sheikh Kahlil,’ Leila confided. ‘He’s already hugely successful in the international business world. And he’s gorgeous—’

  ‘I’d better get ready for my meeting,’ Lucy cut in diplomatically. She had to remain professional. However tempting it might be, she knew she couldn’t afford to be drawn into palace gossip.

  CHAPTER THREE

  COOLLY yet smartly dressed, in a long-sleeved tunic and wide-legged pants in cream linen, Lucy knew she was as ready for the meeting as she would ever be. And she had no excuse to get flustered; she didn’t even have to carry her own design portfolio. She was being spoiled, she realised as the young man in Western dress who had come to escort her to the meeting lifted it out of her hands. Better not get used to this, she mused wryly, following him down an echoing corridor.

  Lucy’s heart was thundering as her companion opened the door of the vaulted council chamber. Silence fell as she entered, then a wave of sound rolled over her as everyone rose from their seats at once. Head held high, she walked towards a lozenge-shaped table she judged to be about thirty feet in length, around which men in the flowing robes of Arabia were standing—waiting for her…

  Lucy’s throat dried. Her earlier optimism appeared premature. Her confidence was evaporating now she was faced with the reality of the scale, opulence, and importance that was attached to the project. It was an awesome responsibility.

  Fortunately, before doubt really set in, the young man accompanying her placed her portfolio on the table and pulled out a chair for her. Pinning what she hoped was a professional expression to her face, she sat down. At this signal everyone else sat too. Then an older man to her left leaned across.

  ‘His Majesty apologises,’ he murmured. ‘He will be a little late. But if you would care to give a brief outline to his council in the meantime, he will join the meeting as soon as he can.’

  Lucy dipped her head in polite acknowledgement of this news.

  She would have preferred to get the meet-and-greet part of things over with right away. But now she had to begin, knowing that at any moment the ruler of Abadan or his son might interrupt. It couldn’t be helped. She would just have to get on with it regardless.

  She had just completed her formal introduction to the presentation when the double doors suddenly parted with some ceremony. Unaccountably, she started to shake with nerves. All the men seated at the table with her rose at once, and turned in the direction of the entrance. This was ridiculous, Lucy told herself, drawing a few deep, steadying breaths. She hadn’t felt anything quite like it since—

  ‘His Majesty.’

  Lucy remained standing sideways on to the door as an unseen courtier announced the Sheikh’s arrival in English. Out of consideration for her, no doubt, she presumed. And then curiosity got the better of her, and she turned.

  The striking individual who strode into the room supported by a phalanx of following attendants was too young to be the ruling Sheikh. This must be his son, Lucy guessed, and, remembering the figure in the courtyard, she felt her heart begin to race. He had such incredible presence. She felt as if she was looking at someone on a screen, from a distance. It was like looking at Hollywood’s best ever stab at an Arabian prince—except that the man coming towards her was the real thing, and she knew instinctively that there was absolutely nothing contrived about him.

  The sun streaming in from glass panels above the entrance doors was preventing her from seeing him properly. But she didn’t need to see the man clearly to sense the aura of power he carried with him. And it was a forbidding power. He would have to be a hard man, Lucy reminded herself. Sheikh Kahlil of Abadan was a prince of the desert, a warrior through and through. He would have to be the type of individual to inspire confidence and fear in equal measure to win the respect of his people.

  He covered the distance between them in a few strides, black robes billowing around him as he walked. The plain black gutrah on his head, captured by a gold agal, masked what little of his face the blinding sunlight allowed her to see.

  ‘Miss Benson,’ he murmured coolly, extending his hand Western-style in greeting.

  He was much taller than she had imagined. Standing so close, he eclipsed the rest of the room. They might have been alone. Automatically Lucy grasped his hand.

  As they touched, a tremor struck that jolted through every inch of her. She drew a fast breath as it pulsed through every fibre, every muscle, every nerve-ending—

  ‘Majesty,’ she managed to murmur, pulling her hand away as if he had burned her. She kept her head lowered, more to avoid the harsh, assessing stare than as a gesture of respect.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she heard him say politely, ‘please be seated. Don’t let me throw you off stride—please continue,’ he added to Lucy with an elegant gesture.

  But there was something extra in his voice now, undetectable to those around them, but menacingly apparent to Lucy. For a moment she couldn’t speak. A tornado had been let loose inside her. Her mind was in freefall, her heartbeat suspended. She gasped involuntarily, noisily, once, then became aware of the interest she was generating around the table, and swiftly gathered her wits.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said hastily.

  ‘Water for Miss Benson,’ Sheikh Kahlil said, leaning back ever so slightly in his seat to direct the servants.

  It couldn’t possibly be, Lucy told herself desperately. She gratefully took the glass of water someone handed to her. Could the Kahl she knew have an identical twin. A doppelgänger in Abadan he knew nothing about? She took a few sips, and then made herself look up and smile reassuringly round the table. She had heard it said that everyone had a double somewhere in the world, and had always thought it nonsense. But perhaps, just this once, it was true?

  ‘Yes, thank you. I’m ready to continue now.’ Lucy was amazed by the steadiness of her voice. Under the circumstances it was nothing short of a miracle! But her thoughts swung wildly back and forth like a pendulum. Was Sheikh Kahlil Kahl? In her heart, Lucy already knew the answer. The man sitting just inches away from her, calmly arranging the folds of his robe, was Edward’s father! And he didn’t even know he had a son.

  Suddenly Lucy was overwhelmed by fear. What might a man as powerful as Sheikh Kahlil do when he discovered he had a son? She had brought Edward into danger—

  ‘Miss Benson? Would you care to continue?’

  The Sheikh’s tone was neutral, but it unnerved her. He had recognised her too, she was certain of it. How much time would she have before someone told him she was not alone…that she had her baby son with her?

  Feeling his scrutiny, Lucy refocused quickly. ‘Yes, of course. Forgive me, gentlemen…the heat…’

  The heat! Air-conditioning in the palace didn’t allow for a moment’s discomfort. She would have to do better than that. But Lucy felt as if she was tumbling down a deep black hole. Her heart was thundering out of control, and her mind was paralysed with anxiety. Somehow she had to continue, and get through this—for Edward’s sake, if not for her own. Once the meeting was over and she was in the privacy of her own room she would have space to think—to work out how she could get away from Abadan with Edward.

  Now she knew the true identity of the man she thought of as Kahl, she would seek legal advice. Of cou
rse Edward should know who his father was. And she would tell him when the time was right…Lucy glanced around as if seeing everything again for the first time. How could she ever compete with this? How could she deny her son such a heritage? The thought chilled her, but she was careful not to arouse suspicion, and focused all her attention on the meeting.

  How she got through the rest of the morning, Lucy had no idea. On the few occasions that Kahlil addressed her directly he confined his questions to the project. But his keenness of mind alarmed her. She realised she hadn’t taken his intellect into account at their first meeting—she had been too distracted by his other qualities. But now she saw that no detail was too small to escape his attention, and as he probed the minutiae of her plans her fears began to grow.

  Nothing ever slipped through his guard, Kahlil raged inwardly. But he had entrusted the competition and all it entailed to one of his advisors. This meeting had been arranged so that he could congratulate the winner, and meet them in person, and it signalled his first real involvement in a project intended to bring Abadan to the notice of the world. He was determined that his heirs would one day inherit a country at the forefront of exclusive holiday destinations, and the PR resulting from the design competition, together with the opening of the Golden Palace to the public, was crucial to that plan.

  And then this had come about. How? Kahlil wondered grimly. He had asked for The Best, and they had brought him Lucy Benson! But she could hardly have been expected to make the connection on paper, he supposed, snapping a suspicious glance at Lucy. Twenty-one months ago he had told her his name was Kahl, nothing more.

  They had enjoyed each other. That should have been an end of it. He wasn’t in the habit of inviting trouble into his life.