“Wow,” she said again, flashing Monique a disbelieving look.
Monique had nodded knowingly. “Yes, it’s rather lavish.”
“It’s almost obscene,” she breathed out slowly, laughing when she clocked the crystal chandeliers that ran the length of the plane.
Three security guards took up seats toward the front of the plane. Even in their separated state, she supposed she would retain their presence for a little longer.
“It has been a pleasure working for you, Rebecca.”
“And a pleasure knowing you, Monique. Please contact me if you are in London. I would be very happy to see you while I’m there.”
She felt something hesitant in Monique, as though there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t find words for. Rebecca smiled at her encouragingly, but Monique gave a small shake of her head, as if to clear the thought and then said, with a slight shake in her voice, “Good bye, your highness.”
Spontaneously, Rebecca leaned forward and placed a kiss on her attendant’s cheek. Emotions made her tremble, and her throat felt clogged. She slid her designer handbag onto a lounge chair and walked with Monique towards the front of the plane to say a final farewell. As they reached the aircraft door, two of the security men were speaking.
Rebecca, with her steadily improving Arabic, could just make out the gist of their conversation. “I wish my mistress and wife were as close as these two. Would make my life a lot easier.”
The other man’s smile was knowing, as he eyed the two women, one dark as cinnamon and the other all vanilla. “Yes, I’m surprised the Queen doesn’t mind sharing her husband with a servant.”
Monique’s eyes flared to them, her gaze furious, and then, as she looked at Rebecca, her eyes were softened with sympathy.
Rebecca, suddenly tasting bitter metal in her mouth, grabbed the back of a chair for support. It was the only sign that she’d heard the words, and understood their full implication. Her attendant Monique, who she had come to think of as a friend, was the mistress of her husband?
Of course, it made sense. Monique was of royal birth, and she was always available. She was stunningly beautiful, and sophisticated. In fact, she wondered why it had never occurred to her.
Rebecca’s blue eyes were round with shock. She had married Tariq knowing he had a reputation as a playboy, but she truly hadn’t believed him capable of infidelity.
“Your highness,” Monique said urgently but Rebecca held up a small, unsteady hand.
“No, Monique. It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head sadly. It was just the final nail in the coffin, really.
“But, Rebecca ---,”
“No.” She repeated, more firmly this time. “Go. Please. Just go.”
Monique lowered her head, and it gave Rebecca no satisfaction to see the tear that slid down her perfectly made up face. Once Monique had disappeared from sight, Rebecca fixed a steady gaze on the security guards.
“You should mind your tongues,” she said in halting Arabic, enjoying the way their expressions registered surprise.
Drained by the emotional drama of the past twenty four hours, she took up her seat and stared straight ahead. Monique and Tariq were lovers. The realisation made her tremble. Had he left her bed and gone to hers? How had Monique concealed it from her? How had Monique been able to bear it? Waiting on Rebecca, seeing her disappear into Tariq’s room, dressing her for intimacy... Oh, the sheer duplicity made her blood boil.
No wonder he had got rid of her as soon as he had even the flimsiest of excuses! This wasn’t about what was best for Rebecca! It was about freeing himself up to get back to his red hot sex life. What a drag marriage must have been to a man like him. Not that it appeared to have changed his activities much, anyway. The sooner she was off his land, the better. She never wanted to see her husband again!
The powerful engines of the aeroplane whirred to life, the noise helping to drown out her depressing thoughts. Her sadness made her hyperaware to everything. The way the plane jutted as it was pushed into reverse, the way it taxied down the runway smoothly, like a jaguar approaching its prey. She was so close to freedom, she found that she was holding her breath and gripping her armrests tightly, just waiting for that moment she was airborne and closer to freedom.
But that moment never came. Instead, the plane came to a swift halt, and the security guards were standing, speaking into walkie talkies. The flight crew were bustling about, and Rebecca sat straighter in her seat.
Something was wrong. The hair on her neck stood on end and fine goosebumps covered her body.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and walked to the other side of the plane, craning to get a look at the tarmac, but she couldn’t see anything save for the twinkling lights of the terminal building.
“Rebecca.”
She’d know Tariq’s voice for the rest of her life. His rich timbre, sultry accent, it was ingrained in her memory banks. Slowly, she turned, careful to keep her face impassive.
“Tariq,” she responded, not moving. Standing at the windows, despite a soul-destroying desire to run across the room and launch herself into his arms.
“Come with me, if you please.” He commanded, pointing towards the aeroplane door.
The three security men were staring straight ahead, their military professionalism sharply in place at the appearance of the Emir.
“No,” she shook her head, steeling herself against her need for him, reminding herself sharply of all the reasons she shouldn’t love him.
He frowned, amber eyes scanning her face. “Please.”
A word he rarely used. A man born to his lofty position was unused to begging for anything.
“What for?” She was weary. Overwrought. She was done.
He closed the distance between them, but seemed to be as careful as she not to let their bodies touch. “Come, Rebecca. Stay at the city apartment tonight and fly out tomorrow.”
“What’s the point?” She said quietly, shaking her head again.
“I have asked you to come with me, Rebecca, but you should be aware that you have no choice in the matter. This plane is not leaving tonight.”
She lanced him with a glare of derision. “I thought the idea of controlling me by force was abhorrent to you?”
His jaw clenched in anger. “Are you going to walk off this plane, or be carried?”
“I will walk,” she huffed, pushing past him so that she could retrieve her handbag.
His expression inscrutable, he waited for her to precede him. A little way apart from the aeroplane was another sleek limousine. She took the stairs slowly, her eyes trained on the vehicle. Inside, she was bubbling with barely contained rage.
“After you,” he held the door to the car open for her.
“You can’t keep pulling my strings like some all-powerful marionette, Tariq,” she couldn’t resist saying, as she slid into the sumptuous leather seat.
“Quiet.” He commanded, taking up a seat beside her despite the abundance of other options. Pointedly, she moved across the bank of leather so that there was at least a foot between them.
He shot her a condescending look that made her feel like a silly child.
“What do you want?” The car took off the airport tarmac, passing beneath enormous jumbo jets, all apparently paused in their progress for the royal cavalcade.
“Not here.”
She raised her perfectly shaped brows. “Tariq, I’m getting pretty damned sick of your superior attitude,” she spoke frankly.
“Just as well you don’t have to suffer it for much longer, then.” His eyes scanned her face, and she averted her eyes, knowing he would be able to read her like a book.
His words killed the small flicker of hope that had begun to burn in her chest. Despite the revelation about Monique, fool that she was, she had still hoped he had stopped her flight to tell that he was in love. In love with her.
But of course that was just a fantasy. What would someone like Tariq see in her, without the marriage contract their parents
had entered into? If it hadn’t been so upsetting, it would be laughable. Rebecca Beaumont and the King of Assan. What had her parents been thinking? Besides, could she ever be with him again, knowing that he’d cheated on her with the gorgeous Monique? He had been her only lover, and he’d pretended to value her virginity, when he’d probably been laughing about her inexperience behind her back. It rankled, and it stung. And it sucked. Just once, she wished she could make a good decision, so that she would finally be happy.
She watched the city pass by her window, and the gaping chasm of sadness in her heart gulfed larger. This city, so vibrant and beautiful, a perfect blend of new, old, east and west, was never going to be more than a passing destination for her. How she would have liked to learn more about these people and this culture.
Historic mosques and Christian churches were side by side, showing the diversity of this progressive nation. She knew that it was largely with thanks to the man beside her, and his father before him. It was a proud tradition. One she was destined not to be a part of.
A fast-flowing river crossed the city from north to south, and the limousine skirted the banks with ease, towards another palace that stood, proud and large, in the near distance.
“The city palace,” Tariq said unnecessarily as they pulled through the large security gates.
“Oh, I never would have guessed,” she responded with an unbecoming sarcasm.
“Rebecca,” he leaned across and took her hand in his but she pulled her fingers away. The contact had seared her and brought her dangerously close to breaking point.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered, her pale eyes beseeching him to understand how hard this was for her.
His face was shuttered, but he removed his hand.
He must think her an incredible fool, for becoming so emotionally involved in such a meaningless relationship. She lacked the experience to have been more mature about it all, she supposed. Maybe her next arranged marriage would be more successful. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble out of her lips and she clapped a hand to her mouth, just wanting to get out of the car.
It drew to a halt and Tariq stepped out, holding the door for her. The hand he held to aid her in standing was resolutely ignored.
“I see you are determined to be childish,” his voice was light hearted. “Come, Rebecca. Inside.”
“Do I have a choice?” She asked tartly, but she did fall into step beside him.
This palace was just as luxurious as the one she had left earlier that same day. All the more so for being more modern, and in the heart of the city.
“My father’s father built this palace,” he said, as she took in the details. “It acts as an embassy in part, only this section is private.”
“I don’t need a history lesson, do I? I’m unlikely to be teaching my students about Assanian palaces in the near future.”
He dipped his head. “Fair enough. This way, please.”
A security guard opened a heavy door with gold and turquoise paint as they approached.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Tea, please.” She felt exhausted, and she sank with relief into one of the damask covered chairs around an ornately carved table.
He poured liquid from a teapot and handed her a cup. She took it, careful that their fingers not brush against each other, and sipped it gratefully.
“Well, Tariq, would you care to tell me why you’ve dragged me here in the middle of the night?”
Despite the obvious rancour in her tone, a smile twitched at his lips.
“It’s not even nine o’clock,” he pointed out with a logic that scathed.
“Do you really want to discuss the finer points of time keeping?” She said sarcastically, and his twitching lips formed a full blown smile.
“I’m sorry,” he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t mean to laugh. I’m not used to being in this position. It’s unnerving.”
“What position is that, Tariq?” She said on a sigh.
“That of apologising.” He came to crouch in front of her, resting on his strong haunches. He took her hands between his, and she was so surprised that she didn’t fight it.
“Apologising for what, exactly?” She demanded eventually. “Ending our marriage after two months? Leaving me to depart in such ignominy? Or sleeping with a woman you had installed as my attendant?”
His eyes flared. “I am sorry about what you overheard. Those idiots will be looking for new jobs tomorrow.”
“It is hardly their fault that you were unable to stay faithful.” She pointed out waspishly. “Did they force you into Monique’s bed?”
He raised a hand imperiously. “Just stop, Rebecca.” He paused, trying to understand from her expression just what she was feeling. He sighed heavily. “I was wrong to keep the truth about my relationship with Monique from you. At first, I thought you didn’t need to know. Then, as you and I became closer, I thought it would upset you.”
“Oh, yes, Tariq, I can tell how worried you are about upsetting me.” Her words dripped with angry sarcasm.
“I care more about your emotional state than I realised.” He said, furious with himself. “I couldn’t let you leave tonight, having heard what you did about Monique and me; believing what you did about the whole damned mess.”
“That you had an affair with her? I don’t simply believe it, Tariq. I know it to be true.” Her eyes narrowed as his words penetrated her fogged brain. “How do you even know what I overheard?”
“Monique called me.” He took her hands in his once more. “She was right to do so, Rebecca.”
“I’m sure she has your number in her speed dial,” she bit out, jealousy wrapping tight chords around her racing heart.
“Perhaps,” he admitted wryly. “But she knows my views on marital fidelity. I do not believe in mistresses, or affairs. When I married you, it was with the intention of being faithful.”
“How long did your intentions last, Tariq? Hmmm? Monique is very beautiful, and I daresay far more experienced and entertaining in bed than I am. You must have hated making love to me when you knew it could have been her. Why didn’t you marry her instead, Tariq? She would have made you a good wife. I’m sure she would have been desperate to please you.”
“I know you are upset, Rebecca, but she does not deserve your condemnation.”
“Oh, really?” Her tone was scathing.
“She called me because she was worried about you, Rebecca. She cares about you.”
Rebecca let out a harsh, strangled cry. She pulled her hands out of his and stood, pacing across the room. “Don’t you dare defend her to me,” she pleaded, her voice high pitched. She was finding it difficult to breathe, and her eyes were clouded. “How dare you defend her? How dare you make me feel guilty in the midst of this?”
“It is not my intention to make you feel guilty.” He spoke quietly. Across the room from him, his wife looked terrible. Distress had made her pale, anger caused her body to shake, and her eyes were wide with confusion and hurt.
“How many more were there, Tariq? Is there a harem of women waiting to please you somewhere here in the palace?”
“You are being ridiculous,” he admonished gently. “You know that is not the case.”
“I don’t know anything about you! You come down to the city for days at a time. I know enough of your appetite to find it impossible to believe you were alone.” She yelled, bringing a hand to her neck and fidgeting with the necklace she wore. With a visible effort at calmness, she spoke a little more quietly. “I wish I’d never met you. I wish I’d never married you. I want to get back on that plane and go anywhere but here. I want to forget I ever knew you. For all I care, you can go to hell, Tariq,” she finished, but the fight depleted the last of her energy and she felt herself falling towards the ground in an unconquerable feint.
* * *
Hashim Mehzed had worked for the palace since graduating with his medical licence thirty two years earlier. He’d known t
he ruling Emir since he was a young boy, and he’d never heard his voice hold such a note of raw panic.
“Hashim, the Queen has fainted. I need you immediately.”
Hashim disconnected the call and grabbed up his leather bag. As the on-call palace doctor that evening, he was prepared for any contingency. Though the most exciting his job had been recently was a case of food poisoning that had torn through the servants’ quarters a couple of weeks ago.
His office was three floors up and a wing across from the room Tariq had mentioned, and he ran the whole way, arriving in a state of some physical distress himself only minutes later.
“Where is she?” He asked in clipped tones once he’d entered the room. He scanned the room and saw the woman who had married Tariq, being cradled in his lap. He crossed to them and bent down, feeling her pulse, and checking her temperature.
“What happened?” He asked, simultaneously lifted her eyelids and checking her pupils’ reactions to the small flashlight he had in his bag.
“We were quarrelling. She passed out.” His voice sounded strained, his face was drawn.
“Have there been any other symptoms? Any illness?”
Tariq ran a hand across his stubbled chin. “She vomited a week ago. Could it be a virus?”
“It could be any number of things. I won’t know until we do some blood tests. More than likely there is a reasonably innocuous explanation. May I draw a vial of blood, sir, for the lab to analyse?”
“Of course,” Tariq nodded his assent. He watched as the doctor skilfully inserted a needle into Rebecca’s pale inner-elbow to remove crimson blood from her body. As he withdrew the needle, she squirmed a little in his lap.
“Rebecca,” he leaned forward so that he could see her eyes. “Rebecca. Can you hear me?”
Her eyes fluttered open, beheld the face just inches away. And memories came crashing back to her. “I’m fine,” she said, her throat thick. “I’ve hardly eaten today, that’s all.”
Tariq lifted a glance to an aid standing by the door. “Fetch a light supper, immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” The servant bowed from the room, leaving them alone with the doctor.
Royal Weddings Page 31
