The next morning he brought me flowers and chocolates and apologised profusely, I’d caught him on a bad day, he told me; he’d never wanted to inform me about my best friend’s betrayal in that way. I never mentioned his bedroom technique again.
Neither did I see Sophie again.
Then I lost my job. It was winter, after all, and contracts had tailed off, but I hadn’t expected that it would be me that the team would choose to let go, Rob had seemed to see such promise in me. But whatever the reason, the result was the same. I was unemployed. Ethan graciously offered to support me, telling me to use my talents around the estate if I wanted to do anything. I soon stopped mentioning finding new employment; he got so disappointed at even the idea of me working away from home. He was giving me the life of luxury, and I was made to feel guilty I wasn’t more grateful to him.
Two weeks before Easter I asked him if my mother could come to visit for the holiday, and his virulent response was unexpected, spitting out he didn’t want a whore like her in the house, forbidding me from ever contacting her again. I didn’t understand; her only crime was deciding that being a single mother wasn’t for her, and taking to married life with a vengeance. By that time she was on husband number six and living with him in the South of France. She’d never had much of a real maternal instinct, but she was my only close relative. Of course, I had to make the mistake of telling Ethan he was wrong to think so little of her.
I shouldn’t have stood up to him. That time, he blackened my eye and followed that with a vicious punch to the stomach. I’d been uneasy about our relationship for a while by that point. Sure, I enjoyed not having to lift a finger or worry about anything, but I could no longer be blind to the wrongness of some of his actions. That was the final straw; I had to leave him. If my mother couldn’t come to me, I’d go to her. She’d give me house-room while I was getting myself sorted with a new job, I knew she would.
The very next morning I packed my bags and told Ethan I was leaving and wouldn’t be coming back. He was all apologies, of course, all hearts, flowers and incredibly loving. Oh yes, he could turn on the charm when he wanted to, and I even thought I saw tears in his eyes. So I agreed to stay until he got home from work to give us a chance to talk things through.
Of course, that was my next mistake. I’d seen Hargreaves around the place before but had never taken much notice of him. He acted as Ethan’s chauffeur, butler, and bodyguard, and was the only live-in servant, the rest all departed at six o’clock each night unless there was going to be a function held in the house. Before that day, I’d not really had much contact with him nor understood the extent of his duties. Having stayed to have what I’d expected would be a cosy makeup chat with Ethan, instead, I was subjected to a night of cruelty when Ethan took me to his play room for the first time, with Hargreaves, a willing participant.
At least he didn’t let Hargreaves rape me; Ethan was far too possessive for that. But he let him wield the whip. My correction for wanting to leave him.
As he examined the cruel marks left on my back the following morning, even Ethan knew a simple apology wasn’t going to suffice. This time, he booked flights for a break away to the Seychelles, leaving that evening. There he spoilt me, he cried and vowed he’d never hurt me again. Taking advantage of his remorse and feeling brave, I explained things have to change if he wanted me to stay. He must never hurt me again, and he would have to support me in finding a new job. We had a wonderful holiday, and I started to think I must have imagined and exaggerated how bad it had been. But then we returned home.
It wasn’t long before the gloves came off, and the violence escalated, as did Ethan’s dire threats if I ever even suggested leaving him again. As time went on, Ethan gave up making any attempt to justify his actions, and I came to realise I was seeing the real man, he was a monster in well-cut clothing. I had to escape, but now I knew there was no chance of me simply walking away.
So I waited until he was away overnight on a business trip. Taking only an overnight bag, I got in my car and drove out of the grounds. I had no job, no money to my name and Ethan had successfully isolated me from everyone I could have depended on. But now I knew he was a liar, warping the truth as it suited him. And I’d come to realise Sophie would never have cheated on me; she’d got more than enough men dangling without having to take a rather unexceptional one of mine. She’d always been there for me, my best friend, and despite that I’d not seen her in ages, she’d help me, I knew she would.
I turned up at her front door and knocked. It opened, there was a moment’s pause, and then I was being hugged so tightly it I knew how right to I’d been to dismiss Ethan’s accusations. And when she saw the bruising on my face she put together the story without me having to say the words. With no hesitation, Sophie gave me sufficient money to make the trip to the South of France, plus a little extra on top to tide me over. I couldn’t have wished for a better friend.
I was so, so bloody stupid, not realising then just how much Ethan would want his possession back. I didn’t get far; I was stopped by the police on a trumped up charge while driving down the M20 towards Ashford. It was only later I realised he must have used the number plate recognition system to find me.
Hargreaves came with him to get me. I had ribs broken that night, but the physical pain that I went through was nothing compared to that of my friend. Ethan’s retribution was swift; Sophie would never have the use of her legs again. As a persuasive tool to make sure I didn’t try to escape again it was very effective. I knew then, if I wanted to get away I’d have to do it all on my own.
He wasn’t just a monster; I was living with a madman.
Chapter 8
Kadar
As I wash my hands, my attention is caught by a glimpse of my reflection in the gilded mirror above the sink. Leaning closer, lines which I’ve only recently noticed are clearly apparent, an indication I’ve aged rapidly in the three months since my father’s death. It’s hardly surprising given the number of challenges I’m dealing with; it’s impossible ever to relax and switch off entirely. Will the stress end up putting me into an early grave like it probably did the last emir? All work and no play won’t just make me a dull boy; I suspect it might make me a dead one. Looking down, I see my hands have started trembling and have to make a conscious effort to still them. My heavy workload is taking its toll on me, but I can’t afford to show weakness, and I can never let anyone know I feel like an elastic band stretched taut, ready to snap.
I’d made the excuse of a bathroom break to adjourn the meeting for a short time, needing space to control my temper. But it didn’t help. I’m still fucking angry. Can’t they see I’ve got enough to deal with? With everything else I’ve got on my plate, Cara’s bringing this request to me now? Why hasn’t Nijad told her I simply couldn’t take on anything else, especially something this trivial? Sometimes I wish he could control his wife, but he only seems to want to do that in the bedroom.
Closing my eyes briefly, I inhale deeply and try to damp down my temper then, walking with my back straight and with new resolve, re-enter my office where my brother Nijad and his wife, Cara, are waiting for me, ready to resume the meeting. Taking my place, I’m unable to miss the curious looks thrown towards me. I pretend I haven’t noticed.
“So, will you do it?” Cara asks enthusiastically, seemingly unaware she’s putting yet another demand on my time. She leans forwards as she speaks, well, as far as she can with a seven-month baby bump in front of her. Honestly, at the size she’s grown, she looks like she’s having twins. Her face is flushed and excited. Animated, happy. All the things I’m not and I can’t help but resent her for that.
Glancing at my brother, I don’t miss that while I seem to have grown older over the past few months, Nijad’s looking younger than ever. Since his marriage, he has reverted to his playful and relaxed self. His wife seems to have steadied him, their union giving him a maturity that enables him to make rational decisions, unlike the previous knee-jerk and
often violent reactions he’d earned a reputation for. I envy him. He doesn’t have to carry the burden that our father’s death placed on me. Deep down inside, I know he’s doing everything he can to support me, but it can never be enough. Sometimes my envy of what I see as him living the ideal life while I’m slowly killing myself for my country makes that elastic band inside me snap. Like right now.
My eyes zoom in on my target, my lungs fill with breath, and then I direct the full force of my anger on my brother’s wife, “For fuck’s sake, Cara. Don’t you think I’ve got enough problems to deal with? I can hardly afford the time to go to England as it is.” I remain standing, my fists clenched by my sides.
Nijad jumps to his feet, moving, so he’s between his wife and me. “Brother!” he growls in warning. “Cara, leave us,” he continues, glancing behind him quickly as he throws the command over his shoulder. The tone of his voice lets me know this time I’ve pushed him too far.
His wife doesn’t obey him. That doesn’t surprise me. But I ignore her; this is between my brother and me now. “You think you can take me on?”
Nijad dismisses my challenge with a snort. “Oh, I could beat you, brother, there’s no doubt about that.” He shakes his head, his expression showing his disdain, as his eyes find the ever present bodyguards standing stoically against the wall, “But you’ve got the upper hand, haven’t you? I can’t lay a bloody finger on my Ruler! Don’t think I’ll fall into that trap!” With an abrupt change of emotion, he turns his back on me and exchanges looks with his wife. When he touches Cara so gently on her arm, the light contact such a loving gesture, I feel envy at the depth of their affection, knowing the relationship I’ve agreed to is likely to be cordial at best. The hardness directed at me disappears in a second; his voice softening as he addresses his wife. “Please, go, Cara. I need to talk to Kadar alone.”
It’s clear she doesn’t want to leave, and the way her eyes flick between us, I know she’s concerned our discussion is about to get physical. She all but threatens me with just one look, the narrowing of her eyes promising retribution should I hurt her husband. Her intimidating stare makes me want to laugh; she’s like a gazelle threatening an angry tiger. Admiring her bravery, I let the anger disappear from my face, holding out my hands in supplication. With a sharp nod and with palpable reluctance, tossing a last glare at me and a fleeting supporting smile to Nijad, she vacates her seat. “There’s too much testosterone in here, anyway,” she retorts, having to have the last word before leaving me alone with my brother.
This altercation between us has been brewing for a while; it’s not just about what I think is Cara’s unreasonable request.
“Leave!” I wave my hand imperiously towards the ever present guards that attend me then turn back to Nijad, snarling once the men have left us, “There, we’re alone now if you want to take a swing at me, brother.”
Nijad’s interaction with his wife appears to have to have calmed him down. Taking off his headdress and throwing it onto a vacant chair, he goes to another and seats himself again. After giving me a long, careful look, he tells me, “You’re turning into our father.”
His words make me pause, giving me food for thought. Shuddering, I quickly recognise the truth in his succinct response. My need for violence slowly seeps away, and I let out a sigh. Emir Rushdi’s approach to everything had been to show his strength, never weakness. To fight, not talk. To never doubt himself for one moment. Removing my own headdress, I take a seat beside him, realising I’m going to have to choose another way. Rushdi would never have bared his soul. To anyone. But perhaps Nijad is the one person who would understand.
“He trained me, Ni. All my life, everything’s been to prepare me for this role, to follow in his footsteps, to rule as he did. But I’m not him.” Placing my hands palms down on my table, I stare at him. “I can’t see another way of doing things but carrying on the way he did, but it’s not working. I can’t be that man; I haven’t got it in me. And it shows. He kept control of the country; control that I’m fast losing. We all know he was a bastard with almost no humanity in him, and now I understand why. To be emir, to be the absolute ruler, you can leave no room for error.”
“You don’t want to end up like him,” Nijad tells me, sympathetically.
Sighing I turn, glad I’ve dismissed the guards, needing the privacy to be frank with my brother. “I’m afraid if I don’t emulate his rule, continue at least some of his policies, everything will fall apart.” Pushing away from the table I put my elbows on my knees and rest my head on my cupped palms. “But it’s hard, Nijad. All his life he was trying to mould me into his likeness, but he died long before he’d completed the job.”
“Thank fuck he did, Kadar. Your path must be a different one.” Nijad’s concerned for me, “You are not him, and never will be.”
To be honest, becoming a replica of Emir Rushdi is a horrifying thought. “I accept that, Ni, and that times have changed. Have been changing for a while, but our father thought he could resist the advance. We’ve got oil deposits to exploit, and, although he refused to admit it, international relationships to nurture and maintain. Heaven help us if we lose the trust of the USA and Europe. If we can’t control our country, then I can foresee foreign troops being deployed here. The oil discovery changes our position as a world player.”
“Don’t forget the Russians,” my brother drops in. He goes to help himself to a cup of coffee. Holding the pot in one hand he waves it at me, and I shake my head, I’ve had enough caffeine this morning.
When he sits down opposite me, I nod slowly. “It’s too much for one man, being an absolute ruler, there’s too much power, too much responsibility. What if they manage to depose me? Is there anyone stronger who could rule in my stead?”
“Certain people might think they could, but no. You’ve been trained since birth for this role, brother. No one could do a better job, definitely not Jasim or me. I agree, you’ve been dealt an impossible hand. You never had the opportunity to prove yourself as a leader while our father was alive. He expected, as we all did that he’d remain healthy for many years yet and then, when he eventually started failing, you’d gradually take over his role. Instead…” His voice trails off; there’s no need to state the obvious. Rushdi had died before he’d completed his reign.
I decide to let him in on my plans that I’ve been thinking about for quite a while now, and over the couple of months, putting time and energy into researching how it could work. “I’m going to put a government in place.” I’d had the idea long before my father died. Of course, he’d never have considered it. But in the twenty-first century, it seems archaic that a wealthy and powerful if small state is governed by the will of one man.
Nijad takes in a breath and raises his eyebrows. My statement has surprised him, and he immediately seems taken with the idea. “That’s a huge leap forward for Amahad. But the right one, brother. This government would be elected, I presume?”
I shrug. “Yes, but the how needs to be determined. In the cities that’s the only way, but for the tribes?”
“The sheikhs will assume they’ll represent their people,” Nijad speaks the truth.
“Exactly. Can we have two forms of representation?” It’s something I’ve been pondering. On my forthcoming trip to England, I’ll be meeting with their representatives from the Electoral Commission to get some advice. The UK is one country that has democracy down pat.
“What about the Mullahs?”
“I’d prefer the people to elect who they want speaking for them. I don’t want the religious leaders to have too much power.”
Nijad looks deep in thought. “It’s complicated, isn’t it? And if you automatically include the sheikhs you’d potentially give power to someone like Abdul-Muhsi.” He grits his teeth on the name and frowns.
“Surely he’d find little support?” I sound more optimistic than I feel. I recall Rais couldn’t confirm whether or not he had the others behind him.
“I think we ought
to take him out of the equation altogether. He’s a dangerous man.”
In all honesty, I can’t deny it’s a suggestion that I’ve not thought of too, but ordering the killing of a man, however much he might appear to be my enemy, is not the way I want to start my rule. “A last resort, I think.”
Nijad looks at me sharply. “You think he’d hesitate if he had you in his sights?”
Again, I heave a heavy sigh, as I remember the thinly veiled threat he’d made in my office. Nijad’s right. Sheikh Abdul-Muhsi thinks I’m too weak and disagrees with my policies. But for now, I find it hard to believe he’s got the support to take me down, either in numbers of followers or the financial backing to attempt a coup. Taking him out would be one solution, but I’m not naïve enough to think others wouldn’t emerge to fill the void. “I’ll bear it in mind, Ni. Tamm ’iinsha’ husud lmjrd ’ann ’aghdab. The envious were created just to be infuriated.” I quote an old Arabic saying. So long as Abdul-Muhsi covets my position, it’s not going to be easy to appease him. As my brother nods, I realise the friction between us has diminished, and I know what I have to do. Changing the subject, I even summon up a smile, “I’ll go and see Cara, and apologise.”
“She’ll understand. You’ve got a heavy load on your shoulders, brother. Does this mean you’ll agree to her request?”
I give a chuckle, which releases some of the tension inside of me. “Can anyone refuse her?”
My brother gives a hearty laugh, and we exchange grins. I know he’s certainly never been able to.
After Nijad exits the room I wait a few minutes, getting my thoughts in order. Trying to dismiss this feeling of hopelessness that’s come over me, I make myself put all the negatives to the back of my mind, focusing on the positive steps I am taking instead. Amahad had been my legacy since birth; I just have to man up and deal with it. At least I can rely on the support of my brothers.
Second Chances (Blood Brothers #3) Page 9
