Had she spun a complete tissue of lies last night?
Was anything about her self-presentation genuine?
‘The belly-dancing costume fitted her perfectly,’ he remarked drily.
‘Indeed, it did, Your Excellency,’ Abdul agreed.
Zageo frowned over the form of address all his staff customarily used with him. Normally he just took Your Excellency for granted, barely hearing it, but in real terms the title was ridiculous, as that highly perverse and provocative creature had pointed out.
‘The authorities have come from Stone Town to take Jacques Arnault and his Zanzibar connections into custody,’ Abdul ran on when no further comment came from Zageo. ‘A decision should be made whether or not to include Miss Ross in this criminal group.’
‘Not.’ The answer was swift and emphatic. He would feel…defeated…by Emily Ross if he washed his hands of her before coming to grips with who and what she really was. ‘We have no absolute proof of involvement,’ he added. ‘I’m inclined to allow her the benefit of the doubt, given how very difficult it is to undo an injustice once it has been committed.’
‘Do you wish to keep her here or set her free to go about her own business?’
‘Since Miss Ross has no prearranged accommodation, I shall hold her here as my guest. At least until Monday.’ He gave Abdul a look that conveyed his determination to pursue more background information. ‘As to her business, clearly it is not urgent since a Hannah Coleman has not, as yet, booked into The Salamander Inn. If, indeed, there is a sister to be met.’
‘A search of the five-year-old records at the inn did turn up a Mr and Mrs M. Coleman.’
Zageo shrugged, unconvinced by a name that could belong to any number of people. ‘One wonders if that is confirmation of my new guest’s story or mere coincidence,’ he drawled derisively. ‘I think I shall amuse myself by doing a little more testing today, Abdul.’
His chief advisor and confidante took several moments to absorb and interpret this comment. He then cleared his throat and tentatively inquired, ‘Has the…uh…affair with Veronique run its course, Your Excellency? Are there some…arrangements…you’d like me to make?’
‘No. It’s done. I made the call and the arrangements last night. The decision had nothing whatsoever to do with Miss Ross, Abdul. It was made beforehand.’
Although Emily Ross featured highly as a replacement for Veronique in his life, having completely obliterated his former mistress from his mind.
‘I’ve given her the Paris apartment,’ he went on. ‘Ownership will need to be transferred into her name. You’ll see to it?’
Abdul nodded. ‘Speaking of names, the Coleman name was attached to an address in Zimbabwe. Do you wish me to make inquiries in that direction?’
‘It could be fruitful. One might well ask why hasn’t the sister turned up? Yes…’ Zageo smiled to himself. ‘Pursuing this question presents a nice little demonstration of concern for those whom Miss Ross apparently holds dear to her heart.’
A weapon in the war, he thought, feeling an extraordinary zing of anticipation in the plan he would soon put into operation.
CHAPTER SIX
EMILY had to concede that being a prisoner in this astounding place was not hard to take. Her physical needs were wonderfully pampered. She’d slept in a heavenly bed. Of course, after the bunk on the yacht, almost any normal bed would have been heavenly but the lovely soft mattress and pillows and the amazing curtain of mosquito netting that had been pulled all around the bed to protect her from any possible bites had definitely made her feel as though she was sleeping on clouds.
Then to wake up and find her own clothes restored to her—even those she’d had to leave behind on Jacques’s yacht—all washed, ironed, and either hanging up or set on shelves in the dressing room adjoining the bedroom…well, surely this was evidence that her real life had been verified and everything was moving back to normal. The fears generated by the grotesque situation last night seemed rather incredible this morning.
She’d happily dressed in a favourite skirt made of a pink, blue and green floral fabric that swirled freely around her legs—lovely and cool for what was shaping up to be a hot day on the island. A blue top with little sleeves and a scooped neckline completed what she considered a fairly modest outfit, definitely not overtly sexy, just…pretty…and feminine. If there was to be another face-to-face encounter with the sheikh, hopefully he wouldn’t have any grounds for viewing her in a morally questionable light again.
Breakfast on the verandah outside her suite in the women’s quarters became quite a social affair. As well as Heba serving her a very tasty array of fruit and croissants, her two other attendants from last night’s grooming session, Jasmine and Soleila, fluttered around, eager to please Emily in any way they could.
A selection of magazines were brought for her to flick through as she finished the meal with absolutely divine coffee. Heba, herself, opened a copy of Vogue to show photographs of celebrities at some big premiere in Paris.
‘See?’ she pointed out proudly. ‘Here he is with Veronique!’
Emily felt a weird catch in her heart as she stared at the stunningly beautiful Sheikh Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn in a formal black dinner suit, accompanied by the stunningly beautiful world-famous model, the highly unique Veronique, who was wearing a fabulous evening gown of floating ostrich feathers that only she could have carried off so magnificently.
This photograph was not a slice of fantasy out of The Arabian Nights. It was real life on the international scene, the jet-setting, ultra-wealthy beautiful people doing what they do, connecting with each other for fabulous affairs—social and personal.
Feeling considerably flattened, Emily realised that her imagination must have been in an extremely feverish state last night, running hot with the idea of being seen as a desirable woman to this man. Why on earth would he want her when such an exotic and classy model was available to him?
‘Have they been a couple of long standing?’ she asked Heba.
A shrug. ‘Almost two years.’
Two years comprised a fairly solid attachment. Emily now felt thoroughly confused over why the sheikh was bothering with her when she could have been simply passed along to the local authorities for them to sort out her association with Jacques Arnault. Why had he taken such a sexual interest in her? Was it only a titillated interest because the Frenchman had tried to trade her for his freedom?