A wild water-lily?
Emily wasn’t used to hearing such flowery language from a man, though her heart was thumping its own wanton appreciation of it even as she tried to force her mind into reasoning that this was definitely Arabian Nights stuff, totally surreal, and she must not let herself get caught up in it.
Zageo’s riveting gaze finally released hers, turning back to the woman who had so recently been his intimate companion. ‘Please…do not lower yourself with these indignities,’ he urged, appealing for a cessation of personal hostilities. ‘Our time together is over. Yesterday is yesterday, Veronique. Tomorrow is tomorrow.’
‘You see how it is?’ she shot at Emily, highly incensed by the comparison she had forced by her own angry diatribe. ‘No doubt you have been as swept away by him as I was. But it will only last for as long as the arrangement suits his convenience. He might not look like an Arab but he is one at heart.’
‘An Arab whose generosity is being severely tested.’ The warning was delivered with a hard look of ruthless intent. ‘Do you want to continue this spiteful scene or do you want the Paris apartment?’
Veronique delivered another expert toss of her hair as she disdainfully returned her attention to him. ‘I was doing Miss Ross a kindness, Zageo, informing her of the bottom line so she’s not completely blinded by your beauty.’
‘You are intent on poisoning something you do not understand,’ he whipped at her. ‘Make your decision now, Veronique.’
The threat whirling in the air forced the supermodel to take stock. She was not winning. And regardless of her star status, Sheikh Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn was by far the more influential person here in Zanzibar, with the power to make her visit very unpleasant. The bottom line was she hadn’t been welcomed and had worn out his patience with making herself even less welcome.
She inhaled a deep breath, calming herself, pulling a mask of pride over her more volatile emotions. ‘I could not bring myself to believe what you said last night,’ she offered in a more considered appeal. ‘I came to mend fences.’
It made no difference. He simply replied, ‘I’m sorry you put yourself to that trouble.’
She tried a rueful sigh. Her hands fluttered an apologetic appeal. ‘Okay, I took our relationship for granted. I won’t do it again.’
He gave no sign of softening, implacably stating, ‘If you had truly valued it, you would have made different decisions.’
‘I do have modelling assignments lined up throughout the next three months,’ she quickly excused.
‘I offered you my private jet to get to them.’
He was giving her no room to manoeuvre, not so much as a millimetre. Veronique had no choice but to accept their affair was over. Emily felt a stab of sympathy for her, having been subjected to no choice herself at this man’s hands.
‘I will take the apartment, cheri,’ came the final decision, bitter irony lacing her voice as she added, ‘I’ve grown fond of it.’
He nodded. ‘Consider it settled. I shall inform the manager here that you are my guest at the inn until you return to Paris. Tomorrow?’
‘Oui. Tomorrow I shall put all this behind me.’
‘Bien!’ Zageo strode to the desk, proceeding to call the manager on the in-house telephone system.
Veronique subjected Emily to a glare that seethed with malevolence, belying the resigned acceptance of the kiss-off apartment and suggesting that if the model could do her supposed replacement an injury on the sly, she would not hesitate to uproot the wild water-lily and take huge satisfaction in tearing it to pieces.
Emily was glad the supermodel would be flying away from Zanzibar tomorrow. She had enough trouble on her hands without having to deal with the fury of a scorned woman. Besides, the fault behind this situation did not lie at her door. Zageo had made that very clear. On the other hand, it would have been much clearer if he hadn’t made the break-up call last night.
The manager of the inn knocked and entered the tension-packed room, warily closing the door behind him as he awaited more instructions from the sheikh. Zageo waved to the computer on the desk, requesting the password for Internet access to be written down for his use. This jolted Emily into remembering the purpose which had brought them here. It amazed her that Zageo had not been distracted from it. She certainly had.
The manager quickly complied. He was then asked to escort Veronique to a guest suite and ensure her needs were met. The main current of tension in the room swept out with the supermodel’s exit, leaving Emily feeling like a very limp water-lily, trapped into waiting for the strong flow that would inevitably come from Zageo.
He beckoned her to the desk where he was already tapping away on the computer keyboard. Emily took a deep breath and pushed her feet forward, trying desperately to put the thought of contact with her sister in a more important slot than contact with Zageo. Hannah was her reason for being here. She could not let a totally unsuitable attraction to this man cloud that issue.
She took the chair he invited her to take in front of the computer. Her fingers automatically performed the functions necessary to access her e-mail. The tightness in her chest eased slightly as Zageo moved away, choosing not to intrude on her private correspondence.
Whether this meant he did finally believe her story or whether it was simply ingrained courtesy on his part, Emily didn’t know and didn’t let it concern her. A message from Hannah was on the screen. It was dated the same day Emily had woken up from a drugged sleep on Jacques’s yacht to find he didn’t have a wife onboard and she was the only member of his crew and they were already at sea.
Emily—I hope this reaches you before you set sail for Zanzibar. I won’t make it there. Can’t. We didn’t get very far before running into an army patrol and it didn’t matter what I pleaded, the men confiscated everything and called Malcolm to come and get me and the girls. We’re all under house arrest now. Not allowed to leave the farm to go anywhere. I’m half expecting the phone lines to be cut, as well, so if you don’t receive another message from me, they will have stopped all outside communication.
I’m scared, Emily. I’ve never been so scared. I don’t mind standing by Malcolm but I wish I’d managed to get the girls out. You could have taken them home to Mum and Dad in Australia. There is so much unrest in this country and I just don’t know if these troubles will pass or get worse.
Anyhow, I’m sorry we won’t be meeting up. And please don’t think you can come here and do something because you can’t. So stay away. It won’t help. Understand? I’ll let you know what’s happening if I can. Lots of love, Emily. I couldn’t have had a better little sister. Bye for now. Hannah.