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‘Shh …’ she said, putting her finger to her lips. ‘It’s early. Don’t wake Grandma and Grandpa.’
‘Look, Mummy!’ he whispered, holding it right in front of her face.
‘Terrific!’ she whispered back, scooping him up and carrying him downstairs, treasuring this precious time when, for once, she could share breakfast with him, watch over him as he cleaned his teeth. Walk him to school so that her mother wouldn’t have to go out of her way but could go straight to the bus stop.
Her dad was right, she thought, as all three of them muddled together in the hall, gathering their belongings, making sure that Freddy had everything he needed for the day, her mother was looking tired and, on an impulse, she gave her a hug.
‘What’s that for?’ she demanded in her don’t-be-daft voice.
‘Nothing. Everything.’ Then, sideswiped by the unexpected sting of tears, she turned quickly away, calling back to her father in the kitchen, ‘I’ll give you a call later, Dad, let you know what’s happening.’
‘Don’t worry about us,’ he said, coming to the door. ‘I’ll be waiting when Freddy comes out of school. Maybe we’ll have a look at the river, eh? What do you say, son?’
‘Can we?’ Freddy’s face lit up and, smiling at her dad, Diana reached for her little boy’s hand.
Her mother coughed meaningfully, shaking her head. Then, ‘You don’t have to walk all the way to the gate. I leave him at the corner and he walks the rest of the way all by himself.’
‘He does?’ she squeaked. Then, doing her best to smile, ‘You do?’
Freddy nodded.
‘I watch him every step of the way,’ her mother mouthed in silent reassurance.
‘Well …’it was only a few steps from the corner to the school gate, but Diana still had to swallow hard ‘… that is grown up!’
Her little boy was growing up much too fast. Making giant leaps while she was too busy working to notice. To be a fulltime mother.
But what choice did she have if she was going to make a life for him? She couldn’t rely on her parents for ever. She’d put them through so much already. Could never quite get away from the fear that she’d caused her father’s stroke.
‘Don’t forget that you’ve got parents’ evening tonight,’ her dad called after her.
‘It’s engraved in my brain,’ she promised, turning to wave from the gate.
At the corner nearest to the school she managed to restrain herself from kissing Freddy, stuffing her hands into her pockets so that she wouldn’t be tempted to do anything as embarrassing as wave. Watched him as he ran away from her and was swallowed up by the mass of children in the playground and waited to make sure that he was absorbed, accepted.
Why wouldn’t he be?
Half the children in his class were living in one parent families. But at least most of them had a father—even if an absent one—somewhere.
She turned and, blinking furiously, walked quickly down the road to the Capitol Cars garage.
Zahir had not slept.
He and James had worked through most of the night, putting the finishing touches to details that had been a year in the planning.
It wasn’t lack of sleep that blackened his early morning mood, however, but an email from Atiya, his youngest sister.
She’d written, full of excitement, about his forthcoming wedding, eager to let him know what she thought of each of the bridal prospects on their mother’s ‘shortlist’, which was awaiting his return. Since Atiya knew them all and was evidently thrilled to the core at the prospect of him marrying one of her dearest friends, she had taken immense pleasure in describing each of them in detail so that he would have something other than their mother’s opinion—what, after all, did mothers know?—on which to make his choice.
This one, apparently, had beautiful hair. That one a stunning figure. A third wasn’t so pretty but had the loveliest smile and a truly sweet nature.
It had, he thought, all the charm of a cattle show, with him as the prize bull. It was, however, a timely reminder of who he was. What was expected of him.
Which did not include dancing in the street with his enchanting chauffeur.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘DI …’
Sadie had been waiting for her and she crossed to the office, assuming that the summons heralded a return to normal and trying to be glad. Sheikh Zahir had no doubt regretted his impulse to kiss her, dance with her—fooling around with the ‘help’ was always a mistake—and conceded that James Pierce might have had a point. Given him the go-ahead to call Sadie and arrange for another driver.
Which, or so the small inner voice of reason assured her, was a very good thing. She was still fighting off the memory of that dream. It would save embarrassment all round.
She just wished her inner voice could sound more convincing. But then her inner voice hadn’t felt the power of that final look, a connection that went soul deep …
‘What’s the plan, boss?’ she asked with determined brightness. ‘Back to normal is it? You should have phoned, I could have come in earlier.’
Sadie shook her head. ‘I’ve got someone in to cover the minibus for the rest of the week. Jack is still hors de combat and, while he’s promising he’ll be in tomorrow, I can’t see him being fit for anything but local jobs until next week. Are you going to be okay for another late one?’
Zahir hadn’t pulled the plug?
The fact the brightness was no longer forced, but blindingly genuine, warned her that she was playing with fire. But it was so long since she’d been warm …
‘How late? Freddy has a parents’ evening at school this evening.’
‘Well, let’s see. Sheikh Zahir has to be back in London by six so, if you could handle that part of his day, I can find someone to cover the evening.’
‘No problem, then.’
‘Apparently not. I’ll give you a call later to let you know who it is so that you keep Sheikh Zahir in the picture. And I’ll write you in for the rest of this job.’
Diana swallowed. ‘Thank you, Sadie. I appreciate your confidence.’ Maybe, today, she’d live up to it.
Sadie, oblivious, smiled. ‘You’ve earned it. Enjoy your day at the seaside.’
‘The seaside?’
Sadie handed over the paperwork. ‘Sheikh Zahir is visiting a boatyard and marina, apparently.’
‘Really?’ Obviously her idea of non-stop work and Sheikh Zahir’s idea of it did not coincide. ‘Well, great,’ she said, taking the worksheet to check out where they were going, wishing it was Freddy she was taking for a day on the beach. Somehow she couldn’t see James Pierce taking off his shoes, rolling up his trouser legs and going for a paddle.
Zahir, on the other hand …
She refused to go with that image. No more of that, my girl, she told herself. Behave yourself. Just concentrate on all the extra hours it will mean. The extra money. She might be able to manage something a bit special for her and Freddy in the half-term holiday. A short break at Disney-land Paris, perhaps, if she was lucky enough to grab a cheap last-minute deal.
Or maybe she’d be better advised putting the money in her savings account for his future. Except, of course that children didn’t understand the concept of the ‘future’. For them there was only now.
‘Okay?’ Sadie asked, when she didn’t move.
‘Fine. I was just wondering if you wanted me to bring you back a stick of rock,’ she joked.
‘I’ll pass, thanks,’ Sadie said with a grin. ‘Besides, I doubt the kind of marina that a sheikh would patronize has much call for bright pink candy, do you?’
A timely reminder, should she need one, that he lived in a different world from the one she’d been born into. A reminder she’d do well to keep front and centre next time he looked at her. Smiled at her. Murmured something in that seductive voice.
Maybe she should invest in a pair of earplugs …
Sheikh Zahir was standing on the footpath talking to James Pierce when she pulled in to the front of the hotel three minutes before ten.
He was dressed casually in a cream linen jacket, softly pleated chinos, a dark brown band-collar shirt left open at the neck, with a slim leather document case hanging loosely from one hand. James Pierce, on the other hand, was giving no quarter to a day by the sea. He was dressed in a pinstripe suit with a sober silk tie—full city-slicker gear—with the laptop which never seemed to leave his side clamped firmly in his fist.
She groaned.
James Pierce had had it in for her from the moment he’d set eyes on her and would no doubt have some sarcastic remark all lined up to deliver on the subject of having been kept waiting; she was sure the fact that they were early would cut no ice with him.
He’d grumbled about being kept waiting last night; anyone would think she’d loitered, had stopped for a burger or something, instead of taking a straight there-and-back run from Mayfair.
But as Zahir caught sight of her—no smile of any kind—he said something to the other man, then, as Top Hat opened the door, stepped into the back of the car.
Alone.
James Pierce, having taken a moment to give her what could only be described as a ‘look’—what was his problem?—turned and walked back into the hotel.
Which meant that they were going to spend the entire day alone together?
Be careful what you wish for …
‘In your own time, Metcalfe,’ Zahir said, when she didn’t immediately pull away.
‘Isn’t Mr Pierce coming with us?’ she asked a touch desperately.
‘He can’t spare the time. He has contracts, leases to sign. A lawyer’s work is never done.’ Unable to help herself, she checked the mirror. He was waiting for her, his look thoughtful. ‘Disappointed, Metcalfe? Did you manage to break the ice and make friends when you picked him up last night?’
‘We didn’t dance, if that’s what you mean,’ she said. So much for keeping her distance. Being professional. ‘I didn’t want to drive off and leave him if he’d just gone back inside to collect something he’d forgotten,’ she said in an attempt to retrieve the situation.
‘Forgotten?’ Zahir marginally raised a single brow. ‘Are you suggesting that he’s fallible?’
‘Oh … No …’
Too late she realised that he was being ironic.
Oh, Lord …
She pulled out into Park Lane, glad of the turmoil of the London traffic to keep her occupied, not that there were any further distractions from the rear of the car.
Sheikh Zahir, having teased her once, presumably in repayment for that ‘dancing’ remark, was apparently too absorbed by the paperwork he’d brought with him to bother once they were on their way.
Which should have been a relief.
But it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
First her shoulder muscles began to tighten up, then her neck stiffened with the effort of keeping her mouth shut. Would music disturb him?
She glanced in the mirror, saw that he was deep in concentration. Had, apparently, forgotten she was there. An example she’d do well to follow.
Zahir stared at the papers in front of him, doing his best to concentrate on the figures, trying not to think about the woman in front of him, the nape of her neck exposed by hair swept up under her cap. Hair that even now was escaping in soft tendrils that brushed against her pale skin.
Trying not to think about how that hair, that skin had felt against his hand. The way his hand had nestled so neatly into her waist. How her fingers had felt against his lips.
His sister’s email, annoying though it had been, had brought him firmly back to earth and he was resolute in his determination that this charming but, ultimately, foolish flirtation he’d begun without a thought for the consequences must go no further. Diana Metcalfe deserved better from him.
His family deserved better from him.
Today, he reminded himself, was all about the marina at Nadira Creek.
Lunch at the local yacht club with the CEO of the chandlery with whom he was negotiating a contract to run the dockside services for him. Then a tour of the Sweethaven Marina to take a look at the facilities offered at the top end of the business, which would also give him a chance to check out the latest in state-of-the-art sailing dinghies, diving equipment, windsurfers.
Last, but definitely not least, a visit to the boatyard to look at the yacht he’d commissioned more than a year ago and was now ready for his pre-delivery inspection.
And that was the only indulgence he would permit himself on this trip; the silk finish of polished mahogany and gleaming brass were a great deal safer than the touch of soft ivory skin. Warm lips.
Finalising the details of a contract was considerably less dangerous than teasing Diana Metcalfe in the hope of another glimpse of an errant dimple that appeared at the corner of her mouth when she was battling not to smile. And losing.
Safer all round than provoking her into forgetting to be polite, to just be herself. And then kissing her. Waltzing her along London streets …
He took out the folder detailing the management fees, working through the list of queries James had detailed, equally firm in his resolve not to catch her eye in the mirror.
Not to ask about her family. Why it was her father ‘used’ to sing to her mother. And, presumably, didn’t now. Her life.
Ask her why, when she wasn’t smiling, she sometimes looked a little … lost.
Diana checked the mirror as she approached a roundabout, joined the motorway. Sheikh Zahir was working, concentrating on the file he was holding, and yet she had the strongest feeling that, a split second before she’d glanced up, he’d been looking not at his papers, but at her, waiting for that moment when she’d checked the mirror, met his gaze.
Or maybe that was what she wanted to believe.
She was clearly going crazy.
It wasn’t that she doubted his readiness to flirt; he’d already proved himself to be world class in the subject and she’d promised herself that today she wouldn’t be drawn in, but keep her cool. Be a professional. Not because she knew James Pierce would rat on her to Sadie in a heartbeat if he suspected she’d stepped over some invisible, but definite, line in the sand. No matter how great the temptation. And she had been tempted; admitting to it made resistance easier.
Not because of her job, but because, to Sheikh Zahir, it would be no more than a diversion.
Probably.
No! Absolutely.
Utterly meaningless.
In which case, why would he think twice about snagging her attention? If it meant nothing, he’d do it. Wouldn’t he?
