The Scandalous Collection

CHAPTER TWELVE

SO THIS was how it was going to be. Everything had changed, yet nothing had changed, and Ella felt as if she was living in a strange kind of limbo. She moved around the beautiful palace feeling like a gatecrasher who the benign host had allowed to remain at the party.

The stupid thing was that, at first, Hassan’s emotional outpouring had given her hope. She’d thought that once he’d given himself time to reflect on her words that he might come around to her way of thinking. To realise that change was possible. That anything was possible if you wanted it enough.

And maybe the simple truth of it was that he just didn’t want it. Maybe the thought of allowing himself to feel stuff secretly repulsed him. That his childhood experiences had scarred him too deeply for him ever to contemplate living his life in a different way.

Because he behaved as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t torn open the blackness which seemed to envelop his heart and allowed her to glimpse the bitter pain which lay beneath.

Once again, the barriers came crashing down, only this time it was worse than before. Because now she had something with which to compare it. She’d felt a snatch of real closeness when he’d opened up to her about his past. When she’d felt as though they’d discovered a new honesty … and when she’d realised how easy it would be to love this proud and tortured man.

But that was all now a distant memory; the hot passion which had flared between them now mocked her, because Hassan had told her that sex was no longer on the agenda.

Her hands had trembled when he’d dropped that particular bombshell. ‘You’re saying that you no longer find me attractive?’

He had shaken his head, still not quite believing that he had opened up to her. Still dazed by the powerful and very basic sex which had followed, which had left him feeling … what? As if she’d laid him bare on every level. As if she could see right into his soul. ‘I’m saying that your pregnancy is getting too advanced,’ he responded. ‘And I don’t think sex is a good idea.’

Ella had turned away to hide her distress. And so the pleasure she’d found in his arms became nothing but a taunting series of memories. The nights were nothing but long, lonely hours to be endured. Her enormous bed allowed them both to lie there without touching, and the longer this went on, the more impossible it became to return to what they’d had before.

Ella would hold her breath as she felt the mattress dip beneath Hassan’s weight, and perhaps if she hadn’t been so pregnant, she might have attempted some form of seduction. As it was, even sitting up was a big, lumbering effort. She didn’t even want to think of how clumsy it would look if she tried to launch herself at him. Anyway, such plans were pretty pointless since Hassan would fall asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, while she was left staring at the moon shadows flickering over the ceiling.

One morning she awoke to find him leaning over her, his dark face creased with concern, and for one crazy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her lips parted as eagerly as a young chick on the nest, but his face became shuttered as he drew back from her.

‘You look exhausted,’ he observed quietly. ‘Can’t you sleep?’

‘No.’ She waited for him to ask him why and wondered if she dared tell him the reason. Because I miss you. I miss you touching me. Kissing me. Making love to me. Because I’m scared of the future … and I’m only just beginning to realise the heartache which lies ahead if we’re living these separate lives. But she wasn’t going to beg. Or whine. She hadn’t quite sunk to that. She kept her voice light. ‘Nobody ever died from lack of sleep.’

‘No, but it isn’t fair to you or the baby to see you looking so exhausted,’ he said harshly. ‘I will move back into my own rooms and sleep there from now on.’

Her eyes beseeched him to reconsider even if her pride stopped her from asking him outright, but he was true to his word. It didn’t take long for one of his valets to move his few possessions out of her suite, and after that night, Ella slept alone.

As the days passed, so her loneliness increased. With her sickness firmly in the past and without the diversion of long and erotic nights with Hassan, Ella’s life in the palace seemed empty and pointless. Only continuing with her husband’s portrait, into which she poured all her thwarted passion and despair, helped fill the long, waiting days.

But that was her only distraction. The constant heat and lack of seasonal change were having a disorientating effect on her. She felt like someone who had awoken from a long sleep and found themselves in an unknown place. The flowers in the garden looked fake; the sky seemed too blue to be real. The beautiful, gilded palace began to feel like a glittering cage.

Hard to believe that it was early December and, back home, everyone would be gearing up to Christmas. She thought about the glittering lights which twinkled along Regent Street and the supermarkets which would be stuffed to the gills with chocolate. She thought about those tacky paper chains her father used to insist on, because no matter what his faults were, he absolutely loved Christmas and had passed on that love to his children.

And crazily, she began to miss her family. All her family. Her mother might be a walkover where her father was concerned, but she had always been there when you needed her. The email correspondence they’d been sharing suddenly seemed woefully inadequate, especially the last one which had expressed a wistful desire to ‘see my little girl looking pregnant.’

She even missed her sisters. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Allegra about her engagement. And while Izzy might be erratic at times, she was filled with an energy and enthusiasm which Ella missed.

Now that all the Jacksons knew she was pregnant, would there really be any shame in admitting defeat and going home and accepting help from her family instead of from Hassan? Because his help came with a price tag which was beginning to seem way too high. She didn’t have to be some sort of passive wimp who just took whatever type of behaviour the sheikh doled out to her.

Her troubled thoughts wouldn’t leave her and eventually it dawned on her that she wanted to go home. And that she would have to tell Hassan. She would emphasise that her trip out here hadn’t been wasted because at least it had enabled them to get to know each other and to establish a degree of civility. And she wouldn’t be unreasonable over access either. In fact, she would make sure that he had as much of it as he liked. Because she would never allow a man who had been neglected by his mother to be kept at a distance by his son or daughter.

Once she had psyched herself up enough, she sat down to breakfast, her manner curiously calm as she took her place opposite her husband.

She went through the ritual of drizzling honey onto her bowl of yoghurt. She could sense him watching her, so suddenly she put her spoon down and looked up to meet the dark fire of his eyes.

‘You’re still not sleeping?’ he questioned before she could say a word. ‘Even though you now have the bed to yourself?’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s getting much too uncomfortable to sleep.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he questioned.

For a moment she was tempted to say yes. To tell him to come back to her bed and get close to her. And despite her determination not to, she allowed herself a brief glimpse of how it could have been. She imagined a scenario where joys and problems could have been discussed, and shared. And then she thought about what it was: an empty relationship with a man who was cold and unloving towards her. Who had told her emphatically that he couldn’t love. What woman in her right mind would settle for something like that?

‘Yes.’ She hesitated, clasping her fingers together just in case they started trembling. ‘Actually, there is.’

Something in the tone of her voice made his eyes narrow. ‘And what might that be, Ella?’

There was a pause. ‘I want to go home.’

Hassan nodded as a terrible tearing sense of inevitability twisted his gut. ‘Home?’ he questioned.

‘Yes, home. I want to see my family.’

‘But I thought your family drove you mad?’

‘And they do—frequently!’ Her gaze was very steady as she looked at him. ‘But at least they feel stuff. At least their hearts are in the right place, even if they often get it wrong!’

Her implication was crystal clear and suddenly Hassan was forced to accept what he would have once considered impossible. That, for all their faults, at least the Jacksons had the courage to face up to their own emotions. Their lives might be chaotic at times, but they didn’t run away and hide from their feelings. And yet didn’t he despise that kind of messy emotion? Surely that wasn’t a brief pang of envy he was experiencing? His mouth hardened. ‘And you miss them?’

‘I do.’ She nodded, steeling her heart. ‘I feel like a shadow here, Hassan. As if I’m invisible. I want to fly home so that I can see a few friendly and familiar faces and eat some mince pies and listen to c-c-carols ….’

To her horror, she realised that tears had sprung to her eyes and when Hassan made to move towards her she waved him away. ‘D-don’t!’ she stumbled, knowing that if he touched her she would be lost. ‘Please don’t. You’ve made it very clear you don’t want me near you, so please don’t let a few tears tempt you from your chosen path. My life has telescoped down to this beautiful place which now feels like a prison, though I’m starting to wonder if that’s how you wanted it to be all along.’

Hassan sucked in a breath. He felt as if he had wandered into a maze of his own making, where darkness had suddenly fallen. He had pushed her away in order to protect himself. Pushed her and pushed her until she had decided that she could take no more. Now she wanted out, and he had no one to blame but himself. He looked at her pale face, at the swollen curve of her belly, and was overcome with a terrible wave of regret.

‘But you’re nearly thirty-six weeks pregnant,’ he pointed out.

‘So?’

‘So the airlines won’t allow you to fly.’

‘You’ve got your own plane, Hassan, so I can’t see that will be a problem.’

In silence, he got up from the table and walked over to the window, his mind teeming with conflicting thoughts. What if he asked her to stay, what then? What did she really want from him? he wondered. Deep in his heart he knew. She wanted the impossible! She wanted the man he could never be, the close and loving partner all women were programmed to want.

He turned away from the window to see her looking at him, her blue eyes wary, her arms folded defensively across her breasts. And suddenly he realised that this was the one area of his life where he had consistently shown a complete lack of courage. Was he so afraid of reliving the pain of his childhood that he wouldn’t take any risks for a chance of happiness? Couldn’t he at least try to be what she wanted?

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘I have been guilty of neglecting you. But if it’s any consolation, I thought I was doing it for the best.’

‘For the best for who? For you? Or for me?’ she shot back. ‘And meanwhile, you mooch around being all king-like and solitary, while I’ve been cooped up inside this wretched palace for weeks!’

‘I realise that.’ He drew a breath, unused to this newfound role of mediator in his own marriage. ‘Which is why I wondered if you’d like to go on a trip?’

‘That’s what I’m proposing, Hassan—a trip back home to England.’

‘No, not that.’ He shook his head. ‘My brother has a traditional Bedouin tent situated on the edge of the Serhetabat Desert. It’s not far from here, although it feels like a different world. We could go and stay there for a couple of nights.’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘It would give you a break. Give you a complete change of scenery. Wouldn’t you like that, Ella?’

Despite all that had happened between them, Ella felt tempted. Surely two nights in a Bedouin tent meant that they’d connect again—and wasn’t that something she still wanted even though her aching heart told her that she was crazy to want it? She wondered what his offer represented. Whether it was his way of saying that he understood her frustrations and wanted to make some amends. Or whether it was simply a sweetener to get her to do what he wanted and stay in Kashamak.

‘I don’t know,’ she prevaricated.

Her reluctance didn’t surprise him and neither did the fierce light which sparked from her blue eyes. Hassan realised that he admired her defiance and her determination to stand up to him. All the things which he’d once claimed not to like in a woman, he found amazingly attractive in Ella. And yet didn’t nature ensure that what attracted also repelled? Didn’t what drew him to her also drive him away, with a feeling which was the closest he’d known to fear?

‘It is a very beautiful place,’ he said steadily. ‘Which you really ought to see for yourself. The desert sky when it’s washed in moonlight is a sight not to be missed.’

‘And afterwards, Hassan? What then?’

He felt an aching dryness in his throat as he met the question in her eyes and knew he couldn’t offer her empty promises. He could take this first step and see where it led, but he wasn’t in the habit of dishing out false hope. ‘If you decide that you’re missing England so much, then of course you must go back. I won’t stop you, and I will support you and our child in whatever way I can.’

Her heart pounding, Ella stared at him. He was offering her freedom, and never had an offer seemed like such a poisoned chalice. ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’

He shrugged. ‘Naturally, it would be easier to keep you and the baby here,’ he said heavily. ‘But I don’t intend to force you to stay. Ultimately, it has to be your decision.’

Ella shook her head in frustration. With his burnished skin and magnificent body, he might look like every woman’s fantasy come to life, but inside he was frozen. Frozen. It was like dealing with some sort of robot, one who was conditioned to move but never to feel! He doesn’t care whether you go or stay! Nothing has changed in all the weeks you’ve been here.

The voice inside her head mocked her hesitation and yet something inside her made her want this trip. Some illogical little hope which refused to die, despite all the odds which were stacked up against it.

‘Then let’s go,’ she said as she stared into his black eyes. ‘Maybe seeing the desert sky washed with moonlight is exactly what I need.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THEY left the next morning in a four-wheel drive which Hassan drove himself, the powerful car eating up the miles of straight, desert roads. Ella was determined to make the most of what might be her one and only desert trip, but her excitement was tempered by the niggling backache she’d developed during the night and which seemed to be preventing her from getting comfortable.

She felt edgy. Wondering why was she was going to the bother of putting herself through all this—the newlywed queen being shown the desert by her sheikh king—when it was nothing but a sham. Hassan had probably only offered to take her in order to placate her. To keep the little lady quiet. Restlessly, she wriggled in her seat.

Hassan shot her a glance as he saw her tug impatiently at the seat belt which was straining over her swollen belly. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘So will you please keep your eyes off me and look at the road instead?’

She had been in an irritable mood all morning, he acknowledged, but he did as she asked, silence falling as they drove along until he saw a familiar marking on the horizon.

‘Look,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead and a little to the left. Can you see it?’

Ella screwed up her eyes to see a small blot on the stark landscape. As they grew closer, she could see that it was a tent, but nothing like as glamorous as she’d been expecting. Apart from its dense, black colour, it just seemed like a much bigger version of the tents you saw at music festivals.

‘Does it stand empty all the time?’ she asked.

‘This one does. Kamal uses it only infrequently. I sent some servants here earlier to make it habitable for us, but they will have returned to the palace by now.’

He stopped the car in a spray of sand and went round to the passenger door. The pure, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply and he looked up into the deep cobalt of the sky before helping his wife down. It had been a long time since he’d been in the desert for the purpose of pleasure, rather than war, and inevitably he felt the fizz of exhilaration. Stealing a glance at Ella’s face, he helped her down from the car. Maybe not quite pleasure, he amended wryly—at least, not for her. Endurance might be a more accurate description, judging by her expression.

‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘To a genuine Bedouin tent. For the weary traveller, the sight of one of these is like stumbling across an oasis.’

Ella dredged up a smile from somewhere. She was feeling very weary herself, and it was much hotter out here than she’d imagined. But she recognised that Hassan was trying hard to please her, so shouldn’t she just try to enjoy the experience? Fanning her hand across her face, she made her way over to the entrance of the tent, but as she pulled back the flap and stepped inside the surprisingly cool interior, she sucked in a breath of amazement.

Lit by intricate metal lamps, the canopied ceiling was hung with rich fabrics of scarlet and bronze, all shot with shimmering gold. Rose and turquoise wall hangings glimmered with a soft intensity, and on the woven rugs stood low sofas, cushions and bronze tables. The air was scented with something spicy and evocative and for a moment Ella’s niggling backache was forgotten.

‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly, because it was exactly like stepping into an illustration from the Arabian Nights. ‘It’s beautiful.’

But Hassan’s attention wasn’t on the decor. He was momentarily transfixed by the look on his wife’s face. By the parting of her rose-petal lips and the widening of her ice-blue eyes. She was beautiful, he thought suddenly. Her face bare of makeup and her body swollen with his child, he thought he’d never seen anyone look quite so lovely in his life. And she wants to leave you. She wants to leave you, and you have no one to blame but yourself.

‘Shall we sit down?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘And I’ll make you some of the tea for which the Bedouin are famous.’

A wave of dizziness swept over her as Ella nodded, cumbersomely lowering herself onto one of the cushions. ‘If you like,’ she said.

He set about boiling water and measuring out herbs and sugar before adding them to the heavy pot in which the tea was made. But he turned round when he heard the ragged little sigh she made and saw her eyes momentarily close.

‘Are you okay?’

Her lids flew open again. ‘I would be if you’d just stop fussing!’ She sounded as if she was spoiling for a fight but Hassan didn’t react. She’s just emotional, he told himself. And she has every right to be. He carried over a tray bearing tiny cups and the steaming tea.

‘What’s that funny smell?’ she questioned suspiciously.

‘It’s probably the habak and marmaraya. They’re the desert herbs which gives the tea its distinct flavour. The habak tastes a little like mint.’

Ella swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘It isn’t that bad.’

But his attempt at humour was forgotten as Ella suddenly realised that something momentous was happening to her.

‘Hassan, I feel weird.’

‘What kind of weird?’

She swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to have the baby.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Don’t you dare tell me I’m silly!’ she flared back. ‘How the hell would you know? You’ve suddenly gained a qualification in obstetrics, have you?’

‘You’ve got another four weeks to go.’

‘I know exactly how long I’ve got to go and I don’t care! This baby’s coming now!’ Staggering to her feet, she felt the unexpected warm rush of liquid cascading down her leg and she stared down in numb horror as realisation began to dawn on her. ‘Hassan!’ she gasped, raising her head to meet the disbelief in his eyes. ‘My waters have just broken!’

Hassan froze. He thought of the clean, bright interior of the labour ward at the hospital in Samaltyn, of the fully trained teams of doctors and nurses who could be summoned at a moment’s notice, and denial washed over him. ‘They can’t have done!’

‘They have! Look! Look!’ Reaching out, she caught hold of his hand, her nails digging roughly into his flesh. ‘Hassan, that was a definitely a contraction!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure! Oh, heavens! The baby’s coming and we’re stuck out in the middle of the bloody desert!’

One glance at her was enough to convince him that she was speaking the truth and his instinct was to panic like never before. Desperately, his thoughts whirled as he thought about the options which lay open to them. Was there time to get her back to Samaltyn? He heard her gasp and clutch at her stomach with her free hand and he knew there was not. Sweet flower of the desert, why ever had he brought her out here at such a time?

But her blue eyes were dark with fear and Hassan knew he had to quash his own spiralling terror and get a grip. He had to be there for her. He had let her down so many ways in the past but this time she was relying on him like never before.

Carefully, he laid her back down on the cushions, barely noticing the nails which were digging into his hands so hard he could feel them drawing blood. His heart was pounding frantically as he leaned over her and squeezed her hand. ‘Stay here!’ he commanded.

‘What else do you think I’m going to do?’ She clung onto his hand as she felt him pulling away. ‘Hassan! Where are you going?’

He cursed as he stared down at the flat line on his cellphone. ‘I’ll have to go outside, to ring the hospital. There’s no damned signal in here!’

‘Don’t leave me!’ she whispered.

‘Sweetheart. I’ll be right back.’

Ella felt as if this was all happening to someone else and the unfamiliar sweetheart only compounded it. As if the woman lying back against a pile of cushions, gasping with pain, was someone she’d once met but didn’t really know. Dimly, she could hear Hassan outside the tent barking out a series of instructions in his native tongue. Hurry up, she thought faintly. Just hurry up!

She had never been so glad to see anyone as when he came running back into the tent and crouched down beside her. But then another contraction rocked right through her and she clung to him, panting for breath.

‘It’s okay,’ he said, closing his eyes briefly against her damp hair as he held her. ‘The hospital is sending a helicopter with a full obstetric crew on board. They say that you’ve probably got plenty of time before you deliver, especially as this is a first baby.’

She shook her head as another contraction racked through her body, feeling as if someone had sent a red-hot poker slicing up inside her. ‘No!’ she croaked.

Helplessly, his gaze raked over her ashen face. No, what? ‘Just hang on in there,’ he urged from between gritted teeth. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

‘Hassan,’ she gasped, sweat breaking out on her brow as another contraction came. Her nails dug into him even more. ‘They’re wrong.’

‘Who is?’

‘The hospital. I—’ She gasped as the pain made speech momentarily impossible. ‘I think this baby’s coming now!’

His heart pounded. ‘It can’t be.’

‘Yes, it can.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I just am!’

Desperately, he looked out into the starkness of the empty desert which could be seen through the flaps of the tent. How long would the helicopter take, he wondered distractedly, and would it be able to pinpoint their position? ‘I’ll go outside and get a signal. Speak to the doctor—’

‘Hassan, there isn’t time!’ She gripped even tighter as another contraction tightened its vice-like grip around her. ‘Just stay!’ she gasped. ‘Hassan, I need you here with me. I need you. Please.’

He saw the change in her and realised that she was speaking the truth. That their baby was about to be born. Here. Now. And that he was the only person who could help her. He was going to have to deliver the baby. His baby.

He felt a brief roaring in his ears before his head cleared and he suddenly became calm. It was like being in battle, when the sounds of melee all around him suddenly blurred into silence and he could see nothing but the task which lay ahead.

‘I’m here,’ he said softly, injecting calm into his voice as he began to loosen her clothing. ‘I’m here for you and everything is going to be fine. Shh, Ella. Just take it easy. Breathe very slowly. That’s right. Very slowly. Nature knows what to do.’

She looked up at him. ‘I’m scared.’

So was he—more scared than he’d ever been. But Hassan had had a lifetime of experience in hiding the way he felt. Right now, he’d never been so glad of that. Gripping her hands tightly, he looked deep into her eyes. ‘Trust me, Ella,’ he said softly. ‘I am here for you, and believe me when I tell you that it’s going to be okay.’

Ella nodded and, despite the pain and fear, her trust in him at that moment was total and complete.

He found a soft blanket, remembering the first time he’d seen a foal being born and recalling what the stable boy had told him: that mares were like humans, that every birth was different and that most of what happened did so without the need for intervention. Please let that be the case this time, he prayed silently as he brushed her sweat-soaked hair away from her face.

‘Hassan!’

‘I’m here. Keep breathing. Go on, breathe.’

The vice-like contractions were increasing in frequency and intensity. She began to anticipate the next one, wondering if it could possibly be as bad as the one before, only to discover that it was worse. Was this what every woman who’d ever given birth had experienced?

‘I can’t bear it!’ she cried.

‘Yes, you can. You can, Ella. You can do anything you want to do because you’re strong. The strongest woman I ever met.’

At any other time such words would have moved her but now they were nudged onto the periphery of her mind as another great contraction racked through her. Ella bit hard down on her lip as something in her body changed and she looked up into Hassan’s black eyes, saw the question written in them and realised that something very powerful was happening. ‘I think the baby’s coming right now,’ she gritted out. ‘Oh, Hassan! Hassan, please help me!’

He moved just in time to see the slick crown of a head appear. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said unsteadily. ‘You’re amazing. You’re nearly there.’

Dimly she remembered what she’d been taught: not to push until the need to push was unbearable. Guided by that and governed by an instinct as old as time itself, she held on to that thought. ‘Yes,’ she breathed, her face contorted with effort. ‘Yes.’

He heard the keening sound she made and his heart began to race. Every sense intensified, he moved as if he was on some sort of autopilot. ‘That’s perfect,’ he said roughly. Suddenly, he was aware that he was looking down at the baby’s matted black hair and a great lump rose in his throat. ‘Just one more push, Ella. Do you think you can do that?’

‘Yes! No! I don’t know!’

‘Yes, you can. Ella, you can.’

The moan she made sounded as if it had been torn from some unimaginably deep place inside her and Hassan stretched out his palms to form a miniature cradle just as his baby was born into them.

His baby.

He felt the slippery unfamiliarity of new life in his hands and his heart clenched with terror as nothing else happened. The whole world seemed suspended in that moment of absolute silence before a lusty cry split the air.

His eyes blurred with tears and he looked down to see the wriggling form of a tiny yet perfect human being in his hands, which he quickly wrapped in the soft blanket before laying the child gently on Ella’s stomach.

Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘Is … is everything okay?’

‘She’s perfect, my darling. Perfect. Just like you.’

Ella’s hand was trembling as she reached out to touch her baby, amazement and relief compounded by the realisation that Hassan was crying. And that he had been there for her.

He had been there for her when she most needed him. On every level he had delivered. He could be the man she wanted him to be: emotional and strong and equal.

She gave a ragged breath as she heard helicopter propellers descending from out of the desert sky, and even while she was glad that help was arriving, she wanted to hold on to that private moment for ever. Just the three of them in their own little world. With none of the fears that once they stepped outside that tent, Hassan would go back to being the cool and distant man of the past.