The Sheikh's Bride. Sophie Weston
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had come to understand each other. ‘Chicken.’
‘Anyway, I’ve got to find the Harris family.’
Leo slid through the crowd to a marble-topped table where a house phone lurked behind a formal flower arrangement. She dialled the Harris’ room, casting a harassed eye round, just in case they had come down without her catching them.
The limousine party were on the move, she saw. Men, their mobile phones pressed to their ears, parted bodies. Behind them walked a tall figure, his robes flowing from broad shoulders. Mrs Silverstein was right, she thought ruefully. He was magnificent.
And then he turned his head and looked at her. And, to her own astonishment, Leo found herself transfixed.
‘Hello?’ said Mary Harris on the other end of the phone. ‘Hello?’
She had never seen him before. Leo knew she had not. But there was something about the man that hit her like a high wind. As if he was important to her. As if she knew him.
‘Hello? Hello?’
He wore the pristine white robe and headdress of a desert Arab. In that glittering lobby the severe plainness was a shock. It made him look even more commanding than he already did given his height and the busy vigilance of his entourage. His eyes were hidden by dark glasses but his expression was weary as his indifferent glance slid over her and on across the crowd.
‘Hello? Who is this?’
Leo read arrogance in every line of him. She did not like it. But still she could not stop staring. It was like being under a spell.
Mrs Silverstein slid up beside her and took the phone out of her hand. Leo hardly noticed. All she could do was look—and wait for his eyes to find her again.
I’m not like this, said a small voice in her head. I don’t stare blatantly at sexy strangers. Leo ignored it. She did not seem as if she could help herself. She stood as still as a statue, waiting…
A man Leo recognised as the hotel’s duty manager was escorting the party. He was bowing, oblivious to anyone else. As he did so, he brushed so close to her that she had to step back sharply. She hit her hip on the table and grabbed a pillar to save herself. Normally a gentle and courteous man, the duty manager did not even notice.
But the object of all this attention did.
The white-robed figure stopped dead. Masked eyes turned in Leo’s direction.
It was what she had been waiting for. It was like walking into an earthquake. Leo’s breath caught and she hung onto the pillar as if she would be swallowed up without its support.
‘Oh my,’ said Mrs Silverstein, fluttering.
Leo clutched even tighter. She felt cold—then searingly hot—then insubstantial as smoke. Her fingers on the pillar were white but she felt as if the strength had all been slammed out of her.
Then he turned his head away. She was released.
Leo sagged. She found she had been holding her breath and her muscles felt as weak as water. She put a shaky hand to her throat.
‘Oh my,’ said Mrs Silverstein a second time. She gave Leo a shrewd look and restored the phone to its place.
Across the lobby, there was an imperious gesture. One of the suited men stepped respectfully close. The tall head inclined. The assistant looked across at Mrs Silverstein and Leo. He seemed surprised.
Leo knew that surprise. The knowledge chilled her, just as it had in every party she had ever been to. She was not the sort of woman that men noticed in crowded lobbies. She and the man in the grey suit both knew it.
She was too tall, too pale, too stiff. She had her father’s thick eye brows. They always made her look fierce unless she was very careful. Just now, too, her soft dark hair was full of Cairo dust and her drab business suit was creased.
Not very enticing, Leo thought, trying to laugh at herself. She had got used to being plain. She would have said that she did not let it bother her any more. But the look of surprise on the man’s face hurt surprisingly.
The white-robed figure said something sharply. His assistant’s face went blank. Then he nodded. And came over to them.
‘Excuse me,’ he said in accentless English. ‘His Excellency asks if you are hurt.’
Leo shook her head, dumbly. She was too shaken to speak—though she could not have said why. After all, with his eyes hidden by smoked glass, she had no evidence that the man in the white robes was even looking at her. But she knew he was.
Mrs Silverstein was made of sterner stuff.
‘Why how kind of—of His Excellency to ask,’ she said, beaming at the messenger. She turned to Leo, ‘That man didn’t hurt you, did he dear?’
‘Hurt me?’ echoed Leo. She was bewildered. Did he have laser-powered eyes behind those dark glasses?
Mrs Silverstein was patient. ‘When he bumped into you.’
Leo remembered the small collision with the under manager.
‘Oh. Mr Ahmed.’
She pulled herself together but it was an effort. The sheikh was no longer looking at her. Leo knew that without looking at him. She was as conscious of him as if her whole body had somehow been tuned to resonate to his personal vibration.
No one had ever done that to her before. No one; let alone a regal stranger whose eyes she could not read. It shocked her.
She swallowed and said as steadily as she could manage, ‘No, of course not. It was nothing.’
Mrs Silverstein peered up at her. ‘Are you sure? You look awful pale.’
The security man did not offer any view on Leo’s pallor or otherwise. She had the distinct impression that this was not the first time he had carried a message to an unknown lady. But that the messages were normally more amusing and the ladies more sophisticated; and about a hundred times more glamorous.
‘Can I offer you assistance of any kind, madam?’
Leo moistened her lips. But she pulled herself together and said more collectedly, ‘No, thank you. It was nothing. I don’t need any assistance.’ She remembered her manners. ‘Please thank His Excellency for his concern. But there was no need.’
She turned away. But Mrs Silverstein was not going to pass up the chance of a new experience so easily. Not when royalty was involved. She tapped the security man on the arm.
‘Which Excellency is that?’
The security man was so taken aback that he answered her.
‘Sheikh Amer el-Barbary.’
Mrs Silverstein was enchanted. ‘Sheikh,’ she echoed dreamily.
Just a few steps away the dark glasses turned in their direction again. Leo felt herself flush. She did not look at him but she could feel his sardonic regard as if someone had turned a jet of cold water on her.
She shivered. How does he do that? she thought, aware of the beginnings of indignation.
Uncharacteristically her chin came up. Leo was a peacemaker, not a fighter. But this time was different. She glared across the lobby straight at him, as if she knew she was meeting his eyes.
Was it her imagination, or did the robed figure still for a moment? Leo had the feeling that suddenly she had his full attention. And that he was not best pleased
Help, she thought. He’s coming over. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.
And then rescue came from an unexpected quarter.
‘Darling!’ called a voice.
Leo jumped and looked wildly round. The lobby seethed with noisy groups talking in numerous languages. They were no competition for her mother. Years of ladies’ luncheons had given Deborah Groom