Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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voice answered, throwing Petra into confusion. Hesitantly she asked for her aunt, and was asked for her own name. Several seconds later Petra breathed out in relief as she heard her aunt’s voice.
A little uncomfortably, asked after her grandfather.
‘He has had a good night,’ her aunt told her. ‘But he is still very weak. He insisted on going to morning prayers, although he was not supposed to do so. Unfortunately he had instructed his manservant to drive him there before I realised what was going on. I am so glad that you have rung, Petra. It will mean such a lot to him to know of your concern.’
The genuine warmth and approval in her voice was making Petra feel even more uncomfortable, and rather guilty as well, even though she tried to reassure herself that she had nothing to feel guilty about.
‘You are being wonderfully patient,’ her aunt continued. ‘I promise you it won’t be long now before you will be able to see him. I had intended to telephone you myself, to ask if you would like to go round the spice souq tomorrow morning, and then perhaps we could have lunch together?’
‘I… that sounds very nice,’ Petra accepted lamely. Feeling even more uncomfortable and guilty, she quickly ended the call.
She needed to see Blaize, she decided firmly, to make sure that he realised she was the one in charge of things and not him. He had said that he would make contact with her, but she was being driven by a sense of anxious urgency.
She wanted… needed to see Blaize now!
Half an hour later she stood on the beach, trying to cope with the frustration of explaining to the anxious to please lifeguard and the young man who was now in charge of the windsurfers what she wanted. But they didn’t seem to recognise Blaize from her description, Petra slowly forced herself to count to ten.
It wasn’t their fault that they didn’t know Blaize! The fault lay with her, not with them, for not making sure that she was able to get in touch with him. Thanking the two young men for their attempts to help her, she made her way back to her hotel.
It was lunchtime but she wasn’t really hungry; the emptiness inside her could not be satisfied with food! She had been infuriated by the way Blaize had tormented her about her virginity, and disturbed by her own physical reaction to him. Of course there was no way she had really wanted him to kiss her last night, but just supposing that he had.
Quickly Petra pressed the lift button, hoping that no one had noticed her flushed face or the fierce shudder that had gripped her body.
What on earth was the matter with her? Petra derided herself scornfully as the lift carried her smoothly and effortlessly upwards. She might be a virgin but that did not mean she was sexually repressed or unaware—so naïve and vulnerable that all it took to arouse her was one look from a predatory experienced male!
But if Blaize had kissed her… If he had then she would have had the common sense to reject him and send him packing, she assured herself firmly. Theirs was a business relationship and that was the way she intended it to stay!
The lift had stopped. She got out and made her way to her suite, holding her breath as she opened the door. But this time there was no virtually naked man reclining on her bed. Much to her relief! Or so she told herself.
Half an hour later she was still trying to decide what she was going to do with the rest of her day. A little restlessly she paced her terrace. She wasn’t really in the mood for the beach. The guidebook she had found suggested several walks through the city which took in various points of interest. Quickly she went to find it, picking it up and flicking through it.
There was one walk which took in the older parts of the town, including a tour of the home of a former ruler. It had now been turned into a museum documenting the social, cultural, educational and religious history of the area.
Firmly Petra told herself that it would do her good to have something other than her grandfather and the problems he was causing her to occupy her mind. After changing into a pair of white linen trousers and pulling on a loose long-sleeved cotton top, Petra left her suite.
Outside the afternoon sunshine was strong enough to have her reaching for her sunglasses whilst she waited for the concierge staff to summon her a taxi. Out of the corner of her eye she saw an immaculate shiny black stretch limousine pulling up a few yards away from her.
Curiously she watched as a flurry of anxious attendants hurried to open doors and several very important-looking robed men got out of the vehicle. Watching them discreetly, Petra suddenly stiffened, and then relaxed, shaking her head ruefully. Just for a second she had actually thought that in profile one of the robed men looked like Blaize! How ridiculous! Of course it couldn’t possibly be him! It wasn’t only her preoccupation with her grandfather she needed to clear out of her thoughts, she told herself grimly as she headed for her waiting taxi.
She had spent so much time inside the museum that outside it was going dark, Petra realised as she drew a deep breath of evening air into her lungs, her head full of everything she had just seen.
It wasn’t just Zuran’s history and past she had just experienced, it was also part of her own—which of course was why the contents of the museum had so absorbed her. Inside the museum, for the first time she had actually felt a sense of awareness and recognition of her Bedouin roots, and with that the first tentative, uncurling delicate tendrils of belonging. For the first time in her life she was actually recognising and acknowledging that she needed to know more about this country—not just for her mother’s sake but for her own.
There was a faint scent on the wind that caused her to lift her head and look towards the desert. There on the wind was the scent of her past, her destiny, and instinctively her senses recognised it. She was part of a proud race of people who had roamed this land when Cleopatra had been Queen, when Marco Polo had made his epic journey along the silk road.
Without thinking about what she was doing Petra reached down and scooped up a small handful of sand, letting it trickle slowly through her fingers. Her country…
Her eyes blurred with tears. Fiercely she blinked them away.
A group of people hurried past her, accidentally jostling her, and the mood was broken. It was almost dark and she was hungry. She hailed a cruising taxi and gave him the address of her hotel.
Hesitantly, Petra scanned the hotel foyer. She had booked herself a table for dinner at the complex’s Italian restaurant, but now, standing in the foyer and realising that she was the only woman there on her own, she was beginning to have second thoughts. But Zuran was an extremely cosmopolitan and safe country, she reminded herself stoutly, and the complex was geared to the needs of the visitor—even a solitary female such as herself.
Tonight she had dressed a little less dramatically, in a simple black linen dress that buttoned down the front. Its neat square neckline showed off the delicate bones at the base of her throat and the proud arch of her neck, just as the plain gold bangle she was wearing on her wrist revealed the fragility of its bone structure. The bangle had originally belonged to her mother, and Petra touched it now, seeking its comforting reassurance.
She wasn’t used to dining in public alone but she refused to eat a solitary meal in her suite!
The clerk at the hotel’s guest relations desk assured her that she didn’t have very far to walk to the Italian restaurant—which, he explained, was situated in its own private courtyard and could be reached on foot or by gondola.
Taking a gondola was too dangerous, Petra decided. It might remind her of last night and Blaize! She started to frown. All day she had been on edge, expecting Blaize to get in touch with her, but he had not done so. Because he had found someone more profitable to spend his time with, both financially and sexually? She had already seen that there was no shortage of admiring women eager for his company.
Pausing in mid-step, Petra firmly reassured herself that the funny little ache she was experiencing had nothing at all to do with any jealousy. Her? Jealous of Blaize’s other women? How ridiculous!
The clerk had been right when