Postcards From Paris. Sarah Mayberry
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of Uristan, eventually winning independence and becoming a country in its own right again after more than fifty years.
There had been mention of Rashid and Zahir’s parents, the former King and Queen of Nabatean, who had returned after living in exile, only to be murdered by rebel insurgents on the eve of the country’s independence. Details of the horrifically tragic event were few and far between and in part Anna was grateful for that. There was frustratingly little documented about the new country at all and she realised just how ignorant she was about the place that she would somehow have to learn to call home.
Just as she knew so little of the man who was bringing her here, who intended to make her his wife. The man who had taken himself off to the office area of the luxury private jet and had spent the long journey so immersed in work, either glued to his laptop or reading through documents, that he had paid her no attention at all.
But what did she expect? When they had boarded the jet he had suggested that Anna retire to the bedroom, making it quite clear that the space would be her own. But stubbornness, or the fact that she knew she would never be able to sleep, or the hope that they might be able to have some meaningful discussion, had made her decline his offer.
Now she knew just how futile that hope had been and, staring at her own anxious reflection in the glass, found herself wondering how it was that her life had always been so controlled by others. First her father and now this dark, brooding force of nature that was to be her husband. Her destiny had never been her own. And now it never would be.
‘We land in ten minutes.’ With a start, Anna turned around to see that Zahir was standing right beside her, his hand on the back of her seat. For such a large man he moved surprisingly quietly, stealthily. Even his voice was different—raw and untamed, as if capable of sinful pleasure or brutal destruction. ‘The distance from the airport to the palace is not a long one. Your journey is almost over. I trust you haven’t found it too arduous?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ That was a lie. She was totally exhausted. But, having turned down his offer of an in-flight bedroom, she wasn’t going to admit that.
‘I think you will find the palace is most comfortable. You can rest assured that your every need will be catered for.’
‘Thanks.’ Anna didn’t know what else to say. Who did he think she was? A princess from a fairy tale who would be unable to sleep should a pea be placed under her mattress? Or, worse still, some sort of prima donna who expected her every whim instantly to be obeyed?
If so, he couldn’t be more wrong. She might have been raised in a palace but it had been as echoing and draughty as it was ancient, with crumbling walls, peeling paintwork and plumbing that only worked when it felt like it. And, as for expecting her every need to be catered for, well, she had been brought up to have no needs, no special treatment. Since her mother’s death a succession of nannies—each one more severe, more cold-hearted than the last—had been at pains to point that out to her. Whether it was because they’d been handpicked by her father for that very reason—King Gustav believed his daughter needed a firm hand—or because the chilly conditions of the palace somehow had rubbed off on them, Anna didn’t know.
She did know that she had never found anyone who had been able to replicate the warm feeling of her mother’s arms around her, or the soft cushion of her breast, or the light touch of her fingers as she’d swept Annalina’s unruly hair from her eyes. Which was why she held on to those feelings as firmly as her seven-year-old’s grip would allow, keeping them alive by remembering everything she could about her beloved mother, refusing to let the memories fade.
A fleet of limousines was there to whisk Zahir and Anna, plus Rashid and assorted members of staff who had accompanied them on the plane, on the final leg of their journey to the palace. Once inside the palace, they were greeted by more deferential staff and Anna was shown to her suite of rooms, the bedroom dominated by an enormous gilded bed that was surmounted by a coronet and swathes of luxurious, deep-red silk.
It looked incredibly inviting. Finally giving way to her tiredness, Anna headed for the bathroom for a quick shower, taking in the huge, sunken marble bath with its flashy gold fittings and the veined marble walls. Then, climbing into the bed, she closed her eyes and let herself sink into deep, dream-filled sleep.
She was awoken by a tap on the door. Two dark-haired young women appeared, each bearing a tray laden with fruit, cheese, eggs, hummus, pitta bread and olives. She sat forward as they silently plumped up the pillows behind her, then one started to pour a cup of coffee whilst the other one held a plate and a pair of tongs, presumably waiting for Anna to make her selection.
‘Oh, thank you.’ Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Anna smiled at them, wondering how on earth she was ever going to do justice to this feast. What time was it anyway? A gilded clock on the wall opposite showed it to be just past one o’clock. So, that would be one in the afternoon? She looked back at the food. She was going to have to choose something. Judging by the earnest look on the young girls’ faces, she wouldn’t have been surprised if they had offered to feed her themselves. ‘I think I’ll try the eggs—they look delicious.’
Immediately an omelette was set before her and two pairs of eyes watched as she tentatively dug in her fork.
‘Do you speak English?’ Anna took a mouthful of omelette followed by a mouthful of coffee. The latter was strong, dark and utterly delicious.
‘Yes, Your Highness.’
‘Does everyone in Nabatean speak English?’
‘Yes, Your Highness, it is our second language. You will find everyone can speak it.’
‘It’s the second language in my country too, so that’s handy.’ Anna smiled at these two pretty young women. ‘And please, call me Annalina. “Your Highness” sounds far too stuffy.’
The women nodded but something told Anna that they would struggle with such informality. ‘Can I ask your names?’
‘I am Lena and this is Layla.’
‘What pretty names. I’m guessing you are sisters?’ She tried another forkful of omelette.
‘We are. Layla is my younger sister by two years.’
‘Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Have you worked here in the palace long?’ If she couldn’t manage to eat much, at least she could distract them with conversation.
‘Yes, for nearly two years. Ever since the palace was built. We are very lucky. After our parents died we were given a home in return for serving the King and Prince Zahir.’
So their parents were dead. Anna suspected there were going to be many tales of death and destruction in this country once ravaged by war. She wanted to ask more but Lena’s lowered eyes suggested to pry further would be insensitive. Layla, however, had edged closer to the bed, staring at her as if she had been dropped down from another planet.
‘I like your hair.’
‘Layla!’ Her sister admonished her with a sharp rebuke.
‘That’s okay.’ Anna laughed, looking down at the blonde locks that were tumbling in disarray over her shoulders. ‘Thank you for the compliment. It takes a lot of brushing in the morning, though, to get the tangles out.’
‘I can do that for you,’ Layla replied earnestly.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you but...’
‘We are honoured to be able to serve you, Your Royal Highness,’ Lena said. ‘Prince Zahir has instructed us to attend to your every need.’
He had? Anna found it hard to believe that he would concern himself with such trivialities as her every need. ‘Well, in that case, I will take you up on your kind offer. Prince Zahir...’ Anna hesitated. She wanted to ask what sort of an employer he was, what sort of a man they thought he was, but suspected that they wouldn’t be at liberty to tell her and it would be unfair to ask. ‘Do you see very much of him?’
‘No. He is away from the palace