Dreaming Of... France. Кейт Хьюит
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a heart. ‘I guess you were disappointed.’
‘There is a small oasis about forty kilometres from here,’ he told her as he started up the Jeep and headed away from the villa. There were no real roads, just old Bedouin tracks in the sand. It would be a bumpy ride.
‘Seriously, though,’ Noelle said. ‘Why the desert? Why not a private island in the Med like your father?’
Ammar felt his hands tense around the steering wheel. ‘I’ve been like my father in too many ways,’ he said after a moment, his tone, he knew, cold and steely. He felt Noelle stiffen. She didn’t want to hear about that. God knew, he didn’t want to talk about it. Yet it remained between them, a heavy, palpable thing. At some point words would have to be said. Secrets confessed, shame admitted. ‘In any case,’ he added lightly, ‘I’ve never liked Alhaja Island. I chose to live in the desert because it’s the exact opposite. Space, freedom.’
‘A sea of sand,’ Noelle observed. ‘You can still feel trapped.’
He glanced across at her and saw she was looking out at the sand, endless undulating waves of beige, punctuated only by occasional boulders, their edges sharp and unforgiving against the soft sweep of sand. ‘Do you feel trapped?’ he asked quietly.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. Ammar’s hands gripped the wheel so hard his joints ached. ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she finally said, still staring out at the sand, which Ammar knew was no answer at all.
Do you feel trapped?
How could she answer that? Yes, she did feel trapped, but not by the desert that stretched all around them. She felt trapped by memories, imprisoned by ignorance. She felt as if both she and Ammar were defined by their past hurts, and she didn’t even know what his were. She struggled against her own fear of rejection, but it was hard. Too hard. How did you fight against that? How did you stop feeling trapped by what you felt, who you were?
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, knowing she needed to break out of the desperate circle of her thoughts. ‘What is there to see in the Sahara?’
‘I thought we could drive to that oasis I told you about. There are some interesting ruins there, the remains of a medieval trading post that were buried in a sandstorm hundreds of years ago. They were excavated by archaeologists a while back, but no one visits them much any more.’
‘Well, it is quite a trip,’ Noelle said lightly. ‘How far away are we from the nearest city?’
‘Marrakech is closest, about two hundred kilometres.’
‘I suppose you value your privacy.’
‘I do. I don’t come here very often, though. I’m usually travelling for work.’
‘And now you’re the one in charge,’ Noelle said, still trying to keep her tone light, although she knew they were venturing into deeper and dangerous waters. ‘What will you do with Tannous Enterprises?’
‘Legitimise it,’ Ammar said flatly, and Noelle felt her heart squeeze at the admission, and the steely determination of his tone.
‘What does that really mean?’
Ammar just shook his head. Noelle glanced at him, saw how his eyes were narrowed, although whether from the glare of the sun or some dark emotion she couldn’t say.
‘All right, let’s talk about something else,’ she said. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’
‘What?’ Startled, he glanced at her.
‘Your favourite colour. Mine’s green, although when I was little it was bubblegum-pink, pretty predictable, I know. I always wanted a dress in that colour, a Cinderella kind of dress.’ She smiled as she turned to face him, keeping everything deliberately light. ‘So what’s yours?’
Ammar tilted his head, clearly giving the question some serious thought. It reminded Noelle, poignantly, of how he used to be when they’d dated, so intent and yet so gentle. When I was with you, I was the man I wanted to be. ‘I don’t,’ Ammar finally said, ‘have a favourite colour.’
‘You must.’
‘I must?’ He glanced at her again, bemused. ‘Why must I?’
‘Everyone has a favourite colour.’
‘I don’t.’
She let out a laugh, half-exasperation, half-amusement. ‘You decorated your dining room in red. You wouldn’t have chosen that colour if you didn’t like it—’
‘I didn’t choose it. I had someone decorate it for me.’
Of course. She couldn’t quite see Ammar looking at paint samples. And yet he’d chosen her clothes. ‘You told me you liked bright colours—’
‘On you.’
‘So perhaps a bright colour is your favourite,’ Noelle suggested helpfully. ‘Orange? Baby-blue? Or pink, like me?’
His lips twitched. ‘None of the above.’
She sat back in her seat, arms folded. ‘All right, I’ll choose a colour for you.’
He arched his eyebrows, a tiny smile hovering now about his mouth. She loved his smiles, even the small ones. Each felt like a victory, a blessing. ‘And what colour will you choose?’
Noelle considered. ‘Yellow,’ she finally said. It was the colour of sunshine and mornings and freshness. The colour of hope. And she needed some hope.
‘Yellow,’ Ammar repeated and she nodded.
‘Yes. Yellow.’
‘Well, there’s plenty of yellow in the desert,’ he said after a moment. ‘So perhaps it is my favourite colour after all.’
‘Maybe that’s why you chose to live here,’ Noelle said, a teasing lilt entering her voice. ‘Even without the ocean view.’
The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. ‘Even without.’ Then he shook his head slowly, a frown drawing his brows together. ‘But the realtor promised ocean views.’
She let out a sudden burst of laughter. ‘For a second there, I almost believed you.’
‘I know I don’t joke very often.’
‘I like it,’ Noelle said quietly. ‘I like when you smile, and especially when you laugh.’
His glance flicked to her, his smile softening his features, every trace of harshness gone. ‘You always brought that out in me.’
‘I did?’
‘From the moment I met you. You made me laugh, even when I had nothing to laugh about.’
Noelle’s heart seemed to turn right over. Silently she reached for his hand and Ammar laced his fingers through hers. Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to. The silence was a golden thread drawing and binding them together.
Eventually Noelle leaned her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Sitting there with the sun on her face and the breeze blowing over her, she felt an easing inside, an unfurling and blossoming of a long-dormant seed, a seed of happiness. Of hope.
‘We’re here.’
She must have dozed, for Ammar nudged her gently and she realised she was leaning against his shoulder. She felt the heat of him, inhaled the tangy, spicy scent of his aftershave and scrambled to a seated position.
‘Sorry. I was lulled to sleep by the Jeep, I suppose.’
‘More like jolted to sleep,’ Ammar said with a little smile. Three smiles today, Noelle thought, and counting. ‘Let’s take a look around.’
The oasis was still and lovely, a placid little sea of blue fringed by palms, flung down in the desert by an almighty hand. Noelle bent down to trail