Accidentally The Sheikh's Wife Part 6

Bethanne was pleased to see the driver at her disposal was the same one she'd asked about her father. She greeted him and told him of her desire to see the old city, and where Hank had lived.

When they arrived, he pulled into the curb and stopped.

"I cannot take the car any farther. The road becomes too narrow. Down there two blocks." He handed her a sheet of paper with Arabic writing. "I wrote his name and when he lived there and where. Show it to people for information about Hank. Many speak some English. If not, come get me to translate. I will wait with the car."

"Thank you."

"You will not get a good reception," he warned.

"Why not?" That thought had never crossed her mind.

"The old sheikh was well liked. It was not a good thing to steal his plane. Some speculate the pilot's betrayal caused the heart attack that killed him. The man had flown the sheikh for years. His treachery cut deep."

Bethanne recognized she was fighting an uphill battle to clear her father's name. He would not have treated his employer that way-she knew it. His letters and phone calls had been full of admiration and respect for his employer. But how to prove that, and find out what really happened?

When she climbed out of the car, she was instantly in a foreign world. The tall sandstone walls were built closer to each other than most American buildings. Rising fifteen to twenty feet in height, they seemed to encase the street. Archways, windows and doors opened directly onto the narrow sidewalks, most already shuttered against the day's rising heat.

Bethanne was almost giddy with delight. She'd longed to visit Quishari ever since her father had first spoken about it. He had loved it and she knew she would as well. Savoring every moment, she slowly walked along, imagining she heard the echo of a thousand years. The heat s.h.i.+mmered against the terra cotta-colored walls. Here and there bright colors popped from curtains blowing from windows, or painted shutters closed against the heat.

She got her bearings and headed in the direction indicated in the drawing. Where the street intersected another, she peered down the cross streets, seeing more of the same. Archways had decorative Arabic writings. Recessed doorways intrigued, beckoned. For the most part, however, the reddish-brown of sandstone was the same. How did anyone find their own place when they all looked alike? she wondered.

Reaching a square, she was pleased with the wide-open area, filled with colorful awnings sheltering stalls with everything imaginable for sale. There were booths of bra.s.s, of gla.s.s, of luscious and colorful material and polished wood carvings. Some stalls sold vegetables, others fruit or flowers. Women and children filled the aisles. The sounds of excited chattering rose and fell as she looked around. On the far side, tables at two outside cafes crowded the sidewalk. Men in traditional Arab dishdashahs with white gitrahs covering their hair sat drinking the strong coffee. Others wore European attire. Several women dressed all in black stood near the corner talking, their string bags ladened with fresh produce from the stands in the square. The air was almost festive as shoppers haggled for the best bargain and children ran and played.

Bethanne watched in awe. She was actually here. Looking around, she noticed she was garnering quite a bit of attention. Obviously a curiosity to the daily routine. She approached one of the women and showed her the paper. The woman began talking in Arabic and pointing to a building only a few steps away. Bethanne thanked her, hoped she was pointing out the apartment where her father had lived. She quickly crossed there. No one responded to her knock.

Turning, she explored the square, stopping to ask in several of the stalls if anyone had known Hank Pendarvis, showing the paper the driver had prepared. No success until she came to one of the small sidewalk cafes on the far side of the square. A waiter spoke broken English and indicated Hank had been a frequent customer, years ago. He had met with a friend often in the afternoons. The other man still came sometimes. She tried to find out more, but he had told her all he knew. She had to make do with that. If she got the chance, she'd return another time, to see if her father's friend was there.

She asked if she could leave a note. When presented with a small piece of paper, she wrote only she was trying to find out information about Hank Pendarvis and would return in three days.

She dare not at this point mention her tenuous relations.h.i.+p to the sheikh. She did not want anyone trying to reach her at the villa. Until she knew more, she had to keep her secret.

Bethanne returned to the car then instructed the driver to take her to the best store in the city. She wanted to search for the perfect outfit to wear to a polo match. She did not need Ras.h.i.+d buying every st.i.tch she wore.

When Bethanne returned to the villa late in the afternoon, the driver must have had some way to notify Fatima. The older woman met her in the lobby, her face disapproving, her tone annoyed as she said something Bethanne didn't understand. Probably chastising her for leaving her chaperone behind.

To her surprise, Ras.h.i.+d al Harum came from the library.

"Ah, the eternal pastime of women-shopping," he said, studying the two bags with the shop's name on the side.

"Your stores had some fabulous sales," she said. "Wait until you see the dress I bought for the polo match. I hope it's suitable-the saleswoman said it was." Conscious of the servants, she smiled brightly and hurried over to him, opening the bag a bit so he could peek in.

He did so and smiled. Glancing at the staff, he stood aside.

"Perhaps you'd join me in the salon."

"Happy to," she said.

He spoke to Fatima and the woman came to take Bethanne's bags, then retreated.

"Is anything wrong?" Bethanne asked once the two of them were alone in the salon.

"Not at all. I have some spare time and came to see if you wanted to have lunch together. I have not forgotten you wanted to see some of my country. Where did you go this morning?"

"To a place in the old town. I walked around a square there, saw a small market. Then went shopping for the dress."

"I'd be delighted to show you more of the old town, and some of the countryside north of the city, if you'd like."

"Yes. I would. I probably won't get the chance to visit Quishari again after I leave." Especially if she didn't find her father, or convince Ras.h.i.+d he was innocent.

"And I remember you like exploring new places," he commented, studying her for a moment.

"I'll run upstairs and freshen up. I can be ready to leave in ten minutes."

"There's no rush."

She smiled again and dashed up to her room. She should have been better prepared for Ras.h.i.+d, but had not expected him to disregard work to spend time with her. She was delighted, and hoped they'd find mutual interests for conversation. She could, of course, simply stare at him all day-but that would look odd.

Ras.h.i.+d walked to the opened French doors. He gazed out at the gardens, but his thoughts centered on his American visitor. Bethanne fascinated him. Her profession was unusual for a woman. Yet whenever she was around him, she appeared very feminine. He liked looking at her with her fair skin, blue eyes and soft blond hair. Her casual manner could lead some to believe she was flighty-but he'd checked her record and it was spotless. He also found her enthusiasm refres.h.i.+ng after his own rather cynical outlook on life. Was that an American trait? Or her individual personality?

Ras.h.i.+d knew several American businessmen. Had dined with them and their wives over the years. Most of them cultivated the same aloof cosmopolitan air that was so lacking in Bethanne. Maybe it was that difference that had him intrigued.

His mother had called again that morning, bemoaning the fact Bethanne was visiting and that Haile had not come. When he'd told her he was just as well out of the deal, she'd appeared shocked. Questioning him further, she'd become angry when he'd said he wasn't sure the arrangement had been suitable in the long run. He didn't come out and tell her of firm plans with Bethanne, but let her believe there was a possibility.

He almost laughed when his mother had tentatively suggested Bethanne wasn't suitable and he should let her help him find the right bride. He knew he and Bethanne didn't make a suitable pair. Yet, if he thought about it, she would probably have beautiful children. She was young, healthy, obviously intelligent.

He stopped. It sounded as if he were seriously considering a relations.h.i.+p with her. He was not. His family would never overlook what her father had done. And after the aborted affair with Marguerite, he didn't fully trust women. He would do better to focus on finalizing the details of the agreement with al Benqura.

His mother had reminded him she expected a different guest, and so would others.

"Until they see Bethanne. Then they'd know why she's visiting," he'd said, hoping to fob her off. It would certainly give a shot in the arm to the gossip circulating. And, he hoped, throw off any hint of scandal the minister might try to expose. Animosity ran deep between them. Ras.h.i.+d would not give him anything to fuel their feud.

He'd already invited Bethanne to the polo match. Perhaps a dinner date or two, escorting her to a reception, would give gossips something else to talk about. It would not be a hards.h.i.+p. And al Benqura was in a hurry to finish the deal, as Ras.h.i.+d had suspected. Once the papers were signed, Bethanne would be leaving. Life would return to normal and no one except he and she would know the full circ.u.mstances of the charade. The thought was disquieting. Maybe he wouldn't be in so much of a hurry to finalize everything.

Bethanne took care when freshening up. She brushed her hair until it shone. Tying it back so it wouldn't get in her face, she refreshed her makeup. She felt like she was on holiday-lazing around, visiting old town, now seeing more of the country. Spending time with a gorgeous man. What was not to like about Quishari?

She was practical enough to know she wasn't some femme fatale; she'd never wow the sheikh like some Arabian beauty would. Haile had had that sultry look with the fine features, wide chocolate-brown eyes and beautiful dark hair so many Arab women had. Next to them, she felt like a washed-out watercolor.

Leaving her room, she started down the stairs.

"Prompt as ever," he said from the bottom.

She glanced down at him, gripping the banister tightly in startled surprise. She could take in how fabulous he looked in a dark suit, white s.h.i.+rt and blue-and-silver tie. His black hair gleamed beneath the chandelier. His deep brown eyes were fixed on her. Taking a breath, she smiled and tried to glide down the stairs. Was this how Cinderella felt going to the ball? She didn't want midnight to come.

"You look lovely," he said.

Bethanne smiled at him. "Thank you, kind sir."

Once seated in the limo, Ras.h.i.+d gave directions to the driver. Bethanne settled back to enjoy being with him.

"So if I'm to watch a polo match on Sat.u.r.day, maybe I should learn a bit of the finer points of the game," she said as they pulled away from the villa. "What should I watch for?"

Ras.h.i.+d gave her an overview of the game. Bethanne couldn't wait to see Ras.h.i.+d on one of the horses he spoke about. She knew he'd looked fabulous. She had to remind herself more than once on the ride-sheikhs didn't get involved with women from Galveston, Texas.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Bethanne was impressed. It was on the sh.o.r.e of the Gulf, with tall windows which gave an excellent view to the beautiful water. Their table was next to one of the windows, tinted to keep the glare out, making Bethanne feel as if she were sitting on the sand.

"This is fabulous," she murmured, captivated by the view.

"The food is good, as well," he said, sitting in the chair opposite.

The maitre d' placed the menus before them with a flourish.

After one glance, Bethanne closed hers and looked back out the window. "Please order for me. I'm afraid I can't read Arabic."

"Do you like fish?"

"Love it."

"Then I'll order the same filet for us both and you'll see what delicious fish we get from the Gulf."

After their order had been taken, Bethanne looked at him. "Do you ever go snorkeling or scuba diving?"

"From time to time," he said. "Do you?"

She nodded. "It's almost mandatory if one grows up in Galveston. I've had some great vacations in the Florida Keys, snorkeling and exploring the colorful sea floor."

"We will have to try that before you go," he said politely.

She studied him for a moment. "I can go by myself, you know. You don't have to take time away from your busy work schedule. It's not as if-"

His raised eyebrow had her stopping abruptly.

"What?"

"We do not know who can hear our conversation," he cautioned.

She glanced around. No one appeared to be paying the slightest bit of attention to them, but she knew it would only take a few words to cause the charade to collapse and that would undoubtedly cause Ras.h.i.+d a lot of trouble.

"So how goes the deal?" she asked, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice.

"We should sign soon, if certain parties don't cause a glitch."

"The father?" she asked, feeling as if she were speaking in code.

"No, he'll come round. It's some of our own internal people who are against the proposed agreement who could still throw a wrench into the works."

"And your mother?"

Ras.h.i.+d leaned closer, covering one of her hands with his, lowering his voice. "My mother has no interest in politics or business. She only wants her sons married. Our personal lives have no interest to anyone, unless it causes a breach between me and al Benqura. That's what we are guarding against."

Bethanne knew to others in the restaurant, it must look as if he were whispering sweet nothings. Her hand tingled with his touch. For a moment she wished she dared turn it over and clasp his. The Quishari culture was more conservative than Americans and overt displays of affection were uncommon in public. Still, he had made the overture.

"Do not be concerned with my mother. She will not cause a problem."

"I wished she liked me," she murmured.

"Why? You'll hardly see her before you leave. She will be at the polo match and perhaps one or two events we attend, but her manners are excellent, as I expect yours to be."

Bethanne bristled. "I do know how to make nice in public," she said.

Amus.e.m.e.nt danced in his eyes. "I'm sure you do."

Their first course arrived and Bethanne was pleased to end the conversation and concentrate on eating and enjoying the view.

"This is delicious," she said after her first bite. The fish was tender and flavorful. The vegetables were perfect.

He nodded. "I hoped you would like it."

Conversation was sporadic while they ate. Bethanne didn't want to disturb the mellow mood she was in as she enjoyed the food. She glanced at Ras.h.i.+d once in a while, but for the most part kept looking at the sea.

When the sugared walnuts appeared for dessert, she smiled in delight. "I didn't know restaurants served these," she said, taking one and popping it into her mouth.

"I ordered them specially for you," he said.

"You did?" Amazing. She'd never had anyone pay such attention to details and then act on their knowledge. "Thank you very much. I love these."

She savored another then asked, "So what happened to your brother? Did he get the fire out?"

"He did. He heads a company that specializes in putting out oil fires as well as acting as consultants for wells around the world."

"Sounds dangerous."

"Putting out the fires can be, but the rest is consulting work."