Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife (14 page)

A maintenance worker came aboard, saying something in Arabic.

She replied in English. He shook his head, so she tried French. That he understood and explained he’d come to clean the interior. She told him to go ahead, but she’d wait until he was done. In fact, Bethanne wasn’t sure what she would do. Stay with the plane was her inclination. She had no hotel reservations, hadn’t a clue how to get a cab to this isolated area of the airport, didn’t know how to find a place to stay since she couldn’t speak the language. She could sleep on the sofa. Food and beverages stocked the refrigerator.

“And as the ranking crew member present on the plane, what I say goes,” she murmured. When the maintenance worker left, she activated the door, retracting the steps and closing it. Cocooned in the aircraft, she hunted up a magazine and went to flop down on the sofa. In less than ten minutes she was asleep.

Rashid registered at the hotel, paid for a second room for Bethanne’s use and sent the limo driver back to get her. It was petty to leave her like that, but he was still angry—more with himself than her. She had things to do when a plane landed, so the timing would probably be perfect.

He checked out his suite, found it satisfactory. Truth be told it could have been a hovel and he wouldn’t have cared. Leaving it behind, he went to find a decent restaurant for an early dinner and to finalize his strategy for tomorrow’s meeting.

When Rashid returned to the hotel, it was after ten. He’d had a leisurely meal, then gone to a small coffeehouse to work on the final details of the deal he and al Benqura would sign the next day. Walking back to the hotel, he enjoyed the atmosphere of Marrakech. He’d visited as a younger man on holiday one summer. The walk brought back memories.

He crossed the lobby heading for the elevators when the desk clerk called him.

“Yes?”

“Message for you, sir,” he said.

Rashid went to the counter and took the folded paper. Scanning it as he started for the elevators, he stopped.

“When was this delivered?” he asked, turning back.

“A bit before six. It’s written on the back.”

He murmured an expletive. The note explained Bethanne had not been at the plane when the chauffeur arrived. The door was closed and no one had seen her since the arrival. Crossing to the house phone discreetly located in a quiet corner, Rashid dialed the number on the note. The car service was closed for the day. Crushing the paper in his hand, he went outside and asked the doorman to hail a cab.

W
HERE
could she have gone? She didn’t know anyone in Marrakech. Not that he knew of. Of course she had a life apart from the few days she’d spent in Quishari. Maybe she had a host of friends here.

But she’d said nothing about that when they’d first discussed the flight.

The cabdriver was reluctant to go to the section of the airport Rashid directed. An extra handful of coins changed his mind. The hangar had a light on inside, scarcely enough illumination to see the door. The jet was parked nearby, where it had been that afternoon. It was dark inside. The door was closed. How had she managed that from the ground?

A lone guard came out of a small office, alert with hand poised on a gun worn at his side.

“Sir? This is private property,” he said when Rashid got out of the cab.

“This is my jet. I am Sheikh Rashid al Harum. I arrived this afternoon.”

“What are you doing here now, sir?” the man asked, still suspicious.

“I’m looking for my pilot.”

The man looked surprised. He glanced around. “There’s no one here but me. The maintenance workers come back in the morning. I haven’t seen a pilot.”

“I need to know where she went,” Rashid said.

“She? The pilot is a woman?” the man exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes. Who do you call if there is a problem?”

“What problem?”

“Like a missing pilot,” Rashid said, leaning closer. The guard took a step back.

“I will call.”

Rashid followed him to the small office. In a few moments he was talking to one of the men who worked the special planes. He had not serviced the private jet but knew who had. He’d call him to find out if he knew where the pilot was.

Rashid had his answer in less than five minutes.

“Open the door,” he instructed the guard, walking back to the jet.

“I do not know how,” he said, following along.

Rashid cupped his hands and yelled for Bethanne. He heard only the background noise from the busy part of the airport. This was futile. The jet was insulated; she couldn’t hear a call.

“Bring a ramp.”

“A ramp?”

Rashid was getting frustrated with the echoing by the guard.

“Yes, I want to open that door from the outside. I’m not tall enough standing on the tarmac.” He was losing his patience trying to determine if Bethanne was indeed on board the jet.

Beckoning the cabdriver, the three men pushed a ramp in place, ramming it into the side of the jet as they tried to line it up next to the door, so as not to interfere with the steps coming down if he was successful in opening it.

He started up the steps but before he reached the top platform, the door to the jet opened, the stairs slowly unfolding. Bethanne stood in the opening.

“Rashid, what in the world are you doing?”

“Trying to find you. I sent the limo back for you but the fool driver didn’t see you so left. What are you doing here?”

“I was asleep.” She frowned as she looked at the ramp and the two men at the foot of it. “Your crashing into the side of the plane woke me. I hope you haven’t scratched or dented it.”

“Doesn’t matter. It’s my plane. Come on. The taxi is waiting.”

“Come on where?” she asked warily.

“I booked you a room at the hotel I’m using.”

He walked back down the ramp and thanked the two men who had helped him, giving each of them a folded bill. From the look of surprise on one and gratification on the other, he was satisfied they’d been amply rewarded for their help.

Bethanne still stood in the doorway, indecision evident in her expression.

Rashid hoped he wouldn’t have to use stronger measures to get her to the cab. But he was not leaving her to spend the night in the jet. Unless he stayed with her.

She ducked back inside and a moment later tossed her bag over the railing of the movable ramp. Stepping over herself, she reached back and initiated the mechanism that closed the jet’s door. When the plane was secure, she picked up her bag and walked slowly down the stairs.

“I’m guarding the plane,” the guard said when she reached the tarmac. “No one will get on it tonight.”

She looked at Rashid with a question in her eyes.

He translated for her and she smiled at the guard, saying in her newly learned Arabic, “Thank you.”

Rashid took her bag and handed it to the cabdriver. Taking her hand, he helped her into the back of the cab and climbed in next to her.

“You can’t have thought I would leave you to fend for yourself in a country where you don’t speak the language,” he said gruffly as the driver started the engine and they pulled away from the maintenance hangar.

“You’re angry at me. Why not?”

He looked at her. “Bethanne, anger or not, I wouldn’t do such a thing.”

She nodded. He was not reassured.

“It is quite a few hours after you left,” she said.

“I went to dinner. When I returned to the hotel, I learned you had not checked in. It’s taken me all this time to find you.”

“I appreciate it, but I was fine in the jet. It has all the conveniences of home.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Rashid accompanied her to her room. Once he’d checked it out, he went to the door. “I’m in suite 1735. Call me if you need anything.”

“Thank you for the room. What time do we leave tomorrow?”

“My meeting with al Benqura is at ten. I expect to be finished before noon. Perhaps you’d care to explore Marrakech before we leave.”

“I’ll do that in the morning, and be at the plane by noon,” she said, standing near the window.

As if putting as much distance between them, he thought. “I meant, explore together. I was here about twelve years ago. I wouldn’t mind seeing some of the souks and the Medina again.”

“With me?” Her surprise was exaggerated.

He debated arguing with her, but decided against it.

“I’ll meet you here at the hotel at noon.” He left before she could protest.

Bethanne watched the door shut behind Rashid. She didn’t know what to make of his coming to find her. She would have been okay all night on the jet. She’d slept in worse places. And she did not want to feel special because of the determination he’d displayed in locating her. But it touched her heart. She blinked back tears. She’d so love to have him always look after her. To know she was special to him in a unique way.

Taking a quick shower, she went to bed. It was more comfortable than the sofa for a night’s sleep, she thought as she drifted off.

The next morning she ordered room service. She sat at the table next to the window, wishing she had a balcony and a sea breeze. Which would be hard to do in Marrakech, which was located far from the sea. She gazed out her window at the newer buildings, anticipating the afternoon tour of the old section, the Medina.

Bethanne went down to the lobby shortly before noon. She sat on one of the plush sofas and people-watched. It was a favorite activity. She wished she spoke the languages she heard. There were a variety, from Arabic to French to German and Spanish.

She saw Rashid the instant he entered through the revolving doors. He strode directly toward the elevators and she wondered if she should call him or let him deposit the briefcase and then let him know she was here. As if she had spoken, however, he looked directly at her. He walked over.

“So did you get it signed?” she asked as she stood.

“I did.” The quiet satisfaction showed her more than anything that he was pleased with the deal.

“Good.”

His eyes stared into hers. For a second, Bethanne felt the surroundings fade. There was only Rashid in her sight. Then sanity returned and she blinked, looking away.

“I know you want to ditch the briefcase. I’ll wait here.”

“I can send it up to the room,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

He gave the briefcase to the bell captain with instructions to deliver to his suite. Then he offered his arm to Bethanne. The gesture surprised her. It was almost as if he were continuing their pretense.

She glanced down at the uniform she wore and slowly shook her head.

He reached for her hand and drew it through the crook of her arm.

“I’m hardly dressed like a woman going out with someone,” she said.

“You look fine. Al Benqura has invited us to dine with him tonight. I said I had to make sure you wanted to do so.”

“Do you want to?” she asked, surprised by the invitation.

“It would be a nice gesture to wind up the negotiations and the signed deal. But if you say no, I’ll decline.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

He laughed sardonically. “Classic woman’s response.”

Bethanne looked at him. “Am I missing something? You were so angry the other day I thought you’d have a fit. Now you’re like Mr. Nice Guy. What’s going on?”

He didn’t reply until they were in the back of the limousine she’d seen yesterday.

“I’m afraid I let the pretense go further than it should,” he said cryptically. “You did your part. There was never anything more I could have expected. So today is about exploring Marrakech and seeing the sights. Tomorrow we’ll return to Quishari and you’ll be free to return home.”

“So today we celebrate success,” she said, disappointed at his explanation. She wanted more. She wanted him to say he couldn’t let her go. That he’d fallen in love with her as she had with him. That he believed in her no matter what.

Only, today was merely a reward for a pretense well done. Some of the sparkle and anticipation dimmed.

Still—if today was all she had, she’d take it. Make more memories to treasure down through the years. Maybe she could pretend for just a few hours that they still enjoyed the camaraderie they had before. They were both away from home, no one to see or hear. She would be herself and hope he’d at least come to realize she had not lied or been dishonorable in any way. She wanted him to remember her well even if he couldn’t love her.

First Rashid had the driver crisscross through town, pointing out places of interest, telling her a little about when he’d visited before.

They stopped at a hotel with a renowned restaurant on top where they had lunch. Then it was to the old fortified section of town, the Medina. Because of the crowd, Rashid took her hand firmly in his as they walked along the narrow streets. The souk was also crowded with vendors and tourists and shoppers. The wares were far more varied than the ones at the square in Rumola near where her father had lived. Bethanne stopped to look at brass and some of the beautiful rugs. She ran her hands over the bolts of silks and linens for sale. Whenever Rashid suggested she buy something, she merely smiled and shook her head.

Late in the afternoon they ended up in the large square of Djemaa el Fna.

“This is said to be the largest open-air market in north Africa,” Rashid said.

There were stalls selling orange juice and water. Food and flowers. Acrobats performed on colorful mats. A snake charmer caught her eye and she watched for several moments as he mesmerized crowds with his ability. The atmosphere was festive.

“Is it a holiday or something?” she asked.

“No, it’s always like this. It was when I was here last.”

They walked around, ending up in a sidewalk café on a side street that was just a bit less noisy and hectic. Ordering cold drinks, they sat in companionable silence for several moments.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For?”

“For today.”

For a moment she feared she’d shattered the mood, but he quickly looked away and she wasn’t sure she’d seen a flash of anger in his eyes.

“Today has been enjoyable. Tonight we dine with al Benqura.”

“I still don’t have a dress,” she said, sipping her iced drink.

“One will be at the hotel when we return.”

She gazed across the amazing square. “It must be nice.”

“What?”

“To wave your hand and have things taken care of. You live a charmed life, Rashid.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “No, Bethanne. You see only the surface. I live a life like others, maybe not the majority of the world, but others of my station. We have heartaches and disappointments like any other men.”

“Like what?”

He hesitated, took a sip of his own drink and then put the glass down.

“I thought I was in love when I was in my early twenties. Marguerite was beautiful, sophisticated and fun to be with. We shared so much—or so I thought. I told you before that my father bought her off. That taught me forever that love is an illusion. I cannot depend on it.”

“Wrong. You may have loved her. She didn’t love you. But that doesn’t negate love. You are the better person for having loved her. I know it must have hurt when she left. But would you trade those feelings for money? Would you pretend to care for someone and be only out for money?”

“People can pretend and be out for other things.”

She nodded. “Or maybe they don’t pretend. Maybe things become real. Love is not rationed. It is available for all. And I don’t believe there is only one love in all the world for each of us. I think we have the possibility of falling in love with the wrong person as well as the right person.”

“So how does one know who is the right person?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say. It’s just there.” She knew Rashid was her right person. She wished she was his.

“Never in love?” he asked.

“Only once. For me it was the right person,” she replied slowly.

“What happened?”

“He doesn’t love me back,” she said, her gaze on her glass. “But I wouldn’t trade a moment of being together. I can’t make someone love me. I will always have memories of happy hours spent together. And just maybe, because I loved once, I will love again and be happy.”

After a long silent moment, he said slowly, “I wish that for you.”

She nodded, blinking lest the tears that threatened spilled over. She’d told the truth. She loved him and would have happily spent the rest of her life with Rashid. But if that was not meant to be, she hoped some day in the future she’d find another man to love.

Though she wondered if it would ever be the same.

True to his word, a lovely dress awaited her when they returned to the hotel. It was white, shot through with gold. A golden necklace and golden slippers were part of the package. She felt like a princess in the lovely clothes. No matter what, she’d go with her head held high. She really wanted to meet the father of the woman Rashid might have married. Would there be any mention of that tonight?