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‘That is not what I said!’ Ellie sliced in, sounding infuriatingly like the newly qualified doctor she now was, having recently passed her finals. ‘I said that was the average but obviously a woman could get pregnant the very first time she has sex without precautions. Nothing about conception is etched in stone. Why are you asking me about this again?’
‘Just curious, that’s all.’
‘Don’t be putting pressure on yourself in that department,’ Ellie advised sagely. ‘You’re both young and healthy and you’ll likely conceive sooner rather than later.’
The evening dress Polly was planning to wear was in autumnal shades of brown and gold with muted hints of tangerine. Her maid brought the amber set to her and she donned it with a frown because the necklace was every bit as weighty as she had feared and the exotic earrings were almost as bad. Fully dressed, her maid having bundled up her hair into an elaborate updo that gave her the height she lacked, she scrutinised her appearance, ready to admit that once again Hayat’s advice had proved indispensable. The amber jewellery and the more mature hairstyle lent an impressive note of glamorous dignity to what might otherwise have been a rather plain outfit.
She did not see Rashad until she climbed into the limousine in which he awaited her and quite predictably, because he was never ever anything other than punctual to the minute, he was complaining that she had cut her timing too fine. As she turned towards him with a mischievous smile his attention settled on the collaret encircling her white throat and his lean, strong face snapped taut, sudden pallor accentuating his superb bone structure.
‘You look stunning,’ he murmured almost woodenly, turning his handsome face away, his jawline rigid.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Polly pressed uncertainly.
‘No,’ he asserted but not very convincingly.
The dinner was Polly’s first public appearance at Rashad’s side since the wedding and she was keen to get everything right. Hayat had prepared her well with a key sheet of useful information, listing names and faces and functions to ease her into the social evening.
Rashad, holding himself in rigid check, was temporarily drowning in his own memories. He could not see that amber necklace without also seeing Ferah wearing it. It had been her favourite, the colour of the semi-precious stones reflecting her brown eyes. During the drive to the embassy, he was steeped in the memories he had locked into a little box at the back of his head. He saw Ferah, laughing and smiling, full of energy and happiness at the outset of their marriage. Ferah before life had scarred her and fatally wounded her and he had let her down. Fierce discomfiture and guilt gripped him.
‘Why did you choose that jewellery?’ he asked with as much nonchalance as he could contrive.
‘The amber gems match the dress perfectly,’ Polly replied in some surprise.
‘I prefer you in brighter colours,’ Rashad imparted flatly, making a nonsense of the compliment he had initially paid her.
Polly squared her slim shoulders and gave a very slight shrug. ‘I can’t wear blue all the time. I have to ring the changes.’
Her soft mouth had settled into a surprisingly defiant line because she was annoyed with him. Didn’t he realise how nervous she was at attending her first official function as the new Queen of Dharia? Didn’t he appreciate that she needed support and encouragement rather than criticism? All right, he didn’t like the dress, but he should have kept his opinion to himself, she reflected angrily.
*
Instead of clinging to his side as Rashad had expected, Polly vanished into the crush. It was obvious that she did not feel a need for his presence. Once or twice he heard her musical laughter and wondered what she was laughing at and, indeed, who she was laughing with. He told himself that he was grateful that she had found her own feet but, as a man whose first wife had never strayed more than a foot from him at such occasions and at all times followed his lead, he was perplexed and a shade threatened by Polly’s independence.
‘You’ve made a real find in the wife stakes with Polly,’ a familiar voice drawled and Rashad’s dark head spun.
‘Rio?’ he said in surprise. ‘What are you doing back in Dharia?’
Rio Benedetti dealt him an amused smile. ‘The Italian Ambassador knows we’re friends and, as I had to check out a location for one of our hotels here, I volunteered to do my patriotic best to oil the wheels of diplomacy for him—’
‘You mentioned Polly,’ Rashad reminded him, unsettled to hear his wife’s name on Rio’s l
ips and at the same time to recognise Rio’s admiration for her, because Rio was a notorious womaniser.
‘Yes. She’s lively and intelligent, a positive asset rather than the encumbrance you once feared a wife would be,’ his old friend pointed out.
The faintest tinge of colour highlighted Rashad’s hard cheekbones, for when he had been studying at Oxford with the younger man he had confided in him in a manner which, now that he was older and wiser, he would not risk repeating. ‘I no longer fear that prospect,’ he parried. ‘In fact I am discovering that marriage suits me surprisingly well—’
Boldly impervious to hints, Rio laughed. ‘Why are you surprised? She’s gorgeous!’
‘You seemed to be finding her sister equally attractive at our wedding,’ Rashad commented, firmly moving the exchange away from his wife, whom he refused to discuss even with a close friend.
Rio grimaced. ‘No, that went to hell in a handbasket for reasons I won’t share. I’m afraid I landed the sister with the temperament of a shrew. By the looks of it, you got the sweet-natured one so be grateful for that reality,’ he advised.
Rashad glanced across heads to where Polly stood engaged in animated dialogue with the British Ambassador. ‘I’m very grateful,’ he said grimly.
‘Then why do you look anything but grateful?’ Rio asked very drily.
Rashad truly didn’t know how to answer that direct question. He shrugged a broad shoulder in smouldering silence. His brilliant dark eyes were hooded, his teeming thoughts full of conflict. He was well aware that he was being unreasonable. He had wanted a confident, independent woman as a wife and he had got one. Why was he now wishing that she would cling just a little? Seek him out for advice and guidance? Flash her eyes restively round the room, looking anxiously for him as if she needed and missed him? Why was he being so perverse? So illogical?
