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But Jamilah was already disappearing back downstairs, with an enigmatic smile on her face. Iseult followed her, mortified to think she’d been so obvious in her assessment of their relationship. If Jamilah had seen her reaction, had Nadim? Her insides curdled at the thought.
Jamilah showed Iseult a few more practical things about the accommodation, like where the food was stocked, and then left her, telling her that she’d come by to get her after she’d had a long lie-in in the morning.
That night, as Iseult lay in the strange bed, all she could think about was the fact that Nadim and the stunningly beautiful head groom weren’t in a relationship. And her predominant feeling was one of something scarily like relief, when she had no earthly right or reason ever to imagine herself in any kind of a relationship with such a man.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE following morning Iseult was surprised to find that she’d slept right through, for about eleven hours. She could hear a hum of activity coming from outside, and after a quick shower and cup of coffee she went to investigate with something that felt suspiciously carefree in her chest. She’d never been in a situation where she wasn’t automatically responsible for every little thing.
As soon as she opened her door she faltered on the doorstep. The sheer intense heat nearly knocked her sideways. She realised she’d have to go shopping at some stage. Her Irish wardrobe of long-sleeved T-shirts, jumpers and fleeces would be woefully too much for here.
There was an intense hive of activity before her. The quiet stables courtyard from last night had been transformed, and was now full of people all engaged in various activities. Iseult immediately felt guilty. At home she would have already been up for several hours and working.
Horses were being led to and from stalls—some by women in the long Muslim abeyya, with veils covering their hair. But others were in Western dress—jeans and T-shirts—which negated her suspicion that they had to dress in a more conservative fashion.
There were also a couple of Western staff. To her relief she could see Jamilah in the distance, waving to her from the stable where Devil’s Kiss had been installed last night. Iseult walked over, smiling shyly at the people she passed, noticing one very friendly-looking blond man, who grinned at her appreciatively as he got out of a Jeep.
When she reached Jamilah the woman was sending a mock-censorious look to the young blond man. ‘Stevie, shouldn’t you be down at the equine pool this morning, to cover for Abbas?’
He saluted cheekily and sauntered off. Jamilah said, with a touch of weariness in her tone, ‘Stevie Bourne is an incorrigible flirt, and already has a string of broken hearts all over Merkazad. If he wasn’t such a good groom I’d have let him go a thousand times.’
After checking on Devil’s Kiss, and seeing that he appeared to be getting over the journey well, Jamilah took Iseult off on a tour in a golf buggy. She explained that it was the quickest way to get around the vast stables.
After just five minutes Iseult’s mouth seemed to be welded open.
She’d seen some of the biggest stables and studs at home in Ireland, and they were impressive, but this—this was on another level altogether. At her own rough count she reckoned that she’d seen close to one hundred horses in training. Yearlings, colts, fillies and older. She’d spotted the magnificent Desert Rose, who had won at Longchamp the previous year, and who clearly, despite fevered media speculation, wasn’t being retired to stud yet.
She was introduced to the head trainer, a quietly spoken Frenchman called Pierre, who had a select team underneath him. They had sand-based gallops, and also an extravagantly watered grass-based gallops too. Plus they had an impressive length of all-weather racetrack.
By the time Jamilah was heading back towards the main stables Iseult was feeling seriously overwhelmed, and felt even more so when she was led to a Jeep and told she was being taken to the stud, which was about two miles away. In the Jeep, Jamilah ascertained that Iseult didn’t really have appropriate clothing for the heat, so they stopped off in Merkazad to get some clothes.
In the bright vibrancy of daylight Iseult could see that it was a bustling, heaving city. All the buildings were close together, and modern architecture nestled alongside ancient buildings teeming with history in a glorious mix. Women covered from head to toe, with beautiful flashing kohled eyes, passed her in the street, and dark men in dishadashas, with turbans on their heads.
Bedu nomads had set up in groups alongside the main road, erecting their tents into makeshift villages with beautiful dark-eyed children running back and forth.
Despite Iseult’s protestations, Jamilah insisted that she would pay for the clothes, telling her she could put it against her first month’s wages. Iseult had no choice but to accept.
The stud was as impressive as the stables, set in liberally watered and surprisingly lush grounds, with gorgeous stables to house all the stallions, mares and foals.
It was late afternoon by the time they got back to the main stables, and Iseult could see that Jamilah was anxious to get to her own work. She assured her she’d be fine now that she had an idea of where everything was, but had to quell the dart of loneliness when Jamilah disappeared.
After she’d checked on Devil’s Kiss, and made herself something to eat, she found the communal common room that Jamilah had shown her earlier, where she could make a phone call to her father. To her intense relief he sounded fine, and even confided to Iseult, ‘To be honest, love, this is the best solution. We could have lost everything. I know it’s not ours any more, but our name is still on the gate and the new manager is a good man. I’m glad the stress of keeping the place going has been taken out of my hands…I’m looking forward to concentrating on training again.’
Iseult finally put the phone down after reminding her father that the twins were due home for a visit that weekend, to make sure that Murphy got his heart medication in his food, and that it was Mrs O’Brien’s birthday tomorrow.
She nearly jumped three feet high when she heard a deep, drawling voice say from behind her, ‘Still running operations from here?’
Her whole body exploded in a wave of heat as she turned slowly to face Sheikh Nadim. He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall near the door, dressed in a pristine dark suit and white shirt and tie. He looked so incongruously gorgeous against the plain background that she felt stunned, as if she might be imagining him. But when she blinked he didn’t disappear.
Immediately Iseult felt self-conscious and stiff. ‘I was just checking in—letting my father know that I’m safe and well.’
‘And are you? Well?’
Iseult nodded, suspicious of Nadim’s concern. ‘Yes… Jamilah has been very kind, showing me around today.’
‘You rested well last night?’
