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‘Don’t you have any nannies with you?’ Tariq asked Zahid coolly.
‘Not one,’ answered Zahid, giving his wife a long and indulgent look. ‘Francesca decided that she wanted us to have a “normal” family holi
day—just like other people.’
‘And you agreed?’ questioned Tariq incredulously.
‘Actually, I find that I’m enjoying the experience,’ said Zahid. ‘It’s useful to be “hands-on”.’
‘I want our children to know their parents,’ said Francesca firmly. ‘Not to be brought out like ornaments, for best. Zahid, aren’t you going to offer our guests a drink?’
Isobel saw Tariq’s face darken. Clearly he did not approve of the babies being present, and she noticed that he kept as far away from his nephews as possible. She wondered how he could possibly ignore such cute little black-haired dumplings, before deciding that it was his problem and that she was just going to relax and enjoy herself.
In fact the evening went much better than she could have hoped. She took turns cuddling both Omar and Azzam, and ended up kicking off her high-heeled shoes and helping Francesca bath the twins in one of the fancy en-suite bathrooms. Her dove-grey dress was soon splattered with drops of water, but she didn’t care.
They grappled to dress the wriggling boys in animal-dotted sleepsuits, and then brought them in to the men to say goodnight, all warm and rosy and smelling delicious. But she noticed that Tariq’s embrace was strictly perfunctory as each baby was offered up to him for a kiss.
She tried not to be unsettled by his rather forbidding body language as she and Francesca carried the babies through to the bedroom and laid them down in their two little cots. For a while they stood watching as two sets of heavily hooded eyes drooped down into exhausted sleep, and then—as if colluding in some wonderful secret—both women smiled at each other.
Francesca bent to tuck the polar bear next to Azzam, then straightened up. ‘You know, we’ve never met any of Tariq’s girlfriends before,’ she said.
Isobel wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She didn’t really feel like his girlfriend—more like an employee, with benefits. But she could hardly confess that to the Sheikh’s sister-in-law, could she? Or start explaining the exact nature of those ‘benefits’? Instead, she smiled.
‘I’m very honoured to be here,’ she answered quietly.
Francesca hesitated. ‘Sometimes Zahid worries about Tariq. He thinks that surely there’s only so much living in the fast lane one person can do. It would be nice to see him settle down at last.’
Now Isobel felt a complete fraud, because she knew very well that Tariq had no intention of settling down. Not with her—and not with anyone. He’d made that more than clear. Because when a man told you unequivocally that he never wanted children he was telling you something big, wasn’t he? Something you couldn’t really ignore. And if she’d been labouring under any illusion that he hadn’t meant it—well, she’d discovered tonight that he had. With his stony countenance and disapproving air, he’d made it pretty clear that children didn’t do it for him.
And if Zahid and Francesca thought that her appearance here was anything more than expedient—that she and Tariq were about to start playing happy-ever-after—well, they were in for a big disappointment.
‘I don’t know whether some men are ever quite ready to settle down,’ she told the Queen diplomatically. ‘He isn’t known as the Playboy Prince for nothing!’
Francesca opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something else, but clearly thought better of it because she shut it again. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and eat dinner. I want to hear all about life in England—the fashion, the films. Who’s dating who. What’s big on TV. I get a whole load of stuff off the internet, of course, but it’s never quite the same.’
And Isobel nodded and smiled, feeling an immense sense of relief that the subject of Tariq’s inability to commit had been terminated.
Dinner was served in the lavish dining room which led off the main room, its table covered in snowy linen and decorated with white fragrant flowers. Heavy silver cutlery reflected the light which guttered from tall, creamy candles, and the overall effect was one of restrained luxury and taste.
‘This looks wonderful,’ said Isobel shyly, realising that this was the first time she’d been given an insider’s experience of Tariq’s royal life.
‘A dinner fit for a king!’ said Francesca, and they all laughed as they took their places around the table.
The evening passed in a bit of a blur. Isobel was aware of being served the most amazing food, but it was mostly wasted on her. She might as well have been eating bread and butter for all the notice she took of the exquisite fare. She could hardly believe she was here with Tariq—meeting his family like this. It had the heady but disconcerting effect of almost normalising their relationship—and she knew that was a dangerous way to start thinking. Just because you really wanted something, it didn’t necessarily mean it was going to happen.
So she joined in as much as she could, though she felt completely lost when the two brothers began speaking in their own language.
‘They’re discussing the new trade deal with Maraban,’ confided Francesca.
Isobel put her knife and fork down. ‘Do you speak any Khayarzahian?’ she questioned.
‘Only a little. I’m learning all the time—though it’s not the easiest language in the world. But I’m determined to be fluent one day—just as my sons will be.’
‘They’re such beautiful babies,’ said Isobel, a sudden note of wistfulness entering her voice almost before she’d realised.
‘Not getting broody, are you?’ Francesca laughed.
It was perhaps unfortunate that the brothers’ conversation chose that precise moment to end and Tariq glanced up. He must have heard what they’d been saying, Isobel thought, her skin suddenly growing cold with fear. He must have done. Why else did he fix her with an expression she’d never seen before? A calculating look iced the ebony depths of his eyes which made her feel like some sort of gatecrasher.
