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Murat reflected that this was the first time in his life when his credentials hadn’t been paraded in an attempt to obtain some reflected royal glory. He turned to look at her, noting that her skin was pale and her eyes smudged by shadows, and suddenly it felt as if an iron fist had been clamped around his heart. He wanted to cradle her and to hold her close. He wanted to kiss her hair and her eyes and her lips. But he knew that he couldn’t keep taking from her and giving nothing back.
‘But you’ve been ill,’ he said harshly. ‘I don’t think you should be walking anywhere.’
‘I’m fine. Your Dimdar worked like magic, and, besides, what would the alternative be? Are you proposing to carry me down there?’
‘If you like. I’d carry you in an instant, Cat,’ he said. ‘You only have to say the word.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, but she knew he meant it. Murat came from the kind of world where men were definitely men, and would scoop up a woman into their arms if the need arose. She realised that he was as much a protector as a king. And all these things made her love him more.
And I don’t want to love him. It hurts too much to keep loving him.
It was one of those cold September days which gave a chill foreshadowing of the winter to come. A thin wind whipped the leaves from the trees and her ponytailed hair flew behind her. As they approached the small harbour she could see the cascade of frothy white waves and hear the mournful cries of seagulls as they circled overhead.
The café was very basic. The mugs were thick and the tea too strong. What usually sold the place to Catrin was the view, but today it was difficult to get enthusiastic about the water outside, or the clouds billowing like smoke in a gunmetal sky.
She slid into a chair opposite Murat and wondered if he’d ever sat at a scratched Formica table before, with bottles of tomato sauce and vinegar in front of him. She watched as he tipped two small sachets of sugar into his tea, the white granules flowing like the sands of time, and she was reminded of that first time she’d ever met him when he had dipped a sugar cube into his coffee and sucked it.
Why remember that now? she asked herself fiercely. How is it going to help if you reinforce how attractive you found him? Wrong tense. Find him. Wrong tense again. Will always find him.
Aware of the mother and toddler at a nearby table, she spoke in a low voice. ‘I want to thank—’
‘No,’ he interrupted, his voice just as low. ‘Please don’t. You’ve thanked me enough and we’ve said everything I want to say on that particular subject. Now, all we can do is pray that the treatment works. We have very little time left, Cat, and I don’t want to waste a second of it. Not when I suspect that you have spent more years than anyone should, worrying about your mother.’
His remarks were thoughtful and perceptive, but they didn’t really help. It wasn’t going to aid her own recovery if she carried on thinking of him as her knight in shining armour. So think of the reality. Think what he’s been doing since last time you saw him.
‘So how have you been?’ she said. ‘During your time back in Qurhah?’
He gave a faint smile. ‘Mostly good. There is relative peace in the region at the moment and our exports are up. I’m heralding a drive to build new schools in the east of the kingdom.’
‘That’s all very commendable, Murat,’ she said quietly. ‘But that wasn’t what I meant.’
‘No.’ There was a pause. ‘I guess it wasn’t.’
‘How is the hunt for a suitable bride going?’ she questioned brightly. ‘Has any particular candidate caught your eye?’
‘Cat, don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’ She tilted her head to one side and looked at him quizzically. ‘Don’t face facts? Don’t square up to the truth of what’s really happening?’
‘I don’t want to discuss it. Especially not with you.’
‘But I do,’ she persisted. ‘I really do. Think of it as an exercise in le
tting go. It helps me realise what your real life is like, rather than allowing myself to construct fantasies about what it might have been like. Have you...’ She stirred her tea, even though it contained no sugar. ‘Have you seen many women?’
He leaned back in his chair. ‘Not many. Some.’
‘And those you have seen, what of them? Were their feet too big for the glass slipper, or was there some other reason why they wouldn’t make a suitable royal bride?’
He gave the briefest of smiles before a hard look entered his eyes and then he thought, Damn you, Cat. Did she think he was finding this easy? Did she? ‘One of the problems is that I require a virgin, but unfortunately many of these princesses are not. Some of them have been away to school in Europe and America, and have entered into relationships with other men.’
Catrin put her mug down on the table with a clatter. ‘I can’t believe you just said that. All these years you’ve steadily been working your way through scores of beautiful women. You’ve probably got more notches on your bedpost than the average Hollywood stud, yet you expect your future bride to behave as if we’re still living in the Middle Ages. Do you have any idea how much of a hypocrite you sound?’
‘I am not judging these women for the sake of judging them,’ he bit out. ‘But it is my duty to marry a virgin princess! That is what is decreed in the Qurhahian statute, as it has always been decreed.’
‘But times change, and so do people. In every way. Think about it, Murat.’ Pushing the mug out of the way, she leaned forward, her elbows resting on the Formica table. ‘Once, your country relied solely on oil for energy, you exported it and you used it, you told me that yourself. But now you’ve expanded into wind farms and you said that you’re investing in solar energy as well.’
‘This much is true,’ he conceded.
