AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And witness her breaking down into tears? His angry words washed over her and brought Laura to her senses What of her hard-won self-respect and the dignity with which she wished to be remembered?
'Thanks, but no thanks, Xavier,' she said quietly 'I'd prefer it if one of the drivers took me And now, if you wouldn't mind leaving, I have a plane to catch and I need to change first'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Laura arrived home in Dolchester and couldn't quite shake off a feeling of disonentation which didn't feel like jet-lag.
It wasn't just the fact that it was raining—a soft summer ram which washed all the dust off the flowers— because the ram felt quite soothing after the heat of the desert Or the fact that the boiler had stopped working and she had no water for a bath.
It was
Xavier
Of course it was Xavier
But, in a funny way, being back in the little market town helped Just looking around at it and contrasting it with what she had left behind in Kharastan was enough to help her try to see things clearly. What was the point of shedding tears for something so unobtainable as the Sheikh's son?
Even if he hadn't been half-royal he was still totally wrong for her And as the familiar surroundings re-established themselves on Laura's consciousness they made a mockery of her heart's desire.
Could she ever really imagine Xavier here? Stooping his tall body to get in the front door, knocking his dark head on one of the beams which hung so low in the sitting room? Or perhaps going down to the local pub with her and ordering a pint of lager? Maybe even braving the local shops, where you had to be prepared to divulge your life history if you wanted to purchase so much as a bunch of bananas?
Of course she could switch it around the other way. Laura in Paris. Laura sticking out like a sore thumb as she marched up the smart Avenue Georges V, or dined in the top-rate restaurants which Xavier no doubt frequented all the time Laura with her schoolgirl French, trying to make herself understood in the boulangene
She had put all her Kharastan clothes in a wardrobe in the spare bedroom, because they seemed all wrong here. Until some enterprising soul opened one of those Middle-Eastern restaurants which were taking London by storm she could hardly wear them—could hardly walk into the local bank with embroidered jade-green silk brushing the floor, could she?
On the plus side, she had bought Josh out with her generous settlement from Kharastan, and Laura wouldn't have been human if that hadn't given her satisfaction. He had boasted of sleeping with one of the barmaids at the Black Dog pub, but as soon as Laura had shown a bit of financial clout he'd seemed to
find her desirable.
'Get off, Josh' she had said, when he'd made an unexpected lunge at her just after he had signed the papers transferring the cottage into her name I'm just not interested anymore '
'What's got into you'?' he'd sneered.
Laura had resisted the urge to tell him that a real man had made her realise just what she'd been missing for so long, because she was more mature than that Xavier was her own special secret.
And you know that. Josh will mock you if he finds out that it's over'
But she'd blocked that thought and closed the door behind Josh once and for all. She wasn't going to think negatively. Seeing Zahir nearing the end of his life had made her realise how precious time was, and she was going to treasure every second of it. She couldn't have Xavier, no—but that did not mean she was going to waste her life crying pointless tears about him. She would treasure the memories—put them in the back of her mind to be brought out on rainy days and Sundays.
It was night-times she found most difficult—that was when the stupid yearnings became hardest to push away Like wishing she had been his lover for the whole time they'd been there—because what had she gained by resisting him, other than pride and an aching sense of what she had missed? And pride made a lonely bedfellow.
Laura told herself that it was natural to cry, and cathartic, too—even if some nights she had to bury her face in the pillow so that she wouldn't have to listen to the sound of her own broken sobs echoing round the room.
She had been back a month, and had just about accepted that she wasn't going to hear any more from Kharastan after writing to Malik declining the offer to go to Naples, saying that she really could not take any more time off work. It was a sunny Saturday morning, and she paused in the act of ladling strawberry jam onto a slice of toast as she heard a loud knock at the door.
The postman? she wondered as she opened it—and froze when she saw the man on her doorstep, dark and golden, glowing and vibrant, and looking just too good to be true against the backdrop of her tiny front garden.
Laura clutched the door-handle and stared at him, as if he might be a figment of her aching imagination and might suddenly just disappear Yet after their last fraught meeting surely she should have felt anger,or indignation? So why was she experiencing a wild, fluttering kind of joy—tempered only by uncertainty?
'Xavier' She almost put her hand out—as if to see if it was an apparition Is it really you?' she whispered.
'You think I have a double?'
God, no They'd broken the mould when they made him.
'What ?' She swallowed For heaven's sake, Laura—just pull yourself together 'What are you doing here?'
His lips curved into a quizzical smile 'English hospitality leaves much to be desired,' he murmured 'Aren't you going to ask me in?'
