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‘I know he deserted your mother,’ he said softly. ‘And I’m not saying that you have to find him. Or that even if we do you have to forgive him. I’m just saying that the possibility is there—that’s all.’
It was his mention of the word forgive which made Isobel think carefully about his words. Because didn’t forgiveness play a big part in every human life—their own included? And once her husband had planted the seed of possibility it took root and grew. Surely she owed Nawal the chance of meeting her only surviving grandparent … ?
Tariq was right. It was easy to find a man who had just ‘disappeared’ twenty-five years ago—especially when you had incalculable wealth and resources at your fingertips.
Isobel didn’t know what she had been expecting—but it certainly wasn’t a rather sad-looking man with grey hair and tawny eyes. Recently widowed, John Franklin was overjoyed to meet her and her family. His own personal regret was that he and his wife had never been able to have children of their own.
It was a strange and not altogether comfortable moment when she shook hands for the first time with the man who had given life to her over a quarter of a century ago. But then he saw the baby, and he smiled, and Isobel’s heart gave an unexpected wrench. For in it she saw something of herself—and something of her daughter, too. It was a smile which would carry on down through the generations. And there was something in that smile which wiped away all the bitterness of the past.
‘You’re very quiet,’ observed Tariq as they drove away from John Franklin’s modest house. ‘No regrets?’
Isobel shook her head. What was it they said? That you regretted the things you didn’t do, rather than the things you did? ‘None,’ she answered honestly. ‘He wa
s good with Nawal. I think they will be good for each other in the future.’
‘Ah, Izzy,’ said Tariq. ‘You are a sweet and loving woman.’
‘I can afford to be,’ she said happily. ‘Because I’ve got you.’
Their main home was to be in London, although whenever it was possible they still escaped to Izzy’s tiny country cottage, where their love had first been ignited. Because maybe Francesca had been right, Tariq conceded. Maybe it was important that royal children knew what it was like to be ordinary.
He didn’t buy the ‘Blues’ football team after all. It came to him in a blinding flash one night that he didn’t actually like football. Besides, what was the point of acquiring a prestigious soccer team simply because he could, when its acquisition brought with it nothing but envy and unwanted press attention? He wanted to keep the cameras away from his beloved family, as much as possible. Anyway, Polo was his game.
Real men didn’t prance around in a pair of shorts, kicking a ball.
Real men rode horses.
* * * * *
