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‘Documentation?’
‘It was a phone call,’ she lied. ‘He asked me to come over the phone.’
‘Identification documentation,’ he clarified.
‘Oh.’ Heat stained her cheeks as she reached into her bag and lifted out her passport. ‘Here.’
She held it up for him but he took it, turning away from her and moving to another guard. That guard left with the passport, and the original returned to his post.
Something like anxiety tightened in her gut. ‘Where’s he going?’
The original guard didn’t answer. She was grateful that the sun was low in the sky, as she stood waiting for a long time—at least twenty minutes. Already fatigued, weary and emotionally exhausted, she wanted to cry, but wouldn’t give the guard—or anyone—the satisfaction. Eventually, Original Guard’s walkie-talkie began to crackle. A brow shot up, before he gestured about three hundred metres down the fence. ‘There is a gate. Go to it; someone will take you from there.’
India nodded her thanks. It was a long walk, and, given the heat, she didn’t rush. Eventually, she reached the gate, where several guards were waiting. Anxiety grew.
‘This way, please.’ A woman gestured without smiling towards the marble courtyard. India followed behind, aware of the two guards who came to flank her. As they passed the fountain she stopped walking, giving into temptation despite the certainty it would earn the disapproval of her companions. She moved to the water and quickly lowered her hands, splashing some onto her forearms and neck, instantly refreshing. The female guard stood waiting, her face impassive. No, not impassive, India realised. There was almost something like sympathy in her beautiful eyes.
‘It has been particularly hot this summer,’ the guard said, slowing her pace a little.
India could have wept for the small kindness from this random stranger. To be spoken to with something approaching civility was beyond her expectations—and it was badly needed!
‘I had prepared for heat, but this caught me unawares.’
‘Tourists find it hard to bear at first.’
Whatever reply India had been going to make died on her lips as they swept through a set of double doors—each several metres wide, and at least four times her height. The foyer they were in was clearly a ‘nuts and bolts’ part of the palace—with security apparatus and a minimum of décor—and yet it was still impossibly grand, with high ceilings, chandeliers, marble floors, and artwork adorning every bare space on the walls, so that her eyes were almost overwhelmed with the visual feast.
‘You will need to pass through security,’ the woman said, gesturing to the large scanners, the same as India had passed through at the airport.
‘Okay.’ She bit down on her lip, placing her bag on the tray so it could be whisked along a conveyor belt, then stepping through the frame. Just as at the airport, the scanner did not register any problems.
‘Good.’ The woman even smiled, so India’s butterflies were somewhat allayed, momentarily. With that hurdle crossed through, there was now the task of telling Khalil he was going to be a father—a conversation she was utterly dreading. If only she could have sent a text or email, but she had no direct way of contacting him.
‘Will you take me to Khalil now?’
The woman’s expression was startled. ‘His Highness Sheikh el Abdul has been informed of your arrival. I am not yet aware of when he will see you. Please, take a seat while you wait.’
India’s nerves were on the brink of fraying. Are you kidding me? She shook her head as she moved towards the seat the guard had indicated, easing herself into it. She was too wound up to relax, though, far too coiled to enjoy the comfort of the armchair. She fidgeted with her fingers in her lap for the first hour, before frustration got the better of her and she moved towards the man behind the computer screen, who’d scanned her handbag.
‘Excuse me, sir, are you able to get an update on the Sheikh’s schedule for me?’
The guard looked at her as though she’d asked him to swim to Mars. ‘His Highness will see you when he can. If he decides to see you at all.’
If?India hadn’t even thought of that. What if, even now, he refused to meet her? Tears sprang to her eyes and she turned around quickly, before the man could see her. Odious, horrible person!
Thirty minutes later and a door opened, so she stood, apprehensively, but it was just a servant wheeling a trolley. She came towards India before stopping, lifting the lid off the top tray.
‘Some refreshments, madam.’
India stared at the food and felt instantly sick. She dug her fingernails into her palm, trying to control it, but the waves of nausea were growing stronger. ‘Is there a restroom?’ she demanded urgently.
The woman nodded and gestured to a purple door. India broke into a run and just made it, heaving over the toilet until her stomach was empty and her hairline moist with perspiration. When she emerged, the servant had gone but the tray remained. India was able to pick over it now, choosing a plain bread roll with some butter, and draining the glass of iced tea far too quickly. She sat down again, frustrated and angry.
Another hour passed. She approached the guard once more, her mind made up. ‘I’d like to leave. Would you help me organise a taxi to the city?’
The guard met her eyes, shrugged, then spoke into his walkie-talkie. She bit down on her lip, the reality of her situation landing squarely between her eyes. She’d wasted money she couldn’t afford on flying to Khatrain, all because she’d believed there might be a shred of decency in Khalil. Why had she even thought such a thing after the way he’d spoken to her the last time they’d met? The things he’d said to her, the look of hatred in his eyes—she should have known better than to hope.
She pulled tighter on her handbag strap and waited, her arms crossed. It was only minutes but, given India had already been waiting for several hours, she was ready to burst something when, finally, another door opened. This time, three guards swept through, and behind them, Khalil. But not as he’d been in New York. Then, he’d been spectacular-looking but somehow familiar to her. Now, he was so fascinating and majestic that, even though her heart was flooded with hate, she found that all she could do was stare at him as he stormed towards her. He wore long white robes that breezed behind him with the speed of his stride, and his body was broad and powerful, even more so dressed like this. His eyes bored into hers and she felt the same rush of anger she’d known on that last morning, the hatred and disrespect. Her heart flip-flopped. ‘Khalil,’ she said as he drew close, and one guard gasped.
