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The silence crackled with tension as they faced each other. Both of them were rigid with resolve. Ra’id was clearly astonished that anyone would challenge his authority, while Antonia was equally determined not to back down. It was an impasse from which there seemed no escape until, to her surprise, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
‘I see no reason why you should not be taken to see Helena’s room,’ he said.
‘By you?’ Antonia demanded, feeling her confidence seep away.
‘Who better to show you round? I am more than happy to take you to see your mother’s room,’ he said. ‘And tomorrow morning I will take you into the desert to see your land.’
Even as Antonia’s eyes widened and her lips parted with surprise, she wondered why she felt so sure that the granting of a wish had never carried greater danger. It wasn’t just the thought of taking her unborn child into dangerous territory, she realised, but the very real threat radiating from Ra’id. Then she reasoned that the desert was not an environment to enter lightly, especially now she was pregnant, and who better to guide her than Ra’id?
But if she hoped to soften him…
Hope springs eternal, Antonia remembered, gazing up into Ra’id’s cold eyes. But he held the key to turning her dream for the charity into reality. The old fort could only live again with Ra’id’s water supply, and that was one dream she wasn’t letting go of. And how better to find the chance to tell him the news about their baby than spending time with him?
No, she had no option. If she was to have a chance of success she must be as committed to her purpose as Ra’id was to his.
‘Your mother’s room?’ he prompted.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE COULD feel Antonia’s suppressed excitement as he led the way down gilded corridors to the east wing of the palace, where the shutters had remained drawn for years, and the rooms were neglected and cast in shade. He could feel her fear and apprehension too. He could feel everything Antonia was feeling in the same unspoken transfer of energy he’d felt between them on the desert island, when he had been Saif and Antonia had gone by the name he’d given her. But there had been a change in Antonia since then. She had matured. She might have trembled at her first sight of him, but the flame of purpose had returned to her gaze. This wasn’t the adolescent who had ransacked his yacht to claim her piece of bread and cheese, but a woman who would not easily be dismissed. Perhaps the sight of her mother’s room would change that, he mused as they reached the door.
Antonia could hardly believe she was really here, within touching distance of her mother’s room. It was hard to catch her breath when Ra’id halted outside the golden door. The workmanship on the jewel-studded panelling was more fabulous than anything she could have imagined. ‘Is it real gold?’ she asked naively as she admired the intricate workmanship.
‘Everything you see that looks like gold is gold,’ Ra’id informed her with no emotion in his voice. ‘Shall we go in?’
‘Oh, yes please!’ she exclaimed, hardly daring to blink in case she missed anything. Her sense of anticipation was indescribable, and she put all thoughts of Ra’id knowing something she didn’t—something unpleasant, maybe—out of her mind.
‘Could we turn on a light?’ she asked, hesitating on the threshold.
‘Certainly.’ Reaching past her, Ra’id switched on a cobweb-strewn chandelier. Even now he made her tingle, Antonia felt, touching her cheek as she walked deeper into the room.
Whatever she had expected after seeing that golden door, it was not this shadowy interior, with sheets draped over the furniture and dust motes floating in stagnant air. But what affected her most was the atmosphere of abandonment, she realised, slowly turning full circle. It was as if the walls were soaked through with loneliness and sadness. Her first impression was that this was not the happy nest of a pretty girl, but a prison, a cage—a gilded cage for the discarded mistress of a ruler who had tired of her and moved on. But her mother hadn’t moved on, Antonia thought sadly as she trailed her fingertips across the yellowing cover of a fashion magazine. She thought that the saddest artefact of all. ‘It doesn’t look as if this room has been touched since my mother left for Italy,’ she said, rallying determinedly as she turned to speak to Ra’id.
She thought he seemed surprised she was holding it together. She raised an eyebrow, as if to say that nothing would shake her from her path—and that if anything this clearer picture of the young woman who had been her mother had only strengthened her resolve.
