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"How is Zarif?" Qazim asked.
"Sleeping," she informed him. "We put him down a half hour ago. He should sleep for at least a few hours. Anya will look after him well."
Qazim nodded. He'd had only limited experience of dealing with Zarif's sleeping pattern. He seemed momentarily lost for words.
"You know he doesn't usually sleep the whole night, anyway," she explained.
She almost laughed when she saw his face pale slightly at that thought.
"I've heard him at night," he replied hesitantly.
Grace knew that was right. Qazim would have heard Zarif crying for attention during the night, but she'd always insisted on dealing with that herself and Anya who was always on call.
She wondered how Qazim would cope with being woken in the night and having to help look after Zarif. Somehow, she couldn't quite imagine it. But, maybe, he would get used to it, she told herself.
If she gave him the chance.
Grace looked out through the open double doors, to the terrace. She could see an oval table with facing chairs out there.
Qazim led her outside. It was a warm night and the sun was just beginning to sink beneath the distant horizon. The sound of insects drifted up from the garden. There was a cool breeze which contained just a hint of the scent of the desert.
There was a balmy feeling to the air. She felt her dress cling to her body. She glanced at Qazim and saw that he was watching her again. He seemed to be just enjoying the fact that she was here, she told herself.
Needing to distract herself and him, Grace looked at the table.
"This is lovely," she announced, touching the tablecloth with her fingertips.
The table was small enough so that she and Qazim would be within touching distance. Neither of them would have to stretch to touch the others hand. If that was what either of them wanted to do.
It was intimate.
Had he chosen the table for just that reason? Was he trying to manoeuvre her so that she would be as close to him as possible for the entire evening?
There was a small, silver candlestick with one already lit candle which glowed brightly. Next to it, there was a long-stemmed red flower inside an elegant, narrow glass.
There were two glasses of what looked like champagne on the table. In an ice-filled bucket by the side of the table there were two open bottles, each wrapped in white cloth.
He'd thought of everything, she told herself.
She looked at him. "Nice," she said to him.
He smiled, looking pleased that she appreciated how he'darranged things.
He lifted both already filled glasses and held one out to her. "I hope you're hungry," he said.
She took the glass and sighed, placing her other hand across her belly. "We'll see," she said.
She squinted at the glass, seeing the bubbles rising inside it. "Champagne?" she asked, lifting a querying brow.
Qazim shrugged. "Maybe," he replied.
He clinked his glass against hers. "To us," he said in an even voice, suddenly serious.
She narrowed her eyes at him and smiled. She didn't say anything in reply to that. His words had sounded almost like a test and she wasn't sure just how she should respond.
She sipped the liquid and watched him as he gazed at her over the rim of his own glass. She coughed slightly and felt the bubbles rush up into her nose.
Qazim laughed. "Surprised?" he asked after taking a sip of his own champagne.
