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That little awkward moment was forgotten over dinner on one of the terraces. Since Raif had visited the Alpujarra before, he knew the prettiest villages to visit, and plans were made for the next day. He was wearing jeans, and she was convinced that they were entirely for her benefit because they were decidedly new, and she smiled and smiled at the reflection. She listened to him talk with an abstracted expression, admiring the sound of his voice, his lean, strong face, his truly stunning eyes and the length of his lashes, even his gestures once he relaxed and began to use his hands to express himself more.
Yes, she was falling for the guy she’d married, falling head over heels over common sense but there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. And why would she want to change her feelings anyway? After all, they had married for the long haul, not merely to legitimise the birth of their baby son, she reminded herself soothingly. All the same, had she had better control over her emotions she would have chosen to slow down the development of those feelings because that would have been more sensible. Falling madly in love so fast with a guy who loved someone else was kind of scary, because she knew she was leaving herself wide open to being hurt. What if he got bored with her? What if he decided he wasn’t happy with her? How would she feel then, when she had already given him her all?
Over the following week, they slowly became inseparable. Raif kept on warning her that he would need to do some work, but he never got to grips with leaving her alone for long enough to accomplish much and Claire had no objections to make. They explored the Moorish ruined castle on the hill, wandered through the picturesque village full of whitewashed houses, a charming little church, and she began to browse handicraft shops obsessively. By the time they had finished touring the local villages, she had become the proud owner of three colourful hand-woven Alpujarra rugs, a couple of baskets and several ceramic items. There was a trip to an artisan chocolatier, a picnic within view of a glorious waterfall, which they had walked to, Raif thankfully keeping any misgivings about the effect of too much exercise on her fecund condition to himself.
And she cooked because he couldn’t keep her out of the kitchen, no matter how hard he tried. She made all the dishes she loved, with the added extra of local almonds, figs, honey and cheese.
For their last evening at the villa, Raif had made special plans. He had organised private access to the Alhambra complex. At sunset the ancient Moorish buildings glowed pink. As one of the best surviving historic palaces in the Islamic world, it was of particular interest to Raif, who had visited several times before. There was no need for a tour guide as he showed her around. He explained the irrigation system to her and told her that there was a similar arrangement of aqueducts and water channels in the Old Palace in Quristan. He translated the poetry on the walls for her and then urged her outside again where a table and two chairs awaited them beside a tranquil pool that reflected them like a still mirror.
‘We’re actually going to dine here?’ she exclaimed in sheer wonder, her head turning as a small flamenco group sat down several yards away and began to play evocative Spanish guitar music, the singer’s atmospheric voice soaring soulfully into the night air. ‘This is amazing, Raif. When did you arrange all this?’
‘At the start of the week. I wanted you to have a special memory for our last day,’ Raif proffered, shrugging off her astonishment as a meal was served to them by uniformed waiters while their security team fanned round the edges of open space.
‘It will be a beautiful memory for ever,’ Claire declared, with over-hormonal tears prickling the backs of her eyes, but she was resisting an urge to stand up and hug him, which she knew he would dislike with an audience.
The following day they packed for the return to Barcelona and arrived early evening to a chirpy welcome from Stella and a quieter greeting from Kashif. They dined with the other couple, sat up late over coffee and went to bed in the grand four-poster that still made them laugh.
Someone was banging on the door and a phone was buzzing incessantly somewhere. Claire opened her eyes on complete darkness and knew it was the middle of the night and she experienced that intense sense of something being wrong. It made her fumble to light a bedside lamp and shake Raif awake.
He came awake and was alert much faster than she was. He vaulted straight out of bed to head for the door stark naked.
‘Clothes, Raif!’ she called, scrambling out of bed to race into the bathroom and yank a towelling robe off the hook and throw it to him. He put it on in haste, knotted the sash and went straight to the door.
She heard Kashif’s voice, but he was speaking in their language, not in English. She slid hurriedly out of bed and began rooting for a robe. Then as Raif came back inside, pale, his features oddly tight and expressionless, she decided just by looking at his face to put on clothes instead.
‘Something’s happened...a car accident in Quristan, family involved. I need to get dressed and go downstairs,’ he framed flatly. ‘Kashif is breaking the bad news in little nuggets to keep me calm. I know him of old.’
‘I’m so sorry, Raif,’ Claire whispered. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing if what I suspect is true.’ He sighed and by that she registered that, apparently, he was already convinced that someone had died. His father? An accident though? From what she understood his father was more likely to pass away from ill health and old age. Her brow furrowing in a frown, she went into her suitcase to find her clothes, choosing trousers and a light top.
She felt as though the world had stopped turning without warning and flung her off into frightening freefall. They had had a wonderful wedding day and an even more incredible week together at the mountain villa. She was happier than she had ever thought to be in her entire life and now she had one of those sixth-sense creeping suspicions that that was all about to fall apart before she could even get to enjoy it. A sense of doom, she registered unhappily. Why wrap it up?
Raif went for a quick shower and emerged to dress, choosing, she noticed, a business suit and a plain white shirt, stuffing a dark tie into one pocket as if he didn’t yet have the heart to put it on.
‘Shall I come downstairs with you?’ Claire asked hesitantly. ‘I should.’
‘No, this is for me to deal with. I don’t want you getting upset about anything,’ Raif informed her levelly, his seeming confidence in that necessity overruling every personal feeling.
‘I was thinking of you...maybe wanting company,’ Claire almost whispered, not knowing how to sensitively say that she was unlikely to get upset on anyone’s account buthiswhen his family were all strangers to her.
Raif shook his handsome dark head, already walking towards the door, spine rigid, shoulders squared as though he were already preparing himself for the worst possible news.
And tears stung Claire’s eyes as the door closed in his wake because she now felt that she had somehow failed in the first duty of being a wife. In such a situation, he needed support as well, but she could hardly force her company on him. Sadly, their marriage was too new for that, and she couldn’t afford to make assumptions and push the point because undoubtedly therewerepeople who preferred to deal with such matters alone. And it was perfectly possible that her presence would be more of an added stress factor than a comfort because he could never forget for long that she was in a delicate condition, even though she didn’t feel the slightest bit delicate.
Ten minutes later, Stella arrived in the sitting room beyond the bedroom with a laden tray, containing tea and snacks, her bubbly personality muted in contrast to her liveliness over dinner the night before. ‘I guessed you’d be up and pacing. I would be too,’ she said, pursing her lips.
Claire took charge of the tea and poured. ‘Do you know—?’
Stella lifted both hands in a negative motion. ‘No. No, I don’t know who’s involved. What I do know is that it’s very confidential information, which came direct from the Quristani government, and when it comes to work issues, Kashif is a professional to his fingertips, even with me.’
‘I wanted to be with Raif,’ Claire admitted then.
Stella leant over and patted her knee consolingly. ‘Of course you did, but men are stubborn and proud. Most of them don’t do vulnerable if they can avoid it.’
Even though her companion talked good sense, Claire’s nerves were leaping up and down inside her like jumping beans. Only good manners kept her seated beside Stella when she wanted to pace the floor and go frantic because she couldn’t bear to think of Raif getting bad news without her. Not that she couldchangebad news, she reasoned ruefully, but she did think she could offer relief just by being there for him.
In less than thirty minutes, a knock sounded on the door and Stella departed. A maid entered with a tray of coffee and sandwiches. The food was clearly being delivered in expectation of Raif’s reappearance and Claire stood up and finally allowed herself to pace.
