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“I don’t know. I don’t think he came home last night. Maybe got mixed up with those thugs again,” he said sadly and in defeat.
Jameela was awash with embarrassment, but she couldn’t deny he was with her and allow his father to think he had had a relapse. Even while he was in the middle of a scandal the family wanted to keep under wraps. “No, he wasn’t on the streets,” she said and looked away, rubbing her arms uncomfortably. “He was with me.”
The old man raised his brows, but there was nothing disapproving in his eyes. It was far more acceptable to him that he had been in bed with his lawyer than another bookie. “Oh?” he asked, and then smiled. “You were at the house yesterday, right?”
“That’s right Sir,” she replied. Then she folded her arms and skipped ahead to escape an uncomfortable conversation. “I was told he was attacked?” she asked.
“That’s what they said. He is resting now; just banged up a bit,” he said and wiped his hand down his face. “To think of all the times I have told my son about the dangers of business with men such as those. My father was a gambler too, and it seemed he inherited it from him. Only he had better luck than Al-Hafeez.”
Jameela’s sucked in a deep breath after the man reminded her of her own grandfather’s poor luck; the same kind Al-Hafeez had inherited. “I think he has learned his lesson.”
“You think?” he asked and looked at her hopefully.
“Yes,” she replied. “There was something about the way he said it that was sincere. It’s just a pity that it had to take all of this,” she said and looked down the corridor she supposed he was resting at the moment. “May I see him?”
“Oh, sure,” he replied. “If I know my son he will want to see you too.”
He led Jameela down the corridor, and she could barely hear the echoing of their heels on the tiles over the drumming of her heart. He was in a private wing of the building, and when she finally opened his door, he was sitting up in bed, and obviously in pain. He was half covered in white bandages, and one eye was completely hidden. The elder Ramadan moved back and nodded at her, acknowledging the privacy they probably needed.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he told her and smiled, and then coughed as the pressure hit his lungs.
“I don’t know about that; it looks pretty bad from here,” she said and closed the door as she moved closer to him.
“Just a scratch,” he joked, but she found nothing funny about the machines beeping in the room or the other hazel eye she could not see.
“Why did you leave so early? None of this would have happened if you hadn’t,” she said and sat on the chair next to the bed.
He leaned over and seemed to be making a conscious effort to. “I think they would have gotten to me one way or another. I’m not even mad,” he said and fell back with a thud on the bed. “Maybe this is penance.”
She was about to respond when she felt her hip vibrating. She jumped, much to his amusement and then reached for her phone. It was a number she did not recognize. “Hold that thought,” she told him and stood. “This is Jameela Harding,” she whispered into the headset.
“Miss Harding,” the voice said on the other side of the line. “This is Mr. Malinga.”
“Oh,” she said as she looked back suspiciously at him. “I wasn’t expecting your call.” Al-Hafeez’s curiosity was peaked when he saw the expression on her face.
“There has been some new development. I take it you have been told of the incident with your client. We have reason to believe my client was responsible for the attack. He has escaped our custody, but we are searching for him at the moment. In light of that, there has been a full pardon of the charges brought against Sheikh Al-Hafeez.”
“That’s good news,” she told the man and sighed with relief. “Thank you for calling.”
“Who was that?” he asked as soon as she had hung up.
“That was Mr. Malinga. As it turns out, all charges have been dropped. They know Manseh’s brother attacked you, and they are now searching for him. So, when you leave this hospital room, I will no longer be your lawyer.”
“Finally!” Al-Hafeez replied and the relief was evident on his face.
“I was that bad?” Jameela asked.
Al-Hafeez chuckled. “Not that part,” he told her. “That was probably the best thing that came out of all of that.”
Jameela blushed at his words, and was displeased when the door opened and the nurse came in. She smiled briefly at her and took up the chart hanging from the base of the bed. “You need to get your medicine now Mr. Ramadan,” she told him.
“And on that note, I will see you later,” Jameela told him. She felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him, bandages and all, but not with the nurse standing there.
He could sense her need, as fresh on her as it was on him, and he had to forcefully wipe the image off his mind before his body parts gave him away. He smiled at her, and mouthed later, before she was blocked by the nurse.
Back in the lobby she ran into the elder Ramadan again, and she shared the good news of Al-Hafeez’s freedom with him.
He sighed with relief and held out his hand for hers. He patted the back of it and smiled at her. “Thank you so much for all the help you have given us. I know my son has taken a fancy to you, and I cordially extend my invitation to you; you can come by the palace at any time you wish. You will always be welcome.”
