Tariq breathed in very deep and then breathed out again without saying anything. She looked up at him with strained eyes, noting the line of dark colour scoring his proud cheekbones.
‘Well…I actually didn’t,’ he finally stated curtly.
‘Oh…’ She was connecting with tawny eyes that could make stringing two sensible thoughts together the biggest challenge she had ever been called to meet.
‘There seemed no point in telling you that three weeks ago when I still believed that I would eventually seek that divorce. At first, I thought I would be merely raising false hopes and then I thought it might distress you—’
‘You actually didn’t divorce me?’ Faye was struggling a whole speech behind Tariq and a cold, clammy sensation was dampening her skin.
‘You’re still my wife…you have never been anything else.’
‘I think I’ve had too much sun.’ Her legs felt hollow and her tummy was churning.
Tariq urged her down onto the opulent sofa behind her. ‘You’ve turned white.’
Word by word what he had burst upon her was sinking in, but only slowly.
‘The day of the sandstorm, I agreed to a press announcement in which I claimed you as my wife. I really had very little choice. Once your presence in my life became a matter of public knowledge, I had to make a decision. Either I created a scandal that for ever soiled your reputation or I told the truth,’ Tariq said, still retaining a noticeably tight hold on her now nerveless floppy fingers as he sank down beside her.
‘The truth…you know, I thought you always told the truth,’ Faye whispered, for shock was settling in on her hard.
‘I have recently come to appreciate that the truth…once avoided…may be extremely hard to tell.’
Oh, how convenient, she almost said, thinking in a daze that, while her pathetic lies about her age had been held over her like the worst of sins, Tariq was now seeking to excuse himself for the same dishonesty. ‘You lied to me—’
‘No. I never once said that I had divorced you—’
‘But you knew that I believed we were divorced—’
‘Had you asked me direct, I would not have lied—’
‘But you said, “Not then” when I questioned you in the cave,’ she recalled shakily. ‘How did you contrive to explain a mystery wife coming out of nowhere?’
‘My family has never made our private lives a matter of public interest which is not to say that gossip, rumour and scandal do not abound,’ he admitted tautly. ‘However, I acknowledged that I made you my wife a year ago and it will be assumed, whether I like it or not, that I decided not to embark on our marriage while I was in mourning.’
‘Should do wonders for your image with the truly pious.’
‘That shames me.’ Tariq breathed harshly. ‘But it is not less than I deserve for setting in train a set of events which could only lead to disaster.’
Disaster? Of course, it was a disaster on his terms but not a disaster he would have to bear for long. Not with divorce being as easy as he had once informed her it was. All that she had not understood now became clear. ‘Our marriage was being celebrated at that reception I attended in the desert…and you never uttered one word and neither did anyone else! How come I didn’t guess?’
‘My people, and that includes my relatives, would not open a conversation with you or I unless you or I did so first. That is simply etiquette. In addition, brides do not normally exchange conversation with anyone other than their husbands. But at the outset of that day, I believed you would inevitably appreciate what was happening—’
‘And, my goodness, you were angry with me, furious at the position you had put yourself in,’ Faye condemned, suddenly pulling free of him and plunging upright. ‘That was our wedding night but you much preferred letting me think that I was your mistress being flaunted in front of everyone!’
‘To some degree that is true but common sense should have told you that I could not have behaved in such a way with any woman in Jumar other than my wife,’ Tariq pointed out.
‘Oh, I know exactly what was on your mind. You would have cut out your tongue sooner than give me the presumed satisfaction of knowing that I was your wife!’ Faye whispered bitterly. ‘Please take note that I am not feeling satisfaction.’
‘Faye?’ Tariq rested his hands on her shoulders and attempted to turn her back to face him.
She whirled round and shook free of him in disgust. ‘What an ego you have!’
Tariq reached out and hauled her back to him. ‘Stop it,’ he urged. ‘I have made mistakes and so have you but if you do not appreciate how much has changed between us in the last couple of weeks, I certainly do. I want you as my wife. I will be honoured to call you my wife—’
‘Since when?’ A derisive laugh was wrenched from her. She was so angry, so hurt, so bewildered, she was trembling. ‘All this time I’ve been your wife and I was the only person who didn’t know it. Once again you have made an absolute fool of me and I will never forgive you for that!’
Tariq closed both arms even tighter around her. ‘Only I know you didn’t know you were still my wife—’
‘You think that makes it any better…that I can’t even trust the man I’ve been sleeping with…that you’ve been playing some kind of mind games with me for your own amusement? No, I am flat out fed up with you and finished! So let go of me!’
‘No, not until I have made you see reason and you are in a calmer frame of mind—’
‘Calmer?’ Faye swung up her hand and dealt him a ringing slap across one high cheekbone. In the aftermath as his arms fell from her and he stepped back, she was as shaken as he was. Shocked by her own loss of control and that desire to physically attack a male who was protected by the laws of Jumar from such an offence.
In electric silence, he stared at her with fathomless tawny eyes.
‘So now you can have me thrown into a prison cell and be finally rid of me for ever!’ Faye launched at him in stricken conclusion before racing out of the room.
She didn’t even know where she was running for there was no place far enough where she could hide from the enormous pain he had inflicted. Blinded by tears, conscious he was following her and wanting desperately to be alone, she headed for the nearest staircase: a spiral of stone steps generally used only by the servants.
‘Faye!’ Tariq called from somewhere close behind her.
She half turned, forgetting she was on a spiral staircase, and suddenly one of her feet was trying to find a resting place in mid-air. With a strangled cry of fear, she tried to right her mistake but it was too late for she was already falling. Her head crashed against the wall. She felt the momentary burst of pain but it was soon swallowed up in the deep, suffocating darkness that enclosed her.
‘Just a stupid bump on the head, Rafi…I was really silly to run on those steps.’ Faye patted his small hand where it gripped her nightdress until she gradually felt him relax beneath her soothing. ‘I’m fine and glad to be out of hospital.’
‘Can I stay?’
‘Faye needs to rest for a while,’ Tariq murmured, bending down to scoop his little brother up into his arms. ‘You will see her later…that I promise.’
Faye would not look at Tariq. Having been knocked unconscious by her fall the day before, she had started coming round in the helicopter that had taken her to hospital in Jumar City. There she had been examined by three consultants in succession and had realised by Tariq’s explanation that
he had broken her fall and saved her from a more serious injury.
She had not looked at him when she had had to spend the whole of the previous night under observation by both the medical staff and Tariq. She had not even looked at him when he had reached for her hand at some stage of that endless night and begged her for her forgiveness. In fact, not looking at Tariq and just pretending with silence that he did not exist had become a rule set in stone for her survival.
As the door closed on Rafi’s reluctant exit, Tariq released his breath audibly. ‘Do you want me to leave?’
She squeezed her eyes tight shut and gave a jerky nod. The door opened with a quiet click and closed again. She couldn’t cry. She lay staring up at the ceiling. What did she have left to say to him? What could he have left to say to her? All that time she had been his wife but he had ignored that reality for the simple reason that he had had no intention of keeping her as his wife. It felt even worse for her to think that, in one sense, he had been right to do that. For what would have been the point of her knowing that she was still married to him when the divorce was still to be got through? From her point of view, it just would have meant going through the same agonies twice over.
Why on earth had he started talking nonsense about wanting her to remain his wife? That had seemed the unkindest cut of all, that he should feel so guilty he decided he ought to make that offer. Well, you can forget that option, Tariq ibn Zachir, she thought painfully. There was only one way out of their current predicament: divorce. No more shilly-shallying! Why the heck had he let them stay married throughout the previous year? A great emptiness spread like a dam inside her and her headache got worse but at some stage she still drifted to sleep.
When she wakened a couple of hours later, her headache had receded and she examined the blue-black bruise on her right temple. Fortunately her hair concealed the worst of it. After a bath and a late light lunch, she rifled her wardrobe for something to wear.
Her wardrobe was now gigantic: it filled an entire room. Only a week earlier, Tariq had shipped in dozens of designer outfits from abroad from which she had made selections. Dazzling, fabulous clothing such as she had only previously seen in magazines. Initially she had been hugely embarrassed by his generosity but the terrible temptation of seeing herself in such exquisite garments had overcome her finer principles. Tariq was accustomed to fashionable women who wore haute couture. What woman who loved him would have chosen to keep on appearing in the same frugal and plain clothing contained in her single small suitcase?