A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart Read online

  They sat in style at the back of the big open foyer in high-backed armchairs, a table with a snowy white cloth over it in front of their knees.

  Sandwiches came first, tiny delicate sandwiches made from different coloured breads with fillings so delicious Sarah ate the lot.

  ‘Now tell,’ she said when the waiter brought scones and jam and cream, the scones covered by a pristine white napkin to keep them warm.

  He looked at her, grey eyes dancing with excitement, although she thought she could read doubt on his face.

  ‘There’s a job,’ he said, ‘teaching and research. It would give me time to keep an eye on my managers who’ll take over the overseas programmes but get me back into what I love.’

  He paused, took a scone, and carefully broke it open and buttered it.

  ‘It’s the research that interests me most as it involves development of new techniques for operating on babies still in the womb, correcting a lot of congenital problems before the infant is born.’

  Sarah’s heart lurched, and she reached out and covered his hand with hers.

  ‘It’s perfect, something new,’ she said, ‘something to excite you, and the teaching... That’s a bonus for your students because you’re the best.’

  ‘Was the best,’ he said quietly, and she understood the doubt she thought she’d seen.

  ‘That was then, and this is now,’ she said, refusing to let him dampen her excitement. ‘And the first breakthrough you make in your research will have you back on the top of the tree again, if that is what you want.’

  He didn’t answer, studying her instead, thinking...

  And now his smile was free of doubt.

  ‘It’s not what I want,’ he said, confusing her for a moment. ‘To be top of the tree again,’ he explained.

  He reached out and took both her hands in his slightly buttery fingers.

  ‘You’re what I want. To live with you, be with you, have children with you if you want them. I want you for my wife, by my side, whatever lies ahead. I learned that when you left, but couldn’t see a way forward until now, when we’re together again. I know you have your own ambition and I’ll be with you all the way, but being offered this position means we can be together, here in London, and it’s the being with you that’s the most important thing.’

  ‘But Ambelia? Your home? The throne?’

  He smiled so gently she thought her heart might break.

  ‘That’s all been decided. My brother will make a far better ruler than me, and, deep down, I think my father knows it. Well, the rest of the family does anyway.’

  The smile was better this time, but still Sarah held her breath.

  ‘So now I’m yours, if you’ll have me? I have my parents’ blessing—they both love you already because they have seen how happy you make me. So, my Sarah...’

  I will not cry, Sarah told herself, but felt the tears sliding down her cheeks anyway.

  The waiter brought little plates of cakes and pastries but she was beyond eating.

  ‘I’ll pack them in a box and send them to your room,’ he said, when Sarah waved him away. ‘Nice for a midnight snack.’

  She smiled weakly, then realised they probably would be good at midnight—a midnight feast with the man she loved.

  * * *

  Harry stood on the dais, a lectern before him, dressed as she’d never seen him, in a dark suit, grey shirt and darker grey tie.

  He was beautiful, she decided, then wriggled in her seat, for he’d told her the same thing—that she was beautiful—before they’d left the hotel.

  They’d returned to their room after the abbreviated high tea, where she’d found an exquisite outfit waiting for her.

  ‘I told the woman in the boutique all about you and she chose it all,’ Harry had said proudly, and ‘all’ it was, right down to filmy underwear and sheer stockings and black high-heeled shoes.

  The suit itself was grey, the colour of his shirt, with an emerald-green silk blouse to go beneath it and a small black handbag to finish the outfit.

  ‘Oh, Harry,’ she whispered, shaking her head. ‘It’s lovely, so stylish. I didn’t have much reason to wear suits in Cairns.’

  He smiled and pulled her close so it was a little while before they both dressed in their finery and made their way to the hospital.

  * * *

  This would be a test for her, Harry thought, holding tightly to Sarah’s hand as they made their way through the building to where conferences and symposiums were held.

  He was pretty sure it was the first time she’d have been here since the day the accident had taken her husband and child, and it must be taking tremendous courage on her part to be returning.

  And she was doing it for him—to be there when he spoke, for the first time in nearly five years, about the work that had been his passion.

  ‘New starts,’ she whispered to him as they entered the main lecture theatre, and her fingers returned the squeeze he’d given hers.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and found her smile as reassuring as her words.

  ‘With you beside me, how could I not be?’

  He wanted to kiss her, but it was too public a place, and too many old friends and acquaintances were hailing him.

  ‘It may be a crush later,’ he said, realising he’d have to speak to these people. ‘Do you want to join me?’

  ‘And meet a couple dozen strangers all at once?’ Sarah teased. ‘No, if you lose me I’ll be waiting by Peter and Tinkerbell.’

  Expecting nerves, Harry was surprised to find himself at home behind the lectern, talking easily about the history of paediatric surgery, the first operations that now seemed clumsy, even inept compared with work done today.

  ‘But we must move on,’ he said, ‘to a future where many congenital defects can be repaired in the womb, and investigate ways for problems that can’t be handled that way to be done with minimally invasive surgery. Keyhole surgery is commonplace in most theatres now, but less is known about the procedures where that technique can be used on small children, even neonates.’

  He paused and felt the attention of every person present in the room, although his eyes found Sarah first.

  ‘For that is the way ahead. That is our holy grail, and here at GOSH, through the generosity of some of our supporters, it will be happening before long.’

  He surprised himself as he mentioned a few possibilities, surprised by the fact that part of his brain must have been working on these matters for some time.

  * * *

  Sarah sat and watched him, barely listening to his words. She’d been happy just to be with him, even if only for a few days, but now she could be happy in the present and look forward to even more happiness in the future.

  The crowd rose as one, and she realised she’d drifted away from the words he was saying, content just to listen to his voice.

  She stood up, clapping with them, clapping because the man she loved had returned to the world he loved.

  Sure, there were things they both had to do, but before long they could be together forever.

  Forever?

  Was she jumping the gun?

  No, he’d said forever and she knew he’d meant it. It was just that marriage hadn’t been part of the conversation—not since she’d turned him down in Ambelia.

  She looked around for him, but he was being mobbed by admirers and well-wishers and she didn’t want to deny him that, so she eased out of the room and walked back through the hospital to the little garden where Tinkerbell perched lightly on one of Peter Pan’s fingers. Tinkerbell had been added later, she remembered, but the delicacy of the bronze casts always amazed her.

  To her, tonight, they were symbols of David and her unborn child, the bronze statues as strong as the memories tucked away in
side her head. They would never be forgotten, but it was time to move on, and to move on with joy and anticipation into the life that lay ahead.

  That’s if Harry did ask her to marry him...

  He appeared, as if by magic, and took her hand.

  ‘Will you marry me?’ he said.

  And this time she said, ‘Yes.’

  They wandered back to the hotel together, content to be alone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  GETTING MARRIED, THEY REALISED, was harder than it seemed.

  ‘Dratted people,’ Harry muttered, as he shut off his cell phone for the third time that morning.

  ‘Leave it, for the moment,’ Sarah told him. ‘You’re nervous about meeting Mum and Dad, and phoning government offices isn’t helping. Besides, Dad will know what to do. He worked in the local council for years, and loves knowing everything that goes on.’

  Dad did, and over lunch in the open garden of The Crabtree pub, looking out over the Thames at its most beautiful as it twinkled in rare sunlight, he explained the procedures at the register office.

  ‘You can print the forms off the internet. The first, your request to get married, has to go in twenty-eight days before the date, and another, which lists all the information about yourself, you have to take with you when you deliver the notice.’

  He turned his attention to Harry.

  ‘You lived and worked here—do you have residency?’

  Harry smiled.

  ‘Scottish grandmother, hence the grey eyes, so I have dual citizenship, and not only do I have a British passport, I also have a flat in Fulham. It will need a bit of refurbishing as I haven’t lived there for a while, although some of the family have used it from time to time.’

  ‘Well, that’s the next consideration—proof of residence—a tax notice of some kind.’

  The conversation continued, Harry certain he’d be able to provide all the evidence required, but Sarah’s evidence would be harder. She knew she had David’s death certificate tucked away somewhere but had always refused to look at it.

  She felt Harry’s hand find hers beneath the table and knew he understood what she was feeling, as did her mother, no doubt, who got on to practicalities.

  ‘With twenty-eight days’ notice you might just be able to squeeze it in before you have to go back to Australia and Harry’s due in Asia,’ she said.

  So they discussed dates.

  Harry was leaving for Africa the following day but could be back whenever he was needed.

  ‘And if I have a date I can get my parents over,’ he said, and Sarah nodded. They’d already decided that the only people they wanted at the wedding were both sets of parents, although Harry had warned her there would be big celebrations to be endured—or enjoyed—when they next returned to Ambelia.

  So it was sorted, the wedding date set, Harry seen off to Africa, and Sarah left to wonder just how this had all happened in what seemed like a millisecond of time.

  ‘No time for dreaming,’ her mother chided her. ‘You might not be doing the full bride thing, but I want you looking beautiful for that man—he deserves it.’

  * * *

  She was beautiful!

  So much so she took his breath away.

  Dressed in a deep cream-coloured suit, very simple with a calf-length skirt and fitted jacket, and very pale green shirt underneath it, her red hair swinging free, he just stood and looked, until his mother prodded him and he managed to step forward and take her hand.

  They’d had dinner the previous evening, all six of them, so the two sets of parents could meet and talk.

  And talk they did, embarrassing both him and Sarah with their reminiscing.

  Now they were waiting, waiting to witness the marriage of their children, and he was waiting, too, waiting for a future with this woman he loved beyond all words.

  Tomorrow they’d be parting, the jet dropping Sarah at Cairns airport before taking him on to Wildfire. They both had jobs to complete before beginning their London life.

  But today and tonight she was his, his to love and be loved by.

  ‘I love you!’

  She mouthed the words at him as they went into the very functional room at the register office used for weddings.

  He squeezed her hand in response.

  A short ceremony, lunch at the five star hotel where his parents were staying, then home to his flat, already refurbished, the renovations overseen by Sarah while he’d made his final mad dash around the world, minions trailing after him to learn the way of things.

  * * *

  Sarah managed to get through the ceremony without crying, enjoyed lunch with their parents at the posh hotel, but as it drew to a close her nervousness increased.

  Soon, too soon really, they’d be back at the flat, and she was worried what Harry—or maybe Rahman—would think of it.

  The flat, when she’d first seen it, though spacious, had been student style with a bit of minimalist thrown in. Fortunately for her, Hera had come over, and with her mother the three of them had shopped.

  Now it was a home, with polished wood floors, soft leather armchairs, a settee with a bright angora throw to wrap around the two of them, and small but functional tables scattered around.

  And on the wall and floor were carpets, small and large, colourful, intricately woven pieces Hera had brought over with her.

  The dining room was more formal, the glass and chrome table, which Harry had bought at some time, softened by the large silk on silk Persian carpet underneath it, while a long cabinet against one wall held a collection of the beautiful jugs, goblets and platters Sarah had so admired in Ambelia.

  And in here the only ornamentation on the walls was a large picture of Wildfire, the cliff ablaze with the colour of the setting sun.

  Harry wandered through the rooms, his hand holding tightly to Sarah’s, a catch in his breathing the only comment when he saw the living room. But in the dining room, in front of the picture, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

  ‘Beautiful!’ he said. ‘Both you and my new flat.’

  But if he’d liked the beginning of the tour, the bedrooms knocked him off his feet. Three bedrooms, the smallest of which Sarah had refrained from changing much, hoping in the near future it might need balloons and flowers and small animals involved in its decoration. The spare bedroom had the colours of the island, the translucent blue-green waters on the spread, chair and cushions covered with bright reef colours.

  ‘And you’re saving the best for last?’ Harry asked, as she led him to the main bedroom.

  Which she was—well, she hoped it was the best.

  She’d used the colours of the desert here, the red-gold of the sand, the paler silk curtains and embroidered quilt, and a soft cream carpet so the colours came alive.

  He loved it and apparently he loved her, for the delicate silk quilt was soon thrown aside, and they collapsed together on the bed, holding each other and laughing at the sheer joy of being together—together for now and together always.

  They undressed each other slowly—teasingly slow—but Sarah was determined not to crush her wedding finery. This suit would always be special to her, and this time when they returned to the bed it was to make love slowly but passionately, their actions better than words to explain their feelings at that time.

  Talk came later, little memories they’d shared, talk of Wildfire and their meeting, of the work that lay ahead—their hopes, their dreams, their futures.


  When Harry slid from the bed, Sarah felt his absence but he was back within a minute, kneeling by the bed, opening a box and drawing out the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen.

  ‘This has been given by my family’s eldest son to his wife on their wedding day for as long as my people can remember. My mother gave it to me last night.’

  He leaned forward and clasped it around her neck, Sarah still wide-eyed in wonder, her fingers going up to touch the brilliant emeralds and small diamonds that glittered between them. The gems were cold against her skin, yet her body burned when Harry added, ‘And I doubt they’ve ever looked more beautiful than they do on you.’

  She understood now why he’d insisted on an emerald for her engagement ring, a ring that was now protecting that more precious ring, her wedding band.

  She drew him to her, back onto the bed, and they pledged to each other without words but with the jewels between them shining as a bright token of their love.

  * * ***

  Don’t miss the next story in the fabulous Wildfire Island Docs miniseries:

  THE FLING THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

  by Alison Roberts.

  Available next month

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