A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh Read online

  They were walking on, Malik peering into the different rooms as Lauren spoke.

  ‘Most of the treatment rooms have monitors, so children here for three or four hours while chemo drips into them can watch a variety of television programmes, the older ones have popular computer games they can play and for the younger ones, there are cartoons or simple touch-screen games.’

  They took the elevator up, Lauren glad it already had passengers when they entered it, although their presence didn’t lessen the physical bombardment his body was causing in hers.

  It’s a marriage in name only, her head kept telling her, yet the slightest brush of sleeve on sleeve, a hint of his aftershave in the air, could start a flurry of sensations within her, not palpitations exactly, or goose-bumps, but tingling stuff that totally unsettled her...

  * * *

  ‘Up here, it’s a bit of a free-for-all!’ she said, as they left the elevator, but Malik could already see that for himself. The place was a riot of colour, not only the walls with bright murals, but balloons seemed to dance across the ceiling, children’s artwork was tacked up everywhere, and a couple of older boys, their mobile drip stands in one hand, were playing football in an open space.

  He watched Lauren as she took up her tour-guide spiel again, admiring the sure way she moved, the smiles and sometimes quiet words or gentle touches she gave individual children.

  ‘As you can see, this ward is for older children. Some of them participate in the morning television program they run that is shown throughout the hospital, a few have lessons—we have two teachers—and, generally speaking, it’s as homelike as we can make it.’

  ‘It’s certainly that,’ he said, putting out his foot to kick the straying ball back to the players. ‘And younger children?’

  ‘This way,’ Lauren said, and Malik followed her again, wondering as he did so why asking her to marry him should have affected him the way it had—as if this would be a normal marriage and his body was already anticipating, well, carnal delights.

  He liked the way she moved, this small, determined woman, and as she swept ahead of him, pausing now and then to speak to a patient or staff member, he was seeing her in his new children’s hospital, bringing the caring attitude that was obvious with every word she spoke, as well as a wealth of experience.

  But thinking this way was folly! Not about the hospital but about attraction. Attraction could lead to love and he was done with that. Romantic love had left him both hurt and humiliated, back when he was young, then seeing the dance Lily had led his brother had put him off the thought of it for ever.

  A marriage in name only, that was the idea.

  He caught up with her as she paused at one of the hand-wash dispensers, squeezing some foam onto her hands and spreading it thoroughly.

  ‘I’ll introduce you to a special friend of mine,’ she said. ‘Eve has JMML, so bloody rare you wonder why the most vulnerable should end up with it.’

  Malik heard the passion of anger in her voice. JMML—juvenile myelomonocytic leukaemia—was very rare indeed. But vulnerable?

  Because it attacked children?

  Or something else?

  Lauren had entered a room so Malik washed his hands and followed to see a small, dark-eyed child with a mop of dark curly hair smiling up at Lauren from her bed.

  She was so slight she barely made a bump in the bedclothes.

  ‘Hi, Evie, I’ve brought you a visitor,’ Lauren was saying quietly. ‘His name is Malik.’

  The dark eyes turned to study him, then her face changed completely as she smiled. It was as if a light had been lit behind her translucent skin, and he could see the vibrant little girl she’d been before her body had betrayed her.

  ‘Eve’s family live a six-hour drive from the hospital, and she has three siblings, so it’s difficult for even one of her parents to stay here for any length of time,’ Lauren explained.

  Explaining vulnerable at the same time—the child alone in a strange city with long separations from her family.

  ‘But I have my phone—see,’ the little girl said, reaching out a skeletal arm to lift a phone, with a bright pink case encrusted in sparkling stones, from the table beside her. ‘And when I want to talk to them I turn it on and press just here, and at home it comes up on someone’s phone or computer and tells them I’m there, and I can do...’

  Anxious eyes turned to Lauren.

  ‘What can I do, Lauren?’

  Malik saw the fondness for the girl in Lauren’s eyes.

  ‘It’s called FaceTime, sweetie. Press it to show Malik how quickly your family knows you’re waiting to see them.’

  Malik watched as the frail fingers manipulated the phone, and within seconds three children’s faces appeared on the phone’s screen, and excited voices yelled, ‘Hello, Evie!’

  Malik closed his eyes for an instant and swallowed hard, seeing this sick child connecting with her family so far away.

  ‘How can I help?’ he said, aware his voice was rough with the unexpected emotion.

  Lauren smiled at him.

  ‘Do you do miracles?’ she asked quietly as various people—adults now as well—yelled through the phone to Evie.

  He waited.

  ‘The chemo used for AML resulted in a small remission. When she relapsed, she had a splenectomy and again was okay for a while. But now we’re waiting for a stem-cell donor. The latest search was hopeful and the donor is being tested now but...’

  She was the emotional one now. Malik could hear it in her voice.

  ‘But?’ he said, and Lauren shrugged, then visibly brightened.

  ‘Even with the new cells, there’s only a fifty percent chance of success, so we’re all hanging out for our girl to be in the good half of that statistic.’

  ‘And being positive,’ she added, although he sensed she had to try harder for that.

  He’d have liked to touch her, rest his hand on her shoulder in a show of support and empathy, but something inside him whispered no, and he looked back at the child who had shut off her phone and appeared to be sleeping.

  The tour continued through the rest of the second floor, where there were younger children, play areas with colourful toys, televisions showing children’s programmes, the music from them clashing with music from small computers some of the children had.

  ‘It’s very special,’ he said, already adapting ideas to those that would fit in with his people’s culture, his mind ranging ahead to the specialists he’d need for his hospital to become the top children’s cancer unit in the region.

  And he’d have Lauren—what a bonus! For he understood that this had been four years in the making and in recent years she’d been part of the consulting team when it came to the practicalities of making it a special place. The experience she would bring to his hospital was something he hadn’t foreseen when he’d come to find her and Nimr.

  And into his head came a vision of the future—he and Lauren working together for the good of his people, his country.

  He and Lauren together...

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and meant it in more ways than one, when she finally led him back to the front door. ‘I shall see you tonight?’ She looked startled.

  ‘I could help you pack,’ he offered hopefully, though why seeing her again, as herself and not a nurse, had suddenly become so important he didn’t know. Unless the thought of their marriage had sparked an unexpected attraction. Actually, not so unexpected. He’d felt that unfamiliar tug the first time he’d seen her, tired and grubby, her eyes spitting fire at the man who’d organised their meeting.

  Whatever, the thought of taking her back to Madan with him was suddenly every bit as important as taking Nimr...

  The question threw Lauren, who was far from convinced this mad idea was real, let alone achievable.

  ‘I’m on duty until ten,’ she said. �
��Joe’s staying in to mind Nim...’

  She paused.

  ‘You could go to the house,’ she said slowly. ‘Then you could look at the Madan book with Nim and explain far more about the pictures than I can.’

  ‘You have a book on Madan?”

  Lauren nodded.

  ‘Lily sent it when she first went there, and because Nim—well, I thought he needed to know about his father’s heritage. He loves it, and looks at the pictures often. He can pick out his father among a group of, to me, anonymous men wearing white gowns. He has a picture of Tariq and Lily and him as a baby, so he knows who to look for.’

  ‘I would enjoy that, and perhaps see you later?’

  For some reason the simple question accelerated Lauren’s heart rate.

  Did he actually want to see her?

  Or was it for assurance that she hadn’t changed her mind?

  More likely that, she told herself. This was a practical arrangement after all.

  ‘I’m working until ten, which means it could be midnight before I get home, if there’s a problem or a lengthy handover. And believe me, by that time all I want to do is have a quick shower and fall into bed.’

  There! That settled any silly heart rate acceleration.

  ‘Of course,’ he said politely, further squashing any excitement with his matter-of-fact acceptance of her explanation. ‘I shall contact you tomorrow about arrangements.’

  She watched him walk away, wondering what on earth she was getting into.

  Worse still, wondering why the man was affecting her—no, attracting her...

  This was to be a business arrangement, not a man-woman thing.

  Would the attraction make that harder for her?

  Too hard?

  She remembered the passion with which Malik spoke of his country, and the things he wished to achieve in order to hand over to Nim a proud country to rule.

  And as that was Nim’s rightful heritage, would it be fair of her to take it from him?

  She glanced at her watch. She could have a quick lunch then see someone in the personnel office to give in her notice.

  This time her heart rate slowed—just thinking about such a definitive step made it pause.

  ‘You’re doing this for Nim,’ she reminded herself, and headed for the canteen.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IN THE CABIN of the luxurious private jet the real world seemed far away, far enough away for Lauren to relax. She listened as Malik answered Nim’s questions about Madan, and told him stories of Tariq’s childhood.

  Lauren found herself relaxing, dozing even, until lunch was served, and Nim fell asleep before he’d finished eating.

  ‘He’s been so excited about all this,’ she told Malik.

  He smiled, and said, ‘And you?’

  ‘I’ve barely had time to think, there’s been so much to do.’

  He smiled again, and said, ‘Which I’m certain you managed with great efficiency.’

  ‘Not entirely,’ she told him, aware how quickly he could sneak under her defences with a little compliment like that.

  To forestall more of them, she added, ‘Tell me about Madan.’

  And he did, his voice full of pride as he spoke of the past, of passion as he spoke of the future, and of pain when he spoke of Tariq.

  She heard truth in his voice as well, and knew, for all her doubts, that this man would never have harmed his brother.

  But as they talked—the subjects ranging further now to work, and current affairs, even—she began to feel more and more at ease with him, and sensed he too was relaxing, their togetherness beginning to feel almost natural somehow...

  * * *

  Seen from the air as they came in to land, Madan was an unbelievable landscape of ochre mountains, endless desert, and there, at the top end, the vivid green of the oasis, with towering new buildings clustered around one end of it.

  Nim was so excited to be nearing the country of his book he ran from one side of the plane to the other to catch different glimpses of it.

  ‘Time to sit, Nimr,’ Malik said, and Nim, already enslaved to this man who’d read his book and talked to him of his father, ran to his seat and buckled his seatbelt.

  But as the plane descended, Lauren’s misgivings returned, and the questions that haunted her nights—whether she was doing the right thing being the foremost of them—hammered in her head.

  Had she spoken aloud? Malik reached over across the aisle and rested his hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Please don’t worry, everything will work out for the best.’

  Don’t worry? she wanted to yell at him.

  How could she do that when she was not only stepping into a completely different way of life, language and culture, but in another day or so, according to Malik’s well laid-out plan, she’d be a married woman.

  And when that simple touch on her shoulder had sent warmth through her skin, how could she do anything but worry? She’d be married in name only, she reminded herself, but somehow that knowledge didn’t help to settle the warmth, or the turmoil in her stomach, or the panicked fluttering of the thoughts inside her head.

  They touched down and walked through a crowd of white-robed figures towards a blue and white building, with tall minarets rising from it on all four corners, and a welcoming arched dome painted blue, to mimic the sky, above the entrance door.

  Lauren held Nim’s hand—probably too tightly—but while he was entranced by all the fairy-tale stuff he saw, she was terrified.

  It’s just a building, she told herself, and this is nothing more than another country. People are people everywhere, both good and bad, sick and well. At least work will be familiar...

  ‘Relax!’

  He was by her side, and the word had the sharp note of an order.

  But perhaps that’s what she’d needed, as she did begin to feel more at ease, smiling as people murmured greetings, releasing Nim so he, too, could he introduced.

  Except now the same people she’d smiled at were bowing their heads to Nim as Malik introduced him, and there was something obsequious in the manner of the movement.

  Something that unsettled Lauren once again.

  ‘Do they have to do that?’ she demanded quietly of Malik as he opened the back of an enormous black car for her.

  ‘Do what?’ he asked, his eyes catching hers, arrested by the question.

  ‘Bow and scrape in front of him!’ she retorted, angry now. ‘We talked about it. I told you he should grow up like other boys—’ she broke off to tell Nim, who was bouncing on the soft seats to sit still ‘—not like—oh, I don’t know! Someone who should be bowed to!’

  Then, exhausted by the strangeness of it all, the travel and her sudden spurt of temper, she slumped into the car beside Nim, pulled on a seatbelt, and tried to calm her breathing.

  Go with the flow, she reminded herself, having decided that was the only thing to do from the day she’d handed in her resignation.

  But she hadn’t imagined the flow could be interrupted so soon after her arrival.

  Or that Malik wasn’t travelling with them, for he’d shut the door and the car was sliding silently away from the terminal, through huge golden gates, past the towering hotels, then into the shadows of the mountains she’d seen from the plane, apparently skirting the oases, for on one side of the road was vivid green and on the other the mountains, stark in shadow—forbidding?

  Lauren shook her head at the fancy in time to turn to see the camels Nim was pointing out so excitedly.

  Leaving the mountains behind, they entered an avenue of what Lauren took for date palms, tall and thickly leaved, their fronds almost forming a canopy over the road.

  A long road, leading eventually to a high wall, and man squatting outside who stood to open the gates—into a miracle. Before them was the most beautiful gar
den Lauren had ever seen or imagined, carefully laid out in formal patterns, fountains reflecting a million tiny rainbows.

  And roses—everywhere there were roses. There were other shrubs and bushes too, but predominately there were roses in every possible size and colour.

  ‘Gosh, Mum, is this a palace?’

  Lauren raised her eyes from the beauty of the garden and saw the magnificence in front of her. Golden domes and minarets, an arched colonnade around the building, sun glinting off the marble of its floor.

  Huge wooden doors were, she could see now that she was closer, intricately carved.

  ‘We were supposed to go somewhere else, not to the palace,’ she said to the driver, and he must have understood, for he shook his head.

  ‘No palace, no palace,’ he said as he alighted and came around to open her door.

  A tall, well-built older man, in a black robe trimmed with gold, descended the four steps in a stately manner then bowed to her.

  Dear heaven, not the bowing thing again—not to me.

  But with Nim he held out his hand, and Nim released his grip on his mother’s arm to shake hands with the man.

  ‘Ahmed,’ the man said, and Lauren forgot her nerves and stood taller and proud when the four-year-old boy said, ‘Nimr,’ rolling the final ‘r’ so beautifully Lauren guessed he’d had some coaching.

  Ahmed led the way up the steps, Nim chattering to him about the camels he had seen, unaware he might not be understood.

  A young woman, in long loose trousers and a long tunic, stepped out of the shadows of the entrance and came towards them.

  ‘I am Aneesha, I am here to help you.’ And with that she took Lauren by one hand and Nim by the other and led them inside. She paused briefly when Nim said, ‘Don’t forget to take off your sandals, Mum. Remember we read that in the book.’

  Lauren had barely taken in the wide entrance hall, with its glorious carpets scattered about the marble floor and hung from many of the walls, when there was a disturbance outside and Malik appeared.

  ‘I am sorry, so sorry. I wished to be here before you but was delayed with some business.’