Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye

incumbent on everyone in England to have a quest? A royal decree perhaps?’

      Julia stifled a giggle, though Mr Fordyce looked puzzled. ‘My quest has nothing to do with the British crown. As I said, it is of a personal nature.’

      ‘So personal that it precludes you obtaining the appropriate permissions to travel within our borders.’

      ‘Frankly, I find it the most effective method of obtaining an audience with someone in authority,’ the English man replied. ‘Much quicker than going through the palaver of getting official papers and jumping through any number of diplomatic hoops to get to the man at the top.’

      ‘A very risky strategy, if I may venture an opinion,’ Azhar said.

      Mr Fordyce smiled disarmingly. ‘But successful, on most occasions. Such as today. Shall we get down to business?’

      ‘Do we have business to—er—get down to?’

      ‘Indeed.’ Like a conjurer producing a rabbit from a hat, Christopher Fordyce produced a bracelet. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen this, or anything like it?’

      It was not a bracelet but an amulet, intricately worked and set with diamonds and enamel. ‘It looks very old,’ Julia ventured.

      ‘It is. Thousands of years old. And very valuable too. In fact it’s priceless.’

      ‘There is some damage. It looks as if a stone has been lost or removed.’

      ‘You are very observant, madam. I’m not sure what it is that is missing, but I am sure that whoever the true owner is will provide me with the answer.’

      ‘True owner?’ Azhar frowned, turning the delicate item over in his hands. ‘May I ask how you came by this, sir?’

      ‘Oh, quite legitimately, I assure you. It was left to me by my mother. As to how she came by it,’ Christopher Fordyce said, his expression darkening, ‘that is another matter entirely. I presume it is not part of Qaryma’s crown jewels, Prince Azhar?’

      ‘No, it is not.’

      ‘You are sure?’

      ‘Certain. We produce our own diamonds here in Qaryma. They have a very distinctive colour and clarity. The stones in this bracelet are quite different. Of magnificent quality but definitely not from here. This bracelet is certainly Arabian but I’m afraid your search for the rightful owner must continue.’

      ‘Then I will thank you for your time, assuming I’m no longer under arrest.’ Mr Fordyce hid the amulet in the folds of his tunic, turning to go with an insouciance that Julia couldn’t help but admire.

      Azhar, however, was less sanguine. ‘Wait! Where are you going now? You surely do not plan to wander Arabia, casually dropping in on each kingdom and asking if they happen to have lost any of the family jewels.’

      ‘More or less, though I have it narrowed its place of origin down to six likely candidates, and you’re now the third I’ve eliminated. The quality of the gold and the gems, together with the distinctive style of the enamelling act as a sort of signature. It’s astonishing that such exquisite workmanship was possible more than two millennia ago.’ Mr Fordyce smiled ruefully. ‘You must forgive my over-enthusiasm. ‘I’m a bit of an amateur archaeologist.’

      ‘I suspect you are more expert than you modestly claim, Mr Fordyce. And please do not apologise for your overenthusiasm. It seems to be another English trait. Only this morning I witnessed Madam Trevelyan here become excited by a patch of green slime. Where do you intend to go next? Perhaps I can help you with permissions?’

      ‘A kind offer but there is no need. I shall stick to my tried-and-tested method.’

      Azhar laughed and held out his hand. ‘Then I will wish you good luck.’

      ‘I don’t need luck. It is a mere process of elimination, but thank you. Good day, sir...madam.’

      ‘What an extraordinary man,’ Julia said, as the door closed behind the Englishman and the guard.

      ‘With extraordinarily bad timing,’ Azhar said. ‘I have plans for tonight.’

      ‘To be fair to him, he hardly overstayed his welcome. What plans?’

      Smiling, Azhar held out his hand. ‘Come with me, and I’ll reveal all.’

      * * *

      ‘What is this place? Where are you taking me?’ Julia clung to the rope which served as a banister on the spiral stair of the turret. She had lost count of the number of steps they had climbed at somewhere around eighty-something. In front of her, Azhar held the lantern high, but she still had to take great care not to miss her footing.

      ‘Only ten more steps,’ Azhar said. ‘There are one hundred and fifteen in total,’ he added, pre-empting her question.

      The door was curved to fit snugly into the turret wall. With some relief, Julia stepped through it, and found herself on the roof of the palace. ‘Azhar!’

      ‘What do you think?’

      She gazed around her in wonder. The roof was huge, almost like an outdoor room with a knee-high parapet for walls and the star-filled night sky above forming a celestial ceiling more beautiful than the most ornately decorated ceiling in the most opulent of rooms. A tent had been set up in the middle, but it was not at all a practical tent. It was the kind of tent a child would dream up, made of scarlet silk, decorated with gold tassels. Open on one side to face out to the desert, the interior was a decadent haven of silk and velvet, luxurious rugs, huge cushions and one even larger divan. A crystal chandelier hung from the centre, the candles casting flickering shadows. Flowers floated in huge glass bowls, throwing their exotic scent out into the night.

      And what a night. Leaning precariously out over the parapet, Julia saw the desert, soft undulating sands, peaked dunes, the distant high mountains. And above, casting the chandelier into shadow, the waxing buttery moon, the huge slivery discs of the stars. ‘Azhar,’ Julia said, ‘it is breathtakingly beautiful. But how on earth did you manage to get all of this up those narrow stairs?’

      He laughed. ‘There is another, much easier way to access this roof. Do you really wish me to spoil the effect with practicalities?’

      She gazed up at him, quite entranced. ‘No.’

      ‘This will be our last night together. Tomorrow, on the eve of the coronation, there are many rituals I must endure, and after that...’

      ‘I will watch the ceremony and then I will leave with my escort,’ Julia said. ‘The arrangements you have made are faultless, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk them over again. As you say, this will be our last night...’

      Her throat clogged with tears. She stared out over the desert defying them to fall. She would not cry. She had promised herself she would not cry. She did not want to mar the perfection of this last night.

      ‘Julia, have I upset you? Is it too much?’

      ‘No,’ she said, ‘on the contrary, it is not enough, but it is all we will ever have.’

      Azhar flinched at the raw emotion in her voice. He had deduced that she cared too much, and was reluctant to acknowledge it, she knew that. This morning she had allowed him to prevent her speaking out, but she had been wrong to do so. So close to the beginning of her new life, she would not allow Azhar to smother her feelings.

      She smiled up at him. She fluttered her fingers over his hair, his cheek, let her hand rest on his shoulder. She had thought it would take courage, but it was actually straightforward. ‘I love you,’ Julia said. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

      He did not flinch this time, he froze.

      ‘I know you can’t love me or won’t love me or don’t love me, but I love you. I love you, Azhar, and if I allowed you to prevent me telling you that, I would have left Qaryma feeling I had been untrue to myself.’

      ‘Julia.’