‘Children?’
‘They have two young daughters. The plan was for Hannah to bring them by road into Botswana when they thought it was safe enough for her to do so, then…’A helpful link suddenly leapt into Emily’s mind. ‘Hannah and her husband, Malcolm, spent a vacation at The Salamander Inn five years ago. That’s why she picked it as a meeting place. She knew it and thought it was somewhere safe for both of us to get to. Since you own the inn, surely you can have a check run on the records…’
‘Not at this time of night.’
‘Then first thing tomorrow morning.’ Emily jumped to her feet, seeing a chance to end this highly unsettling encounter with him. ‘In fact, by tomorrow morning I’m sure you have the power and facilities to have lots of things about me checked, so talking any more right now is really inefficient, isn’t it? I’m terribly tired and if you’d just have me taken back to the women’s quarters, I’m very happy to accept your hospitality for the night and…’
He rose from his couch, choking off Emily’s speech with the formidable force of energy that rose with him. For several fraught moments, his gaze locked onto hers, telegraphing a strong and ruthless promise that if she was playing him for a fool she would pay for it.
Dearly.
But he did dismiss her from his presence.
‘Until tomorrow morning,’ he said in sardonic agreement with her timeline.
Pretend as she might about accepting an offer of hospitality for tonight, Emily found nothing remotely hospitable about the security guards who escorted her back to the women’s quarters.
She was not Sheikh Zageo bin Sultan Al Farrahn’s guest.
She was his prisoner.
CHAPTER FIVE
ZAGEO paced around his sitting room, incensed by the outrageous impertinence of Emily Ross, taking her leave of him as though she had every right to do as she pleased. This woman, who had to know she was a trespasser on his goodwill, had treated him in the same intolerable manner as Veronique. Which reminded him…
With a heightened sense of deadly purpose he moved to pick up the telephone and call the Paris apartment. He had bought it to accommodate the relationship with Veronique and she had recently taken to using it as her main residence. Zageo decided it would be a suitable parting gift as he waited impatiently for her to come on line.
‘Ah, cheri! What a lovely surprise,’ she responded with a gush of pleasure when he announced himself. ‘Are you missing me?’
If she wanted some proof of her pulling power she was testing the wrong man. ‘Veronique, we are at an end, you and I,’ he stated matter-of-factly.
‘What?’ Shock. Then anxiety. ‘What do you mean, Zageo?’
‘I mean our relationship has run its course. You were happy to remain in Paris…and I now find myself attracted to another woman.’
‘You are leaving me for another woman?’ she screeched into his ear.
A sobering lesson for taking him for granted.
‘I will sign over the apartment to you—a memento of our time together and one I’m sure you’ll appreciate.’
‘I don’t want the apartment without you in it,’ she cried wildly. ‘I want you, Zageo.’
A claim that left him completely cold. If she wanted him so much, she would be with him. Clearly Veronique had thought she could have her cake without supplying the ingredients that made it desirable for him, too. A deal was a deal and as far as Zageo was concerned, she hadn’t lived up to her end of it. Nevertheless, he was prepared to be generous.
‘Please have the grace to accept it’s over, Veronique. There is nothing more to be gained by carrying on. It cannot serve any good purpose. I promise you will have the apartment. I’ll put the legalities in train tomorrow.’
‘You’ve found another woman?’ Her voice shook with hysterical incredulity.
An unforgiveable wound to her pride?
‘I’m sure you’ll find another man,’ he drawled, aware there were many ready to slide into the place he’d just vacated.
‘You can’t do this to me. I won’t let you—’
‘Move on, Veronique,’ Zageo cut in ruthlessly. ‘I have. Let us meet in future as old friends who still hold some affection for each other. As always, I wish you well.’
He ended the connection before she could pour out any further futile protests. It was far better to part with a sense of mutual respect than with a tirade of mutual grievances. He hoped Veronique would be pragmatic enough to accept what would not be changed and count herself fortunate to have profited so handsomely from their relationship. The gifted apartment in Paris would undoubtedly provide balm to wounded pride.
The burning question now was…how to deal with Emily Ross?
She was showing no signs whatsoever of bending to his will. Quite the contrary. Despite the fact she had to realise her immediate fate was in his hands and it would serve her well to win his favour, she was flouting his authority at every turn.
If Abdul was right about this kind of attitude being common amongst Australians, perhaps it was not meant to be so offensive. On the other hand, Zageo did not care to accept it from a woman. Of course, he could turn her in to the local authorities, move her straight out of his life, and that was certainly the most sensible path to take, given that he’d decided to find himself a suitable wife.
Emily Ross was a distraction from what he should be doing. On the other hand, for the duration of this business trip through Africa, he would very much enjoy having her in his bed and teaching her who was master of the situation.
Tomorrow he would know more about her.
Knowledge was power, especially when it came to dealing with people.
However, when tomorrow came, enlightenment did not come with it.
‘Government offices are not open in Australia on Saturdays and Sundays,’ Abdul reported. ‘We cannot check a marriage certificate or a death certificate until Monday.’
More frustration!
Having finished eating his breakfast, Zageo took a long deliberate moment to savour the aroma of his Kenyan coffee, wanting at least one of his senses satisfied. Then he once again considered the challenging and highly vexing enigma of Emily Ross. Investigating her was like chasing evaporating smoke—no substance to be found anywhere.
Abdul had already informed him that the Australian employers who had written her references were no longer at the same place of business. Reef Wonderland Tours had changed management eighteen months ago and Whitsundays Diving Specialists was now a defunct company. As for the Red Sea resort where she had supposedly been working with a dive team, no-one admitted to knowing anything about her, which raised questions about what profession she had plied there since her name was not on any record books.