An Arabian Marriage. LYNNE GRAHAM

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      Jaspar regarded the older man in polite enquiry but with no great hope for Rashad was his father’s yes-man, guaranteed to always agree with and support his royal employer’s every spoken word.

      ‘We use our special forces and snatch the child…’ Jaspar drew in a very deep and necessary breath of restraint. Sometimes, his father astounded him. A feudal ruler from a young age, his exalted parent had never quite come to terms with the reality that a very different world lurked beyond Quamar’s borders.

      ‘There would be no need to negotiate with the foreign Jezebel and the boy would be whisked back to Quamar, renamed and raised as an orphan. Perhaps we could say that he is a distant cousin’s child,’ Rashad completed with immense enthusiasm.

      Only the fond memory of Rashad playing with him when he was a child himself prevented Jaspar from venting his incredulous dismissal of such an outrageous suggestion. Rashad was not a clever man and he was out of his depth, his sole motivation being a desperate desire to tell his ailing royal employer what he most wanted to hear. As for his honoured parent and sovereign, Jaspar reflected in rueful exasperation, illness and grief had evidently temporarily deprived the head of the house of al-Husayn of his usual common sense and caution.

      ‘Please inform His Majesty that the situation will be resolved without the need for such a dramatic intervention,’ Jaspar stated drily.

      ‘His Majesty fears that he will die before he ever lays eyes on the child,’ Rashad lamented emotively.

      Jaspar was well aware of that fact but also convinced that his father would soon recover his once excellent health if only he would stop fretting himself into pointless rages and thinking of dying. Casting open the file, he expected to see a photo of a leggy brunette of the type his late brother had appeared to find irresistible but there was no photo of either mother or child. So eager had the private detective been to report back on his success in locating the woman that he had wasted no time in gathering supporting evidence.

      The child’s mother, Erica Sutton, had been christened Frederica, and her own mother had deserted her and her father within weeks of the birth of her twin sisters. At eighteen, Erica had left home with a neighbour’s husband in tow but that liaison had soon ended. Becoming a model but rarely working, she had then gone on to enjoy numerous affairs with wealthy married men.

      When Erica had given birth to a child, nobody had had the slightest idea who had fathered him, but his mother’s newfound financial security had been marked by her purchase of a palatial apartment and the high-spending lifestyle of a party girl in constant search of amusement. As Jaspar read on, his lean, darkly handsome features grew steadily more grave. He was appalled by what he was learning and was no longer surprised by his father’s rage and concern. Taking the easy way out of an embarrassing predicament, Adil had left his infant son to the care of a cruelly irresponsible and selfish young woman, who appeared to have not the smallest maternal instinct.

      Thrusting aside the file in disgust, Jaspar had not the slightest doubt that it was his duty to remove his nephew from such an unsuitable home. That a devoted nanny had evidently protected the child from the worst of his mother’s excesses was of little consolation, for a nanny was only an employee whose services might be dispensed with at any time. The little boy was at undeniable risk both emotionally and physically in his current environment, Jaspar conceded grimly.

      His father had spoken wisely and Jaspar was ashamed that he had set such little store by the older man’s outraged condemnation of the child’s mother. The only solution was for his nephew to be brought out to Quamar. However, and Jaspar allowed himself a wry smile, he would achieve that feat without resorting to springing melodramatic manoeuvres with the army’s special forces and causing a diplomatic furore.

      Frederica Sutton, known as Freddy since the age of eight and by her own choice, passed the letter from Switzerland over to the grey-haired older woman seated across the table from her. ‘What am I going to do now?’

      Donning her spectacles and looking very much the retired schoolteacher that she indeed was, Ruth scanned the few lines with a frown. ‘Well, that’s that, then. You’ve exhausted every avenue—’

      ‘The only avenue.’ Freddy’s sole lead had been the Swiss bank account from which her late cousin, Erica, had received her generous income.

      She had written to the financial institution concerned, explaining the circumstances in some detail. She had hoped that she might somehow establish even third-party contact with whoever had originally set up that payment system. Unfortunately, the cagey response she had received had made it painfully clear that the tenet of client confidentiality forbade any such sharing of information while adding that any more approaches from her or indeed anyone else would be a complete waste of time.

      ‘It’s hardly your fault that Ben’s father didn’t make provision for the reality that at some stage there might be a genuine need for further contact,’ Ruth Coulter mused ruefully. ‘Possibly he was making it clear that he wanted no more involvement under any circumstances…and who could have dreamt that a woman as young as Erica would die?’

      At that reminder, Freddy’s aquamarine eyes clouded and she bent her blonde head until she had got her emotions back under control. Her cousin, Erica, had been only twenty-seven when she had met her death on the ski slopes in an accident that could have been avoided. But then Erica had died much as she had lived, Freddy conceded reluctantly, as though every day might be her last, running risk without thought and never, ever thinking of the future.

      ‘I know you miss Erica.’ The older woman gave Freddy’s hand a brief bracing squeeze. ‘But it’s been six weeks now and life has to go on, most particularly where Ben is concerned. I doubt if you will ever learn who his father is but in the long run that may even be for the best. Your cousin wasn’t very choosy about her male friends.’

      ‘She was trying to sort herself out,’ Freddy protested.

      ‘Was she?’ Ruth raised an unimpressed brow. ‘Of course, it’s wisest not to dwell on someone’s failings once they’ve gone. Naturally one prefers to remember the good things but one might be challenged in this particular case—’

      ‘Ruth…please!’Freddy was sincerely pained by that frank opinion. ‘Surely you remember what a dreadful childhood Erica had?’

      ‘I’m afraid I don’t have much faith in the fashionable excuses for downright immoral behaviour. Erica brought that poor child into this world only because it paid her to do so.’ Ruth grimaced, her distaste palpable. ‘She lived like a lottery winner on the child support she received from Ben’s father but took not the slightest interest in her own son—’

      ‘She put Ben to bed and read him a story for the first time shortly before she died. They were beginning to bond—’

      ‘No doubt you shamed and coaxed her into the effort. If Ben’s father had not been an extremely rich and evidently very scared married man willing to pay heavily for her discretion, Erica would have had that pregnancy terminated,’Ruth opined without hesitation. ‘She had no interest in children.’

      Giving up on her attempt to soften Ruth’s attitude towards Ben’s late mother, Freddy got up and knelt down by the little boy playing on the rug. Ben had his little cars lined up. He was dive-bombing them with a toy aeroplane and all the accompanying noisy sound effects. Aware that her hostess was finding the racket something of an irritation, Freddy directed Ben’s interest to a puzzle instead and sat by his side until his attention was fully engaged. He was a very lovable child and she adored him as though he were СКАЧАТЬ