A Question of Honour. Kate Walker

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      ‘You have to see...?’ Karim queried cynically. ‘Just what is more important than the upcoming wedding—the future of the peace treaty?’

      My family. My baby brother. Harry. The words beat inside her head, creating a terrible clenching sensation in her stomach that made her feel both nauseous and dry-mouthed in the same moment. A deadly combination.

      But at the back of her mind there was the idea that had come to her like a flash of inspiration just moments before. It might just work. And she was desperate enough to try anything.

      ‘Who is this man—your lover?’

      That was just so ridiculous that she was close to laughing out loud. Did he really think that she had come to England to meet up with a man? But perhaps it might almost be worth letting him think that for now. At least it would distract him from the truth. And while he was distracted...

      ‘Oh, okay! You win.’ She hoped it sounded yielding enough. ‘It seems I have no choice so I’ll go and get my bag. Look, why don’t you make a coffee or something? If we’re going to have to travel, we might as well have a drink before we go.’

      He still eyed her with suspicion and he didn’t show any sign of moving towards the kettle as she walked past him and made her way up the stairs, her feet thumping on the uncarpeted wood. She walked noisily across the floor of her small bedroom, the one that was to the left off the landing, thankfully not the one directly above the kitchen. She had no doubt that Karim Al Khalifa was still standing, alert as a predatory hunter, listening to any sounds that reached him from above.

      Determinedly, she added to the sound effects he would be waiting to hear by banging open the door of the elderly pine wardrobe, rattling the coat hangers inside. There was really no need to do any such thing. The small overnight bag she had prepared earlier was still lying, full and firmly zipped up, on the bed. But Karim would be expecting her to pack more than that. He thought she was leaving with him for ever. For the rest of her life.

      The thought made her rattle some more coat hangers even more viciously, wishing she could throw some of them at Karim’s handsome head.

      Karim Al Khalifa. The name reverberated in her head, making her pause to think. He was the son of the Sheikh—a friend of Nabil’s late father—who had arranged all this. So why had someone so important—the Crown Prince, after all—come on a mission like this? He had never explained that.

      ‘Clementina?’

      Karim’s voice, sharp with impatience, came up the narrow staircase. He had clearly noted her silence. And he just as clearly wanted to be on his way. He wouldn’t be prepared to wait much longer.

      ‘Nearly done!’ She hoped her unconcerned tone was convincing. ‘Be down in a minute.’

      She had to be out of here. Grabbing the small overnight bag and slinging its longer strap around her neck, and grabbing her handbag, she crept over to the half-open window. Karim might be big and strong and powerful but she had the advantage over him here. Several childhood holidays in England, visiting her English grandmother, had given her a detailed knowledge of this old house and the secret ways in and out of it that had been fun and exciting for a tomboyish teenager.

      There was a trellis up the side of the wall, a heavy rich growth of ivy that was thick and strong enough to support her weight even though she was now no longer thirteen and just growing into her womanly form. With luck she could scramble down it, get to her car before he had even realised she had gone silent in the room above him.

      But as she eased the window open fully, a last minute thought struck her. This wasn’t just a personal thing; there were so many other implications of all this—political ones, international treaties. If she just disappeared then, she shivered at the thought of the trouble it might cause. The repercussions of her behaviour. On her country. On him.

      There was a notepad and pen beside her bed and she snatched these up, scribbling down five hasty words, adding her signature as an afterthought.

      ‘Clementina!’

      What little patience Karim had was wearing thin.

      ‘Just a minute—or would you like to come and pack for me?’ she challenged.

      The thought of him doing just that—coming upstairs, into her room, into her bedroom—made her heart lurch up into her throat, snatching her breath from her. But his growled response made her feel more relaxed.

      ‘Get on with it then.’

      ‘Oh, I will!’

      Leaving the note lying in the middle of the bed where he couldn’t possibly miss it, she edged towards the window, her bare feet silent on the floor, her bag on one arm. She didn’t dare risk opening the window any further in case it creaked, the wood scraping against wood.

      Sliding out backwards, her feet found the spaces in the trellis work that held the ivy tight against the wall with the ease of long-held memory. She prayed it would still hold her—they were both ten years older, herself and the criss-crossed wood. And she was definitely inches taller, pounds heavier. Her toes found the footholds, her hands knowing just where to grab to support herself on the way down. Holding her breath, she let the ivy take all her weight, inched her way down the wall, down to the ground at the back of the cottage, landing with a small sigh of relief as her feet touched the gravel.

      ‘So far so good...’

      Her battered red Mini was parked several metres away, its small size and well-worn paintwork totally overshadowed by the big black beast of a SUV that was drawn up just outside the front door. A car as sleek and powerful as the man himself, Clemmie told herself as she wrenched the driver’s door open, tossed the bags on to the back seat, flinging herself after them and pushing her key into the ignition almost before she was settled.

      The moment that the Mini’s engine roared into life was her last chance. Karim had to hear it and would come running so it was now or never. Not even bothering to fasten her seat belt—that could come later—she let off the brake, pushed her foot down on the accelerator and set the car off down the drive at breakneck speed.

      She thought she saw the flash of movement—the opening of the door—the appearance of a tall, dark, powerful figure in the empty space, but she didn’t take the time to be sure. She needed to focus on the road ahead.

      ‘I’m coming, Harry!’

      Pieces of gravel spurted up from under her car’s tyres as she headed for the lane and, after that, the motorway and freedom.

      At least for now.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE SNOW THAT had been threatening from the moment she’d woken up was falling steadily by the time that Clemmie turned off the motorway and headed back to the village. Huge white flakes whirled in front of her windscreen and the elderly wipers had trouble pushing them aside so that she could see the road.

      ‘Oh, come on!’ she muttered out loud, concentrating fiercely on steering as carefully as possible. After just over nine months in England, and most of that spent in much warmer and easier weather conditions, she was unused to driving over icy roads, and the addition of the slippery coating of snow made the situation even more treacherous.

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