Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

Chapter THREE

“I DON’T mean to intrude. But if you need someone to talk to, I could listen.” She wished she’d had someone to listen to her when her father’s disappearance became known. Her mother had long ago divorced herself from Hank Pendarvis—both legally and emotionally. She and Bethanne’s stepfather had a loving and happy marriage from which Bethanne had often felt excluded. Plus, they never had a kind word to say about her father. Bethanne wished she could have him give her one of his bear hugs again. Did Haile’s father feel that way?
“Did he hear from Haile?” she asked.
“He did. And is furious with her and with me.”
“You’re the injured party—why is he angry with you?”
“He believes I should have told him immediately. He could have taken steps. He overrates his power. By the time I found out, Haile had had hours to flee Morocco. She and her lover were married in Marseilles that very day. My telling him would not have prevented that.”
“Will he tell others? Your minister?”
“Not if he wants this deal to go through.”
He pushed away from the desk. “I have my folder. I won’t keep you up any longer.”
He looked at her slacks and T-shirt.
“Was sleeping attire not included in the clothes I ordered?”
“Yes, but no robe. I didn’t know whom I might see if I came down for books.”
“I shall remedy that in the morning.”
“Please, I’m fine. Next time I’ll take a book up with me. You’ve been more than generous. I don’t need anything else.”
“I thought all women loved beautiful things.”
“I expect we do. But we don’t have to own everything we see. Good night, Rashid.”


Reaching her room a minute later, she softly closed the door and flung herself on the bed, the books falling on the mattress beside her. She had not expected to see him again tonight. He’d looked tired and somewhat discouraged. Not the best way to end a day. She hoped the deal would be signed soon. There was nothing else she could do but go along and hope in some small part she’d contribute to a satisfactory conclusion to their negotiations.
Trying to settle into a fictitious mystery when she had a real-life scenario in her own life was difficult. Murder was not involved in her case, but finding clues was. She tried to glean ideas from the book, but her mind turned time and time again to Rashid.
She knew he believed Hank to be a thief, but wouldn’t he still want answers? Letting the book fall onto her chest, she gazed at the dark night beyond the billowing curtains. The man at the airport had said the son had no idea why her father took the plane. Didn’t he want to know? She couldn’t picture Rashid ignoring the situation. He’d push until he got answers.
Just before she fell asleep, she pictured herself with Rashid finding her father and finding the reason for the apparent theft. It could be explained away. Then Rashid would look at her with admiration and sweep her into his arms for a kiss….
She stopped herself—she had to stop fantasizing about his kisses!


Once again Minnah woke Bethanne the next morning, bringing a breakfast tray. The hot chocolate was as rich and satisfying as the previous day. The croissants were warm and buttery, melting in her mouth.
She debated going for a swim, but decided she had best set to searching for her father. She wanted to prove to Rashid his belief was misplaced.
“Pardon, I almost forgot,” Minnah said after she opened the French doors and curtains to allow the sunshine to flood the room. “It is a letter from His Excellency. I will return for the tray in a while.” She handed Bethanne an ivory-colored envelope with her name written in a bold script.
She opened it and read the brief note, her heart revving up. It had taken ages to fall asleep and then her dreams about Rashid had been exciting and most certainly not ones she wanted to share with anyone. The best favor she could do herself would be to remember always that this was merely make-believe.
A car will be at your disposal today. The driver will be waiting when you are ready to take you where you wish. He speaks English, and can translate if you wish to stop to shop or have coffee.
Disappointment warred with relief at the missive. What had she expected? A love note? An offer to spend the day with her?
The bold handwriting continued: Saturday I have a polo match, I would like you to attend. Perhaps you’d care to see the horses before the game. If there is not a suitable dress for you to wear, let the maid know and she’ll relay the information and something appropriate will be ordered.
Bethanne was almost giddy with excitement. Trying not to act like a schoolgirl with a major crush, she took a deep breath. Of course someone being in a position of special guest would want to attend the polo match. Mentally she reviewed the new clothes. She wasn’t entirely certain what was suitable for a polo match, but didn’t think any of the lovely dresses were the right kind.
Still, the thought of his buying more clothes caused a pang. He didn’t need to spend so much on this charade.
“Get real,” she said aloud. “He can afford it and the clothes can go to some worthy cause when I leave.”
Pushing the thought of leaving away, she quickly finished breakfast, showered and dressed in a light tan linen skirt and soft yellow cotton blouse. She planned to take advantage of the driver the sheikh offered to see some of the sights of old town this morning. She couldn’t wait to see the ancient buildings, walk where generations past had walked. And maybe find out more about her father.
Then, if time permitted, she’d take advantage of the beauty of the Persian Gulf and laze on the beach until Rashid came after work.
Bethanne was pleased to see the driver at her disposal was the same one she’d asked about her father. She greeted him and told him of her desire to see the old city, and where Hank had lived.
When they arrived, he pulled into the curb and stopped.
“I cannot take the car any farther. The road becomes too narrow. Down there two blocks.” He handed her a sheet of paper with Arabic writing. “I wrote his name and when he lived there and where. Show it to people for information about Hank. Many speak some English. If not, come get me to translate. I will wait with the car.”
“Thank you.”
“You will not get a good reception,” he warned.
“Why not?” That thought had never crossed her mind.
“The old sheikh was well liked. It was not a good thing to steal his plane. Some speculate the pilot’s betrayal caused the heart attack that killed him. The man had flown the sheikh for years. His treachery cut deep.”
Bethanne recognized she was fighting an uphill battle to clear her father’s name. He would not have treated his employer that way—she knew it. His letters and phone calls had been full of admiration and respect for his employer. But how to prove that, and find out what really happened?
When she climbed out of the car, she was instantly in a foreign world. The tall sandstone walls were built closer to each other than most American buildings. Rising fifteen to twenty feet in height, they seemed to encase the street. Archways, windows and doors opened directly onto the narrow sidewalks, most already shuttered against the day’s rising heat.
Bethanne was almost giddy with delight. She’d longed to visit Quishari ever since her father had first spoken about it. He had loved it and she knew she would as well. Savoring every moment, she slowly walked along, imagining she heard the echo of a thousand years. The heat shimmered against the terra cotta-colored walls. Here and there bright colors popped from curtains blowing from windows, or painted shutters closed against the heat.
She got her bearings and headed in the direction indicated in the drawing. Where the street intersected another, she peered down the cross streets, seeing more of the same. Archways had decorative Arabic writings. Recessed doorways intrigued, beckoned. For the most part, however, the reddish-brown of sandstone was the same. How did anyone find their own place when they all looked alike? she wondered.
Reaching a square, she was pleased with the wide-open area, filled with colorful awnings sheltering stalls with everything imaginable for sale. There were booths of brass, of glass, of luscious and colorful material and polished wood carvings. Some stalls sold vegetables, others fruit or flowers. Women and children filled the aisles. The sounds of excited chattering rose and fell as she looked around. On the far side, tables at two outside cafés crowded the sidewalk. Men in traditional Arab dishdashahs with white gitrahs covering their hair sat drinking the strong coffee. Others wore European attire. Several women dressed all in black stood near the corner talking, their string bags ladened with fresh produce from the stands in the square. The air was almost festive as shoppers haggled for the best bargain and children ran and played.
Bethanne watched in awe. She was actually here. Looking around, she noticed she was garnering quite a bit of attention. Obviously a curiosity to the daily routine. She approached one of the women and showed her the paper. The woman began talking in Arabic and pointing to a building only a few steps away. Bethanne thanked her, hoped she was pointing out the apartment where her father had lived. She quickly crossed there. No one responded to her knock.
Turning, she explored the square, stopping to ask in several of the stalls if anyone had known Hank Pendarvis, showing the paper the driver had prepared. No success until she came to one of the small sidewalk cafés on the far side of the square. A waiter spoke broken English and indicated Hank had been a frequent customer, years ago. He had met with a friend often in the afternoons. The other man still came sometimes. She tried to find out more, but he had told her all he knew. She had to make do with that. If she got the chance, she’d return another time, to see if her father’s friend was there.
She asked if she could leave a note. When presented with a small piece of paper, she wrote only she was trying to find out information about Hank Pendarvis and would return in three days.
She dare not at this point mention her tenuous relationship to the sheikh. She did not want anyone trying to reach her at the villa. Until she knew more, she had to keep her secret.
Bethanne returned to the car then instructed the driver to take her to the best store in the city. She wanted to search for the perfect outfit to wear to a polo match. She did not need Rashid buying every stitch she wore.


When Bethanne returned to the villa late in the afternoon, the driver must have had some way to notify Fatima. The older woman met her in the lobby, her face disapproving, her tone annoyed as she said something Bethanne didn’t understand. Probably chastising her for leaving her chaperone behind.
To her surprise, Rashid al Harum came from the library.
“Ah, the eternal pastime of women—shopping,” he said, studying the two bags with the shop’s name on the side.
“Your stores had some fabulous sales,” she said. “Wait until you see the dress I bought for the polo match. I hope it’s suitable—the saleswoman said it was.” Conscious of the servants, she smiled brightly and hurried over to him, opening the bag a bit so he could peek in.
He did so and smiled. Glancing at the staff, he stood aside.
“Perhaps you’d join me in the salon.”
“Happy to,” she said.
He spoke to Fatima and the woman came to take Bethanne’s bags, then retreated.
“Is anything wrong?” Bethanne asked once the two of them were alone in the salon.
“Not at all. I have some spare time and came to see if you wanted to have lunch together. I have not forgotten you wanted to see some of my country. Where did you go this morning?”
“To a place in the old town. I walked around a square there, saw a small market. Then went shopping for the dress.”
“I’d be delighted to show you more of the old town, and some of the countryside north of the city, if you’d like.”
“Yes. I would. I probably won’t get the chance to visit Quishari again after I leave.” Especially if she didn’t find her father, or convince Rashid he was innocent.
“And I remember you like exploring new places,” he commented, studying her for a moment.
“I’ll run upstairs and freshen up. I can be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
“There’s no rush.”
She smiled again and dashed up to her room. She should have been better prepared for Rashid, but had not expected him to disregard work to spend time with her. She was delighted, and hoped they’d find mutual interests for conversation. She could, of course, simply stare at him all day—but that would look odd.


Rashid walked to the opened French doors. He gazed out at the gardens, but his thoughts centered on his American visitor. Bethanne fascinated him. Her profession was unusual for a woman. Yet whenever she was around him, she appeared very feminine. He liked looking at her with her fair skin, blue eyes and soft blond hair. Her casual manner could lead some to believe she was flighty—but he’d checked her record and it was spotless. He also found her enthusiasm refreshing after his own rather cynical outlook on life. Was that an American trait? Or her individual personality?
Rashid knew several American businessmen. Had dined with them and their wives over the years. Most of them cultivated the same aloof cosmopolitan air that was so lacking in Bethanne. Maybe it was that difference that had him intrigued.
His mother had called again that morning, bemoaning the fact Bethanne was visiting and that Haile had not come. When he’d told her he was just as well out of the deal, she’d appeared shocked. Questioning him further, she’d become angry when he’d said he wasn’t sure the arrangement had been suitable in the long run. He didn’t come out and tell her of firm plans with Bethanne, but let her believe there was a possibility.
He almost laughed when his mother had tentatively suggested Bethanne wasn’t suitable and he should let her help him find the right bride. He knew he and Bethanne didn’t make a suitable pair. Yet, if he thought about it, she would probably have beautiful children. She was young, healthy, obviously intelligent.
He stopped. It sounded as if he were seriously considering a relationship with her. He was not. His family would never overlook what her father had done. And after the aborted affair with Marguerite, he didn’t fully trust women. He would do better to focus on finalizing the details of the agreement with al Benqura.
His mother had reminded him she expected a different guest, and so would others.
“Until they see Bethanne. Then they’d know why she’s visiting,” he’d said, hoping to fob her off. It would certainly give a shot in the arm to the gossip circulating. And, he hoped, throw off any hint of scandal the minister might try to expose. Animosity ran deep between them. Rashid would not give him anything to fuel their feud.
He’d already invited Bethanne to the polo match. Perhaps a dinner date or two, escorting her to a reception, would give gossips something else to talk about. It would not be a hardship. And al Benqura was in a hurry to finish the deal, as Rashid had suspected. Once the papers were signed, Bethanne would be leaving. Life would return to normal and no one except he and she would know the full circumstances of the charade. The thought was disquieting. Maybe he wouldn’t be in so much of a hurry to finalize everything.


Bethanne took care when freshening up. She brushed her hair until it shone. Tying it back so it wouldn’t get in her face, she refreshed her makeup. She felt like she was on holiday—lazing around, visiting old town, now seeing more of the country. Spending time with a gorgeous man. What was not to like about Quishari?
She was practical enough to know she wasn’t some femme fatale; she’d never wow the sheikh like some Arabian beauty would. Haile had had that sultry look with the fine features, wide chocolate-brown eyes and beautiful dark hair so many Arab women had. Next to them, she felt like a washed-out watercolor.
Leaving her room, she started down the stairs.
“Prompt as ever,” he said from the bottom.
She glanced down at him, gripping the banister tightly in startled surprise. She could take in how fabulous he looked in a dark suit, white shirt and blue-and-silver tie. His black hair gleamed beneath the chandelier. His deep brown eyes were fixed on her. Taking a breath, she smiled and tried to glide down the stairs. Was this how Cinderella felt going to the ball? She didn’t want midnight to come.
“You look lovely,” he said.
Bethanne smiled at him. “Thank you, kind sir.”
Once seated in the limo, Rashid gave directions to the driver. Bethanne settled back to enjoy being with him.
“So if I’m to watch a polo match on Saturday, maybe I should learn a bit of the finer points of the game,” she said as they pulled away from the villa. “What should I watch for?”
Rashid gave her an overview of the game. Bethanne couldn’t wait to see Rashid on one of the horses he spoke about. She knew he’d looked fabulous. She had to remind herself more than once on the ride—sheikhs didn’t get involved with women from Galveston, Texas.


When they arrived at the restaurant, Bethanne was impressed. It was on the shore of the Gulf, with tall windows which gave an excellent view to the beautiful water. Their table was next to one of the windows, tinted to keep the glare out, making Bethanne feel as if she were sitting on the sand.
“This is fabulous,” she murmured, captivated by the view.
“The food is good, as well,” he said, sitting in the chair opposite.
The ma?tre d’ placed the menus before them with a flourish.
After one glance, Bethanne closed hers and looked back out the window. “Please order for me. I’m afraid I can’t read Arabic.”
“Do you like fish?”
“Love it.”
“Then I’ll order the same filet for us both and you’ll see what delicious fish we get from the Gulf.”
After their order had been taken, Bethanne looked at him. “Do you ever go snorkeling or scuba diving?”
“From time to time,” he said. “Do you?”
She nodded. “It’s almost mandatory if one grows up in Galveston. I’ve had some great vacations in the Florida Keys, snorkeling and exploring the colorful sea floor.”
“We will have to try that before you go,” he said politely.
She studied him for a moment. “I can go by myself, you know. You don’t have to take time away from your busy work schedule. It’s not as if—”
His raised eyebrow had her stopping abruptly.
“What?”
“We do not know who can hear our conversation,” he cautioned.
She glanced around. No one appeared to be paying the slightest bit of attention to them, but she knew it would only take a few words to cause the charade to collapse and that would undoubtedly cause Rashid a lot of trouble.
“So how goes the deal?” she asked, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice.
“We should sign soon, if certain parties don’t cause a glitch.”
“The father?” she asked, feeling as if she were speaking in code.
“No, he’ll come round. It’s some of our own internal people who are against the proposed agreement who could still throw a wrench into the works.”
“And your mother?”
Rashid leaned closer, covering one of her hands with his, lowering his voice. “My mother has no interest in politics or business. She only wants her sons married. Our personal lives have no interest to anyone, unless it causes a breach between me and al Benqura. That’s what we are guarding against.”
Bethanne knew to others in the restaurant, it must look as if he were whispering sweet nothings. Her hand tingled with his touch. For a moment she wished she dared turn it over and clasp his. The Quishari culture was more conservative than Americans and overt displays of affection were uncommon in public. Still, he had made the overture.
“Do not be concerned with my mother. She will not cause a problem.”
“I wished she liked me,” she murmured.
“Why? You’ll hardly see her before you leave. She will be at the polo match and perhaps one or two events we attend, but her manners are excellent, as I expect yours to be.”
Bethanne bristled. “I do know how to make nice in public,” she said.
Amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”
Their first course arrived and Bethanne was pleased to end the conversation and concentrate on eating and enjoying the view.
“This is delicious,” she said after her first bite. The fish was tender and flavorful. The vegetables were perfect.
He nodded. “I hoped you would like it.”
Conversation was sporadic while they ate. Bethanne didn’t want to disturb the mellow mood she was in as she enjoyed the food. She glanced at Rashid once in a while, but for the most part kept looking at the sea.
When the sugared walnuts appeared for dessert, she smiled in delight. “I didn’t know restaurants served these,” she said, taking one and popping it into her mouth.
“I ordered them specially for you,” he said.
“You did?” Amazing. She’d never had anyone pay such attention to details and then act on their knowledge. “Thank you very much. I love these.”
She savored another then asked, “So what happened to your brother? Did he get the fire out?”
“He did. He heads a company that specializes in putting out oil fires as well as acting as consultants for wells around the world.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“Putting out the fires can be, but the rest is consulting work.”
“Isn’t he part of the family business?”
“He is, but more a silent partner in the day-to-day operations. He prefers not to be stuck in an office, as he puts it.”
She studied him, taking another walnut and savoring it as she put it in her mouth. “I don’t see you as stuck in an office. I expect you love pitting your mind against others.”
He smiled slightly. “One way to put it, I suppose. I find it satisfying to make deals to benefit the company. Pitting my wits against others in the field and continuing to expand the company beyond what my father did.”
“How did your father die?” It was a bold question, given what she’d learned this morning, but she would never have a better opportunity.
“Heart attack. He was only sixty-three…far too young to die.”
“I hope heart problems don’t run in your family.” Nothing said about what caused it. Maybe the timing was coincidental to the disappearance of her father and the plane. She hoped so. It was bad enough they thought her father a thief. Surely they didn’t blame him for the old sheikh’s death.
“No. He had rheumatic fever as a child and developed problems from that. The rest of us, including two of his older brothers, are fine.”
More than fine, she thought, looking away lest she gave him insight into her thought process. Really, Bethanne, she admonished, you’ve seen other gorgeous men before. Just not so up close and interested in her—even if it was only pretend.
“Ready to leave? We can take the walnuts with us. I want Teaz to drive us up the coast. There are some beautiful spots along the way. And some ruins from ancient times.”
Settled in the luxurious limousine a few moments later, Bethanne knew she could get used to such treatment in no time. And she could gain a bazillion pounds if she kept eating the sweets. Just one or two more and she’d stop. Until later.
Rashid gave a running commentary as they drove along one of the major highways of Quishari. With the Persian Gulf on the right and huge family estates on the left, there was a sameness that gradually changed as they went farther from the city.
Soon they were surrounded by the desert, stretching from the sea to as far to the west as she could see.
“The ruins are best viewed walking through them,” he said when Teaz stopped the car. The place was lonely, sandy and windswept, only outlines of the buildings that had once comprised a thriving village.
“Lonely,” Bethanne said, staring west. Nothing but miles of empty land. And the memory of people now gone.
“Once it was a lively trading port. You can see a few of the pilings for the piers in the water. It’s estimated these are more than two thousand years old.”
“Makes America seem like a toddler. Most of our history goes back four hundred years—once the Europeans settled in. I’d like to see this from the air. Tell me more.”
By the time the sun was sinking lower in the sky, they’d gone north almost to the border and turned to head for the villa. Bethanne enjoyed every moment. It was obvious that Rashid loved his country and enjoyed sharing his devotion with his guest. She learned more about the history of the area in their ride than she’d ever learned in school or from her father. Rashid had appeared surprised at the knowledge she did have.
“Tomorrow we can take the plane up again. Fly over the ruins and maybe west. There are a few oases that are large enough to support small communities.”
“Did your family gather at the villa for holidays?” she asked.
“For some of them. Other times we met at my father’s home. But the family loved the villa. In the summer, my parents often spent several weeks visiting my grandmother and enjoying the sea. My brother and I loved those times.”
Rashid escorted her to the door when they arrived.
The butler met them, speaking rapidly to Rashid.
“We seem to have company,” Rashid said to her in English. “My brother.”
“Oh. Do you want me to go on upstairs?”
“No, come meet Khalid.”
When they entered the salon, a man sitting on one of the chairs reading the newspaper rose. For a split second, Bethanne stared. He looked just like Rashid. Twins!
Then he turned to face them and the image was disturbed by the slash of burned skin going from just beneath his right eye, down to the collar of his shirt in a disfiguring swath. Bethanne caught her breath, trying not to imagine the pain and suffering that had resulted from such a burn.
“Bethanne, this is Khalid.”
“How do you do. Rashid didn’t tell me you two were twins.”
Khalid nodded but stayed where he was, his eyes alert and suspicious.
“He told me about your plan to fool the world. Stupid idea,” Khalid said.
She blinked at the hostility, then glanced at Rashid, who shrugged. “So you say. If it holds off the wolves until the deal is signed, I’m good with it. What brings you here?”
“I wanted to meet her,” Khalid said.
Bethanne walked over and sat down. “Now you have. Questions?” She had spent her fair share dealing with obstreperous officers in the past. And some cranky clients. She could handle this.
“Do not cross the line,” Rashid warned his brother.
“What do you expect from this?” Khalid said, ignoring his twin.
“A signed acceptance of the jet aircraft I delivered and a few days exploring a country I have long wanted to see,” Bethanne responded quickly.
Rashid watched his brother ask more questions than he should have. He was looking for a gold digger and that was not Rashid’s assessment of Bethanne. She was more concerned with clearing her father’s name than getting clothes or money from him. Not that Rashid had any intentions of providing his visitor anything more than was needed to attend the events where he’d show her off. Khalid was worried for naught.
“Did you get that oil fire out?” she asked at a pause in the interrogation.
Khalid nodded. “How do you know about that?”
“My dear friend Rashid tells me everything,” she said sweetly.
Rashid laughed aloud. “Subtlety is not your strong suit. Leave her alone. I’m happy with the arrangement we have. No need to look for trouble where there is none.”
Khalid studied her. Bethanne met his gaze with a considering one of her own.
“We are dining in this evening—would you care to join us?” Rashid asked.
He decided in that instance to stay for dinner. Maybe a few hours in Bethanne’s company would end his brother’s suspicions and gain his own cooperation in the situation.