“Once, for my thirteenth birthday with uncle Hassan and two of my cousins. We swam in the ocean. It is a wonderful memory.”
“You haven’t—” Abdul stopped because Adiba spoke at the same time. “What did you say?”
“No, after you.”
They laughed.
“Why did you never go back to Eilat?”
“I have a sister and two brothers, all younger than me. Father works hard, but Arab laborer pay is poor.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticize.” Heat rose in his cheeks. He wished he’d engaged brain before inserting foot in mouth — typical insensitive Westerner.
“Do not be embarrassed. I don’t care to lay on a beach in Eilat. I have a wonderful family. My father encourages my writing. My mother makes a beautiful home. We lack for nothing, but our lives must seem very bland to you.”
“Not at all. In many ways I envy you. London is so fast-paced that it can be easy to forget what is important in life.”
The four-hour drive passed too quickly. The more time Abdul spent with Adiba, the more powerful the attraction. He hoped the feeling was mutual.
While he checked them in at the Dan Hotel, Adiba stood silently by his side, no longer his chatty fellow traveler. The opulence of the hotel appeared to intimidate her.
They ate lunch at the poolside bar. “Are you okay?” Abdul asked once they had ordered.
“Yes.” She stared at her plate.
“Sure?”
Adiba pulled in a deep breath and put down her silverware. She faced him for the first time since they’d started eating. “Abdul, for you this grandeur is familiar. I don’t belong here. It’s nothing you can change.”
They ate their meal in uncomfortable silence. Abdul wanted to regain the feeling from the road trip, but he didn’t know how. When their plates were cleared and he’d paid the check, he said, “I have to go to the meeting now.”
“I understand. I’ll wait in my room.” She stood and headed for the lobby.
He walked after her, placed a hand on her arm. “Why not take a walk to the beach, see whether you can remember where you swam on your birthday?”
Abdul searched her face, but she looked away. “I prefer not. We could go together, later?”
Abdul released her arm. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
Abdul found his way to the conference room and joined eight other journalists seated at a large oval table.
Nazar arrived a few minutes later and sat at the head of the table. “Welcome to Eilat. I thank you for taking the time and trouble to meet me. I am yours for an hour, please ask whatever you wish and I will do my best to provide answers.” Nazar’s striking green eyes sparkled. His voice sounded resonant, powerful, yet Abdul thought his smile conveyed genuine warmth.
Most questions centered on the steep fall in Eudon Oil’s stock price, and speculation about his successor as CEO. Nazar repeatedly steered the conversation toward his new venture, Eudon Alternative Energy. When the business discussion tapered off, Abdul asked the one thing that puzzled him the most.
“Mr. Eudon, from a humble beginning you have become one of the richest people in the world. Why risk your wealth and reputation now?”
“Abdul-Haqq, correct?” Abdul was impressed, Nazar had known each of the journalists’ names. “A most perceptive question.”
Abdul smiled, pleased with himself.
“I have never taken a wife. I birthed no children. Not by chance but by choice. I am a driven individual. I could sit back and relax, but that is not living. To live, one must take risks. To truly live, one must risk everything. I regret that this old fool took so long to understand that the world is on a wrong path, and I bear more responsibility than most. I wish to leave a legacy, not to greed and wealth, but to hope and freedom. And I believe I can.”
Nazar’s frankness impressed Abdul, and they exchanged an imperceptible nod, one Arab to another.
The meeting ended, and when Abdul’s time came to depart, he bowed deeply with hands joined respectfully in front as his mother had taught him. “Ma’a salama.”
Nazar, smiling, returned the gesture. “Abdul-Haqq, you were the sole representative from the UK here today. It is imperative that my new direction is understood in the country where Eudon Oil’s stock is listed. As you will have gathered from today’s discussion, my announcement and resignation took a severe toll on the Company’s share price. If you have no previous engagement, why not join me at my home in Aqaba for supper tomorrow. I could provide depth for your story. Also, I would enjoy meeting you outside the constraints necessary for this formal press briefing.”
Scott Shearer would be delighted by this arrangement, but what about Adiba? “… That is most generous, Mr. Eudon. I’d be honored to accept your hospitality.”
“You hesitated. Why? Please speak freely. For if you cannot, you are perhaps not the man I hope to meet tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I expected to be free tomorrow, and I had planned to spend time with a friend, but the arrangement can be changed.”
“I suspect she is an attractive friend.” Nazar winked. “What is her name?”
“Her name is Adiba, and yes, she is beautiful.” Abdul grinned like a schoolboy.
“Well, perhaps you would agree to share her beauty with an old man for a few hours if she is willing to join us. What do you say?”
“I’m sure she’d be excited to meet you.”
“Excellent. That’s settled. My assistant will make the arrangements. I look forward to seeing you and your Adiba tomorrow.”
That evening, Abdul and Adiba sipped mint tea outside a small beachfront café. Their table looked across the Gulf of Aqaba. The light from an occasional hilltop house betrayed the height and scope of the dark mountains that loomed over the city and cradled it against the sea. Nazar’s driver was scheduled to collect them at noon the following day, and Abdul still hadn’t persuaded her to accompany him. She lacked the confidence to visit the home of such a rich and important Arab.
“I can’t, Abdul. I have nothing to wear.” Another in a long list of reasons she had paraded before him.
“Adiba, I must go. It’s why my boss sent me. But I want to spend time with you. I can only achieve both if you join me.” Abdul slid his hand across the small table and laid it on top of hers. She stared at his fingers. Her face screwed tight, as if she were swallowing a lemon. A refusal would break his heart.
“Okay, but you have to help me if I do something stupid and embarrass myself.”
A flutter of excitement sped his pulse, and he grinned. “Of course, and you won’t. Now. Can we order? I’m starving.”
After dinner, they walked for an hour, hand in hand, along the beachfront. He didn’t want the evening to end. He escorted Adiba to her room. They faced each other at the open door, and she reached up and kissed his cheek. He held her bare arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. She responded, but then pulled back and wished him goodnight.
At noon the next day, they sat in the lobby until Nazar’s sleek black Mercedes pulled up. The driver guided them into the rear seat. “I am Mufeed. Do you have your passports?”
“Yes,” Abdul answered for them both.
“The Jordanian border is only a few minutes. The guards know me well, so it will be smooth. Has either of you seen Aqaba before?”
“No,” Abdul said. Adiba failed to respond to the driver. She sat erect, hands locked together on her lap, not even leaning back into the seat. Abdul wondered if he’d made a mistake by insisting she come. She seemed so uncomfortable and nervous.
Twenty minutes after they crossed into Jordan, the car slowed as it approached two wrought-iron gates set in a high brick wall and spanning a broad driveway. At the center of each gate, a coat of arms portrayed a green-and-gold-striped snake with its fangs bared, ready to strike. An armed guard in a pale-green uniform, the snake logo stitched to his breast pocket, stepped from his sentry post and checked the vehicle before opening the gates with a remote.