The Sheikh's Bride. Sophie WestonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER TWO

      LEO was not really surprised when the room proved to be not only available but also quietly luxurious. When a discreetly noncommittal porter ushered her in she found there were gifts waiting on the brass coffee table: a bowl of fruit, a dish of Arabic sweetmeats and a huge basket of flowers.

      Leo blinked. ‘That’s—very beautiful.’

      The porter nodded without expression. He surrendered the plastic wafer that served as a key to her room and backed out. Neither he nor the hotel receptionist had expressed the slightest surprise about her lack of luggage.

      It was unnerving. Leo felt as if the unknown stranger had cast some sort of magic cloak over her. Oh, it was protective all right. But it made her feel as if he had somehow made her invisible as well.

      Still, at least it had got her a roof over her head tonight. Be grateful for small mercies, she told herself. He’s given you the opportunity to get your life back on track. She checked her watch and started making phone calls.

      Her mother was fourth on the list. She expected to have to leave a message but Deborah was there.

      ‘Sorry, Mother, you’re going to have to take a rain check for tonight,’ she said. ‘I’ve got problems. They’ll take a bit of time to sort out.’

      ‘Tell me,’ said Deborah.

      Leo did.

      Her mother was indignant. She might not approve of her only daughter toiling as a menial courier but that did not mean that she thought anyone had the right to sack her. She urged various strategies on Leo, most of which would have ended with both Roy and Leo being deported. Used to her mother’s fiery temperament, Leo murmured soothing noises down the phone until her mother’s fury abated.

      ‘Well,’ said Deborah pugnaciously, ‘Mr Ormerod is certainly not interrupting my dinner plans. You have to eat and I want your company. See you at eight o’ clock.’

      ‘But I haven’t got anything to wear,’ wailed Leo.

      ‘You’ve got a credit card.’ She could hear the glee in her mother’s voice. Deborah was always complaining about Leo’s lack of interest in clothes. ‘And you ought to know this town well enough to know where the class boutiques are. I’ll see you downstairs now.’

      Leo knew when she was beaten. She negotiated a fifteen-minute delay to allow her to make the rest of her calls. But that was as much of a concession as Deborah was willing to make.

      Deborah was waiting in the lobby.

      ‘I’ve got a car,’ she said briskly. ‘And I know where to go, too, so don’t try to fob me off with any old shopping mall.’

      She led the way purposefully. Leo grinned and followed.

      Installed in the back of the hired limousine, Leo tipped her head back and looked at her mother appreciatively. Deborah fluffed up the organza collar to her stunning navy-and-white designer dress. The discreet elegance of her earrings did not disguise the fact that they were platinum or that the navy stones which echoed her ensemble were rather fine sapphires.

      ‘You look very expensive,’ Leo said lazily.

      She did not mean it as a criticism. But Deborah flushed. She swung round on the seat to inspect her weary daughter.

      ‘And you look like a tramp,’ she retorted. ‘Do you dress like that to make a point?’

      Leo was unoffended. She had been taller than her exquisite mother when she was eleven. By the time she entered her teens she had resigned herself to towering over other girls. She had even started to stoop until an enlightened teacher had persuaded her to stand up straight, mitigating her height by simple, well-cut clothes. Deborah had never resigned herself to Leo’s chosen style.

      Now Leo said tolerantly, ‘I dress like this to stay cool and look reasonably professional during a long working day, Mother. Besides,’ she said as Deborah opened her mouth to remonstrate, ‘I like my clothes.’

      Deborah gave her shoulders a little annoyed shake.

      ‘Well, you won’t need to look professional tonight. So you can buy something pretty for once. It’s not as if you can’t afford it.’

      Leo flung up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

      The car delivered them to a small shop. The window was filled with a large urn holding six-foot grasses. Leo knew the famous international name. And the prices that went with it. Her heart sank.

      ‘It’s lucky I paid off my credit card bill just last week, isn’t it?’ she said.

      Deborah ignored this poor spirited remark. ‘We’re going to buy you something special,’ she said firmly, urging her reluctant daughter out of the car.

      ‘Here comes the frill patrol,’ groaned Leo.

      But she did her mother an injustice. Deborah clearly hankered after a cocktail suit in flowered brocade. But she gave in gracefully when Leo said, ‘It makes me look like a newly upholstered sofa.’ Instead they came away with georgette harem pants, the colour of bark, and a soft jacket in a golden apricot. Deborah gave her a long silk scarf in bronze and amber to go with it.

      ‘Thank you mother,’ said Leo, touched.

      Deborah blinked rapidly. ‘I wish you were wearing it to go out to dinner with someone more exciting than me.’

      For a shockingly irrational moment, Leo’s thoughts flew to her mystery rescuer. She felt her colour rise. Inwardly she cursed her revealing porcelain skin and the shadowy Amer with equal fury. To say nothing of her mother’s sharp eyes.

      ‘Ah,’ said Deborah. ‘Anyone I know?’

      ‘There’s no one,’ said Leo curtly.

      She stamped out to the limousine. Deborah said a more graceful farewell to the sales staff before she followed.

      ‘Darling,’ she began as soon as the driver had closed the door on her, ‘I think we need to have a little talk.’

      Leo stared in disbelief. ‘I’m twenty-four, Mother. I know about the birds and the bees.’

      Deborah pursed her lips. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Not that anyone would think it from the way you go on.’

      ‘Mother—’ said Leo warningly.

      ‘It’s all right. I don’t want to know about your boy-friends. I want to talk about marriage.’

      Leo blinked. ‘You’re getting married again?’

      Deborah enjoyed the attentions of a number of escorts but she had never shown any sign of wanting to have her pretty Holland Park house invaded by a male in residence.

      Now Deborah clicked her tongue in irritation. ‘Of course not. I mean your marriage.’

      Leo was blank. ‘But I’m not getting married.’

      ‘Ah,’ said Deborah again. She started to play with an earring. ‘Then the rumours about you and Simon Hartley aren’t true?’

      Leo stared at her in genuine bewilderment. ‘Simon Hartley? Dad’s new Chief Accountant? I hardly know him.’

      Deborah twiddled the earring harder. ‘I thought he was the brother of a school friend of yours.’

      Leo made a surprised face. ‘Claire Hartley, yes. But he’s quite a bit older than us.’

      ‘So you’ve never met him?’

      Leo shrugged. ‘Dad brought him out here a couple of