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That coolness was welcome to Chrissie while even more photos were being taken of them indoors. Being the centre of so much attention with the twins was a shock to her system but she was enjoyably surprised by the mood of genuine friendliness at their arrival and the number of people who spoke her own language. When Tarif began to get restive in his arms, Jaul recognised that it was time to move on and within minutes they were ensconced in a limousine, travelling down a wide boulevard. Her eyes widened when she registered the crowds of waving well-wishers. Jaul was evidently a popular ruler. Gripped by curiosity, she gazed out at streets lined with the sort of ultra-modern buildings that might have featured in any city, although the occasional glimpses of elaborate minarets and men in robes added a touch of exotica to the urban landscape.
‘What’s the palace like?’ she asked in the rushing silence.
‘It’s old-fashioned,’ Jaul warned her. ‘Everything’s as old as Queen Victoria aside of the bathrooms, kitchens and IT connections. It’s been generations since the palace had a queen to take an interest in it.’
‘I’d forgotten that.’
‘You can change anything you like. I’m pretty much indifferent to my surroundings...unless it’s completely weird and uncomfortable like the mansion in London,’ he conceded wryly.
The limo had left the city streets behind and rocky plains of sand bounded the desert highway. Dusk was falling. Away in the distance Chrissie could see the looming heights of giant rolling sand dunes coloured every tawny shade from ochre to orange by the setting sun. Giant gates dissecting very high turreted walls appeared a hundred yards ahead and Chrissie sat forward with a look of bemusement. ‘Is that the palace? My goodness, it’s the size of a city and it looks like a Crusader castle!’
‘The front part of the original fortress was built by the Crusaders before we threw them out,’ Jaul volunteered with amusement. ‘For hundreds of years as fashion changed every generation added new buildings. Even I haven’t been in all of them. The family was once much larger and in those days my ancestors lived with a vast retinue of servants and soldiers, who all had to be housed.’
The guards patrolling the walls were waving their guns and roaring a welcome as the limo purred through the automatic gates.
‘So, who’s in charge of everything here at the palace?’ Chrissie asked curiously as their vehicle passed through glorious landscaped gardens before gliding to a stately halt in front of the ancient main building with its huge domed entrance porch.
‘Bandar, my principal aide, is the nominal head because he is in charge of domestic finance but my cousin, Zaliha, actively runs the royal household. Her sister is married to Bandar, who lives here on site with most of my personal staff.’
A smiling finely built brunette with sloe-dark eyes appeared in the doorway and performed a respectful dip of acknowledgement. She introduced herself as Zaliha in perfect English, tendered her good wishes and begged to hold Soraya all in the space of one breath. The welcome cool of air-conditioning engulfing her overheated skin, Chrissie walked into an amazing circular hallway with walls studded with mother of pearl. ‘Shells...seashells,’ she remarked in disconcertion. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘There’s quite a bit that isn’t quite so lovely,’ the brunette warned her ruefully.
‘Don’t give my wife the wrong impression,’ Jaul urged lightly.
‘You speak incredibly good English,’ Chrissie told her companion.
‘My father was on the embassy staff in London and I went to school there,’ Zaliha told her.
‘Oh, my word...’ Chrissie was staring into the cluttered rooms they were passing, rooms bulging at the seams with antique furniture, some of which appeared to be centuries old. ‘It’s worse than Victorian,’ she told Jaul helplessly. ‘It’s more like...medieval.’
‘And ripe for renovation,’ Zaliha told her cheerfully.
‘We will go straight to our rooms now,’ Jaul countered before the brunette could involve Chrissie in such a discussion and he curved lean fingers round Chrissie’s elbow.
