A Family Affair (12 page)

“Of course I trust you. With my life, if need be, Soraya. Just like that, you want me to go back to the States? For how long?”

“Yes, just like that! Until I tell you to come back. Those . . .
two
left for France on
personal
business and didn’t tell either one of us, so yes, just like that.”

Soraya fired off a response to her husband’s text.

It is not everyone else you should worry about facing, my husband. You will be lucky if you are ever again allowed to gaze upon my beautiful face. No further communication from you will be accepted by me.

“Come. Let us prepare for your trip back to the States. Promise to give Ernie a kiss for me.”

In a daze, Trish agreed she’d give Ernie a kiss, then followed her sister-in-law back to her apartments, where, in the blink of an eye, she called the airport and in rapid-fire Arabic set the wheels in motion for Trish’s return to the States.

Minutes after that, Soraya was tossing clothes on the bed and pulling things out of drawers. She snapped her fingers for the maids, who appeared instantly. “Pack these things and have them taken to the airport. Shaykhah will be leaving in ninety minutes.”

Soraya turned to Trish. “Where are your winter things?”

Trish shrugged. “I don’t know where the maids put them.”

Soraya snapped her fingers again. “Find Shaykhah’s winter clothing and put it all in a separate bag.”

“Are you sure, Soraya, that this is the right thing to do?”

Soraya threw her hands in the air. “What’s that saying you are so fond of? Six of one, half dozen of the other. If nothing else, your husband will wake up when he returns and sees you gone. You cannot allow him to take you for granted. That’s what you taught me, Trish. That wasn’t a lie, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t a lie. Should I leave a note?”

“Absolutely not! I will inform my brother upon his return that you are gone. Let him . . . sweat! Be unavailable when he calls and sends you texts. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I can, but it will be hard.”

“Then call me if you find yourself about to respond, and I will talk you out of it.”

Trish sat down on the bed and started to cry. Soraya stood by helplessly as she tried to figure out dozens of ways to strangle her brother upon his return.

Basel, Switzerland

R
ASHID
Z
AYED STUMBLED HIS WAY THROUGH THE HEAVY SNOW
across the street from the University Hospital of Basel. He pushed back the sleeve of his heavy jacket to look at his watch. Twenty more minutes, and he could go into the hospital and up to Malik’s room. In twenty minutes, according to the rosy-cheeked doctor, Malik’s tests would be complete, and he would return to his room.

Rashid jerked at the wool cap on his head. He hated the cold with a passion.

This was the third, and according to Malik, the last hospital and specialist to be seen in as many months. Then it would be a matter of choosing which hospital, which diagnosis, and which treatment to go forward with.

His heart heavy, shivering with cold, Rashid began the process of crossing the road and entering the hospital. He hated the heavy, bulky clothing he was wearing, as well as the storm boots, which felt like anchors on his feet. He was no stranger to Western clothing, having worn it for seven years in California, where he studied with Malik. He’d worn warm clothing there, but nothing like the cumbersome outfit he was now wearing. But more than anything, he hated the secrecy Malik had insisted on, secrecy that was now coming back to haunt them both. Rashid knew his wife would leave no stone unturned in order to find out what was going on. He shivered inside the bulky clothing. With fear. Only to himself would he ever admit that he was afraid of the spitfire he’d married.

Rashid was inside the warm lobby. He stepped aside to allow a solemn-faced family to go ahead of him. He removed his heavy coat and hat and walked into the coffee shop at the end of the corridor. He ordered a cup of hot chocolate. While he waited, he sent off another text to his wife, though he knew that it would be ignored. Still, he tried. He hated lying to her. Why had he told her they were in France when they were in Switzerland? Because he was a terrible liar, that was why. And because Malik had told him to say they were in France. “To throw anyone off his trail,” as he put it. They were incognito, which, in Rashid’s opinion, was stupid; but again, Malik had insisted. “Too much is at stake right now,” was how he put it. So, Malik had signed in using his best friend’s name from the States, Zack Molton. Rashid himself was Duke Richards. American dollars had been deposited to cover all costs the moment they walked through the doors. The same thing had been done when they visited Sloan-Kettering in New York and the hospital in London two months ago.

Rashid sipped on his hot chocolate, which was so hot, it burned his tongue. He loved it, though, because the marshmallows had melted, and it was thick and creamy. He picked up one of the hospital brochures to be found behind the menus on every table and started to read it.

The University Hospital of Basel, it said, was one of Switzerland’s leading medical centers. It had over fifty clinics, polyclinics, and institutes, all working together on an interdisciplinary basis and under one roof. It was known worldwide and had an excellent reputation for its state-of-the-art technology and systematic interdisciplinary approach to ensure the well-being of every patient.

Rashid continued to read.
The close cooperation between the oldest university in Switzerland on the one hand and the global life-science corporations based in Basel on the other guarantees the highest standard of treatment and innovation in all medical disciplines.
The brochure went on to say that patients came from all over the world to be treated at this fine facility.

Basel,
it read,
is situated in the heart of Europe, being the Swiss border town to Germany and France. The hospital is located in the center of the city, approximately fifteen minutes from the Basel-Mulhouse-Freiburg International Airport. Families are surrounded by numerous hotels and many shopping facilities. The hospital is known globally for its outstanding oncology, prostate, and renal specialists, as well as for its facilities for treating musculoskeletal disorders and its centers for the treatment of lung cancer.

Rashid already knew all this. In fact, he had the entire brochure committed to memory. He had just read the brochure to kill time.

The coffee shop was full. Rashid looked around to see if anyone was waiting for his table. There was no line, so he sat a few more moments. He needed to meditate for a few minutes to try and get a good mind-set before he walked into Malik’s room. He felt sick to his stomach, and he felt like crying. Crying! He couldn’t remember when he had cried last or if he had ever cried. Surely he had. He just couldn’t remember. He looked down at his watch again.
Time to go.
He got up, cleared off his table, and paid the bill.

Rashid walked slowly to the elevator. He felt like he had a giant boulder in the pit of his stomach. And his eyes kept burning. It was all so unfair. How was he going to walk into Malik’s room with a smile on his face and adopt an upbeat manner? How? He also knew that the moment Malik was returned to his hospital room, he would be checking his cell for missed calls and texts. By now Malik would know about Soraya and would also know that Trish was winging her way back to the States. And that Rashid had been relegated to the bowels of the palace.

Rashid cursed, using all the American cusswords he’d learned while studying at Berkeley. He never cursed, because his religion forbade it. But at that moment, he just didn’t care. He let loose, first in Arabic, then in English, and after that, in the four other languages in which he was fluent. Unfortunately, he did not feel one bit better; in point of fact, he felt worse because he’d used foul language.

Rashid rapped softly with his knuckles on the door. He drew in his breath and let it out with a soft
swoosh
of exhaled air. He walked into the room and wasn’t at all surprised to see Malik texting on his phone.

Without looking up, Malik said, “Sounds like you stepped in the dung pile. I’ll talk to my sister. You don’t deserve her attitude. Pregnant women are very unpredictable, as you well know.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I can handle my own affairs, and need I remind you, Malik, I wouldn’t be in this mess if you had been honest with your wife and your sister. This . . . this . . . secrecy is no good for you or for them. You can’t keep something like this secret.”

“Yes, I know. I have every intention . . .
had
every intention of talking to Trish and Soraya once I got back home. I wanted it all confirmed first.”

“Well, Your Highness, you’re a little late. Let me be the first to tell you that your sister does not have a forgiving bone in her body. Secondly, your wife is over the Atlantic by now on her way back to the States. She thinks you are—forgive me here—screwing around on her, looking to replace her because she cannot give you a child. I don’t know if she has a forgiving bone in her body or not. Only you know the answer to that. What is to become of her, Malik?”

Malik closed his eyes. “I need to think.”

“
Think!
Is that what you said? You’ve had three months to think about all of this. I don’t want to hear any more bullshit. Yes, I’m saying unseemly words. You should have heard me in the elevator. I will not apologize, either. You screwed up, Malik.”

“Yes. I guess I did. No one likes being given a death sentence. I did talk to you. You refused to believe nothing could be done to help me. We both agreed, you and I, not to mention anything to either Trish or Soraya until we were certain of the diagnosis and the prognosis. By day’s end, we will have that. Am I not right, my one true friend?”

“Yes. But . . . you gave off all the wrong signals to the women. You changed your patterns. Women are not fools, even though we sometimes think they are. Your wife missed your notes, you were away too much, and you didn’t talk about your days and what you did or did not accomplish. You did not take her, or I should say invite her, back to your cave. Even a dolt such as I would have developed the same feelings the women got.”

“So what you’re saying is, neither Trish nor my sister will forgive me when I tell them the truth? You’re saying they won’t care that I’m dying and are only concerned that I kept them in the dark?”

Rashid threw his hands in the air. “I know nothing about women. I don’t know what to do. I’ve always known what to do before.” His eyes started to burn unbearably. And then his eyes filled with tears. They rolled down his cheeks. Malik was off the bed and standing over his friend of forever, his hands on his shoulders. “I didn’t know you knew how to cry, Rashid. Listen, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I’m crying for you, you fool,” Rashid blubbered.

“Yes, yes, I know that. The thing with the women, that was just a diversion to cover up your feelings.”

“You’re off the wall, Malik. I’m crying here like my baby son for the whole ball of wax, for you, for all of us, and, by the way, your ass is hanging out of that designer gown you’re wearing.”

Malik grinned, backed up to the bed, and scooted into it. “Now that we cleared all of
that
up, what should we talk about?”

“How about getting out of this godforsaken cold, which is eating at my bones? I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” Rashid said, swiping his arm across his eyes.

“We must talk of this, Rashid, and then we can talk about the cold and leaving this place. I am in Allah’s hands now, and we both know it. Treatment . . . will be carried out back home. Amir will discuss all of this with the doctors here. I decided that I like these doctors the best. It won’t be easy, and it will be painful. Actually, we could leave now if you like, Rashid. I already know what the doctors are going to say later in the day. They pretty much already told me. I can leave instructions for all my records to be transferred to Amir. Of course, at that point, I will have to own up to the fact that I am not Zack Molton. But that is a minor detail.

“If you stop and think about all of this clearly, it could be a blessing in disguise. Trish will be able to remain in control at the palace, and she won’t have to leave. I’ll be gone before the five years are up, which is just eleven months and fourteen days from now. Yes, yes, I have been keeping track of the days, just as Trish has. There is nothing the council or the advisers can do then. Allah, as they say, works in mysterious ways. Now, do you want to leave or not?”

Rashid gasped. “Your time is that short?” He dropped his head into his hands and started to cry all over again.

“Keep this up, Rashid, and you’ll turn into a crybaby. So, do we leave or not?”

“Yes. Yes, we should leave. I don’t want you staying here one minute longer than you have to. Tell me what to do about Soraya and Trish.”

“As soon as I figure it out, you will be the first to know. And if I catch you looking at my ass when I go into the bathroom to dress, I will make sure you never leave the bowels of the palace.”

Rashid got up and left the room. He walked to the nurses’ desk and informed them that Mr. Molton, whose real name was Sheik Malik bin Al Mohammed, would be leaving immediately, and all records were to be faxed to the sheik’s doctor. He carefully wrote out all the information; then the nurse copied it into Malik’s file.

“Thank you for taking such excellent care of His Royal Highness,” Rashid said softly.

The little nurse nodded, her eyes full of sympathy.

Taking into account the time difference, both of the sleek silver jets landed in different parts of the world within minutes of each other. One landed at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas; the other landed at Al Maktoum International Airport in Dubai. No smiles, only tears could be seen on the passengers’ faces as they exited their respective aircraft.

Trish walked down the portable stairs, mindful of the last time she’d landed at this very same airport. Soraya had been with her then, her eyes full of wonder that she was actually in America and just moments away from what she considered the adventure of a lifetime. And for her it had been an adventure. She herself had been happy at that moment, too, yet sad at the same time because she had left Malik behind.

Trish climbed into the town car and buckled up. Thirty minutes from then, she would be walking into her old home. Knowing Connie, she knew there would be food in the refrigerator and wine chilling in a bucket. There would be a fresh supply of wood for her to build a fire her first day home. There might even be a Crock-Pot of chili simmering on the counter, along with fresh hard rolls, the kind she loved. The heat would be turned up to a temperature of her liking. Friends did these kinds of things for other friends. She had to admit, she missed Connie and the girls. Texting, even calling, just wasn’t the same.

For the first time since getting into the car, Trish noticed that it was snowing lightly outside. She wondered what the weather report was. She leaned forward and asked the driver.

“They are predicting four inches. At least that’s what the weatherman said early this morning. It’s been bitter cold here for the past two weeks.”

Trish thanked him, leaned back, and closed her eyes. She was torturing herself by not activating her phone. She’d promised herself when she boarded the plane for the long flight that she wouldn’t check it till she was in her town house and settled in. It was one of the hardest promises she’d ever made to herself.

Trish’s thoughts were all over the map as she wondered if she’d made a mistake in confiding in Soraya. She thought then of Rashid and his new quarters and how that was going to play out for him and Soraya. Would Malik intervene? She had no idea what he would or would not do these days.

She wanted to cry so bad, she had to squeeze her eyes shut. Crying, it was said, was cathartic. Well, she’d shed more than her share of tears these past months, and she didn’t feel like cathartic was working.

Trish thought about her sister, Emma—anything to take her thoughts away from her own personal problems. She regretted that she and Emma weren’t as close as they had been. Time and distance were the culprits. Each of the sisters had made a new life for herself. Calls these days were all on Trish’s part because, as Emma put it, “I don’t have the money for overseas calls, and I can’t afford to put another plan on my cell phone, so you will have to call me.” That was fine with Trish. She didn’t mind, but every time she called, Emma was either with a prospective client or the call went to voice mail. And when they did talk, Emma never mentioned the estrangement from her daughter, who was now in college, or her ex-husband, who was, according to Emma, the devil incarnate.