Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife by Barbara McMahon

doing.
    When they reached the villa, she’d ask about her father to everyone she came into contact with on the sheikh’s staff. Someone must have befriended him. He had a sparkling wit and genuine interest in people and places. Had they all condemned him without a fair hearing?
    When they reached the villa, the driver opened the door and stood by, waiting for her to get out.
    Once on the pavement, Bethanne stopped and looked at Teaz. “Did you know Hank Pendarvis?” she asked.
    For a few seconds he made no move or response. Then he nodded abruptly—once.
    “Do you know what happened to him?”
    “He was the pilot for the old sheikh. He flew away one day and never returned.” His English was heavy with Arabic accent, but Bethanne had no trouble understanding him.
    “Do you know where he was going?”
    The same stare, then a quick shake of his head.
    “Thank you,” she said. She started for the front door when a thought occurred. Turning, she saw Teaz still staring at her. “Do you know where he lived?”
    “In the Romula section of old town.”
    She waited, hoping for more, but he said nothing. She had the address. Might as well go and see if she could find someone there who knew him.
    “Maybe you could drive me there tomorrow if the sheikh doesn’t need me.” She’d love to see the old city. Match photos with the historic buildings. See a square with coffee cafés and stalls of goods for sale. Skirting Alkaahdar from the airport to the villa showed only the modern high-rises of shining steel and glass. She knew the older section would have been built in the more traditional Moorish architecture that she’d so loved in southern Spain.
    “I am at your service,” he said with a slight bow.
    Entering the quiet villa, Bethanne paused at the bottom of the steps, then on a sudden whim turned and headed toward the sitting room she’d been in last night. A quick glance showed it empty. Moving down the wide hall, she peered into the dining room they’d used. The last room in the hall was the library the sheikh had mentioned. Books lined three walls. The French doors stood open, keeping the room fresh and cool. Stepping inside, she saw a large desk to one side. From the computer on top and the scattered papers, she knew it had been recently used. Who by? From their conversation, she’d surmised Rashid lived elsewhere. This was a second home.
    She stepped in and crossed to the desk. She wouldn’t open drawers and nothing was visible that would tell her anything about her father. It had been three years. Time enough to put away anything of interest.
    “Where did you go, Dad? And why?” she muttered softly.
    She sat in the desk chair, picturing Rashid sitting behind the desk, working on major deals for oil exports. What did he do for leisure? How come he was not married at his age? Most men she knew had married in their twenties. Rashid had to be close to mid-thirties.
    Though she herself was still unwed.
    She swiveled back and forth in the chair. Spotting the computer, she sat up and turned it on. Maybe she could search out what she could find about Rashid al Harum. She would not go to dinner unprepared.
     
    Rashid leaned back as the car pulled away from the office. He was on his way to pick Bethanne up for the command dinner. He had thought about her questions, wondering what she felt important to know if preparing for a confrontation with a future mother-in-law.
    He thought about Marguerite for the first time in years. How foolish he’d been not to recognize her type when they’d met. He’d fallen for her in a big way. Marguerite had been beautiful and sophisticated and very good at having fun. She’d often spoken about how much fun they’d have together.
    Spending his money.
    How gullible he’d been. No longer. He had agreed to the possibility of marriage to Haile as a way to connect the two families who had a strong mutual interest in oil. Now that was off the table, he could resume his solitary way of