Page 50 of At the Sheikh's Bidding
“Sorry, I’m curious.” She’d come this far and to not give such things to Rosana would be unthinkable. “Why can’t I? I don’t understand.”
“Because I don’t have them here, in the town house.”
Again, he didn’t elaborate. “But... I don’t understand. Where are they?”
His mouth formed a grim line and then he sighed. He obviously didn’t want to have this conversation. “They’re in my other apartment.”
“In Paris?”
“Yes, in Paris.”
“Whereabouts?” Janey couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t in her nature. When she was on the trail of something, her academic instincts kicked in and she had to persist.
“It’s not far from here, in an old factory which has been converted to apartments.”
“Not the Les Chaussures building?” she asked.
“That’s the one.”
“But it’s uber cool! EvenI’veheard of it. The shoe warehouse which has been converted to apartments in the liveliest arrondissement in Paris! Why are you living with your friends when you’ve got an apartment like that?”
He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t fathom. Then he shrugged. “If you really want to see the things, we can call in briefly to collect them.”
“That would be great.” It hadn’t gone unnoticed that he hadn’t answered her question. But she’d find out. Sooner or later.
* * *
Amare had beeneconomical with the truth. His apartment, in a renovated eighteenth-century warehouse, was only a two-minute walk away from the townhouse. Balconies, painted a matte black, lined the top floor and potted plants hung underneath each balcony, giving the impression they were floating in space.
After Amare had dealt with the security, they entered a large airy hallway and walked up a sweeping set of steps to the first floor.
“Wow,” she breathed, taking it all in. The interior walls had been removed, leaving one vast space with high ceilings. The walls were finished in soft taupe and gray, with rough-hewn wooden beams overhead and an open fireplace in the living room. The apartment was the epitome of urban chic and minimalist style. She stepped into the middle of the room. “This is amazing!” She did a 360 turn before resting her gaze on him. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. She frowned. “What is it?”
He glanced at his watch, but she could tell by the way he did it, it was an excuse. He looked at her with a cool air, as if trying to contain something, and shrugged. “Just don’t want to be late.”
“Hm,” she grunted, not convinced. She gave the place another sweeping look. “What I can’t figure out,” she said, her eyes taking in the beautiful leather couches, the state-of-the-art sound system, and exquisite furniture. “Is why you don’t live here?” She turned her full gaze on him, wanting to see how he responded.
He shrugged again, evasively. But it was an awkward, ‘I don’t have a clue how to answer that’ kind of shrug.
“It’s more convenient where I am.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, determined to challenge him on this one peculiar thing which, she suspected, hid something she was determined to get to the bottom of.
For a moment she wondered which way it would go, and then he tore his gaze away and checked his phone nervously.
“Why don’t you go upstairs to the office? Have a look around if you like. You’ll find what you’re looking for on the bookshelves. I have to make a phone call.”
Janey knew something was wrong, not least because he wanted her to explore the place without him.
“I won’t be long,” he said, turning his back to her and greeting whoever was on the other end of the phone.
Janey knew something was wrong but it didn’t look as if Amare was about to enlighten her so she climbed the stairs. She entered the upstairs office and gave a low whistle. The architect had obviously been given carte blanche with this space. Money had been no object. And her eyes were immediately drawn to the chunky wooden bookshelves that dominated the space. They were made from beautiful timbers and polished to reflect the light. The desk was the centerpiece in the room and faced floor-to-ceiling windows, which looked out onto the central market, packed with people and tourists. She walked over to the windows and looked out. It was almost as if she were a part of the world outside. As if it was a moving artwork. She couldn’t help but think she’d never feel trapped inside such a space. She fingered the books on the bookshelves and then spotted what she was looking for. A few photos later, which she forwarded to Rosana, and she was done.
She was on her way back when she stopped and glanced at the closed doors. Amare had said she could look around. Perhaps the answer why he refused to stay here lay in one of the bedrooms. Maybe it was pokey, dark, or unsuitable in some way she couldn’t imagine. She hesitated and then, before she could change her mind, she opened one of the doors and stepped inside a bedroom which was as beautiful as it was feminine. One sweeping gaze told her it wasn’t Amare’s, and that it was most definitely a woman’s bedroom. There were beautiful scarves draped over the back of a chair and perfume bottles clustered on an elegant dressing table. A pair of high-heeled shoes were untidily placed under a chair, as if they’d just been kicked off.
Janey’s heart sunk like a stone. She closed the door immediately and took a deep breath. But it didn’t help. She felt sick to her stomach. What the hell was going on? After everything Amare had said to her, had he been harboring a mistress, a lover, a wife even for all she knew, all along?
She closed her eyes as she thought of the look of discomfort on Amare’s face ever since she’d mentioned she wanted to come here, and how he couldn’t wait to leave. She had her answer.
