Desert Rose

By Carolann van Dinter

Desert Rose tells the thrilling story of two young women who leave England to take up teaching posts in Abu Dhabi. Each is running away from something. Clare Anderson -beautiful and ambitious but heartbroken after discovering her husband's affair. Melinda Mann - desperate to escape the clutches of monotonous suburbia.
Melinda pursues Walid Harid, a multi-millionaire who can offer her the privilege and wealth she has sought for so long. She is unprepared, however, for the savage opposition from his powerful family and their devilish workings behind the scenes to obstruct their relationship.
Clare meets James Cameron, an American who has fled to the Middle East to escape his domineering parents. Their love is immediate and passionate, but not without its obstacles. Meanwhile, Sheikh Fariz bin Hani offers her infinite kindness, sensitivity and understanding, but their happiness is marred by the fact that they can never truly be together.
The mysterious exoticism of the East, unimagined power and the vast riches of the hot desert sands, change Clare's and Melinda's lives forever in ways that they would never have dreamed possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781528908320

Carolann van Dinter

Carolann van Dinter is a former head teacher who has worked and lived in several countries over the years including Africa, Thailand and the Middle East. She was born in Lebanon and spent much of her childhood in in South America before returning to the UK. Research for Desert Rose was conducted whilst working for an international school in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, giving her the opportunity to relate first-hand experience to her debut novel. She lives in Ealing with her family.

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About the Author

Carolann van Dinter is a former head teacher who has worked and lived in several countries over the years including Africa, Thailand and the Middle East. She was born in Lebanon and spent much of her childhood in in South America before returning to the UK.

Research for Desert Rose was conducted whilst working for an international school in Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, giving her the opportunity to relate first-hand experience to her debut novel.

She lives in Ealing with her family.

Dedication

To my beloved children and their father, and to John who, sadly, died before he could see this book in print.

Copyright Information ©

Carolann van Dinter (2018)

The right of Carolann van Dinter to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781786120892 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781786120908 (Hardback)

ISBN 9781786120915 (E-Book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2018)

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5LQ

Acknowledgements

Austin Macauley for their help and guidance.

It is 1978 and two young women leave England to take up teaching posts in the oil rich sheikhdom of Abu Dhabi. Each is running away from something or someone. Clare Anderson – beautiful and ambitious – but brutally heartbroken after discovering her husband’s affair. Melinda Mann – desperate and driven to escape the clutches of monotonous suburbia.

Melinda pursues Walid Harid of the Saaied family, a multi-millionaire who can offer her the privilege and wealth she has sought for so long. She is totally unprepared however, for the savage and relentless opposition from his powerful family and their devilish workings behind the scenes to obstruct her relationship with him.

Her fight against the Saaied family and in particular Zara, Walid’s mother, whose insidious power dictates the very soul of the family, becomes all consuming, threatening and painful. She is thrown into a world where manoeuvring and manipulation is second nature and deadly. Absolute control simmers beneath the surface – passed on from one generation to the next.

Clare finds happiness with James Cameron, an American, who has fled to the Middle East to escape his domineering parents and presumed future. Their love is immediate, passionate, and they adore one another until tragedy strikes with a horrifying accident.

Clare is devastated, ruined and unable to recover, until the only person able to help her returns to her life – Sheikh Fariz bin Hani. His infinite kindness, sensitivity and understanding give Clare the courage to start again. She and Fariz become inseparable; but their happiness is marred by the fact that they can never truly be together.

The mysterious exoticism of the East, unimagined power and the vast riches of the hot desert sands, change Clare’s and Melinda’s lives for ever in ways that they would never have dreamed possible.

Chapter 1

The glaring headlights broke into the living room and briefly illuminated the cluttered coffee table. Clare’s glass faded into darkness as he silenced the engine. She glanced expectantly towards the door as the key turned and his tall lean frame entered the shadowy room. He flicked on the light switch, shocked at seeing her cuddled up in the leather armchair waiting and watchful, like an anxious mother ready to pounce on her wayward teenager.

Hello, darling. You startled me sitting there in the dark. It’s very late. Why are you still up? He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. A Judas kiss, she thought. You shouldn’t have waited up for me.

I didn’t, she said calmly, though the edge to her voice did not escape him.

Late night film I suppose? His hollow words made her twitch uncomfortably as she watched him pour a whisky from the decanter and swill it down with some urgency.

Actually, I haven’t been watching anything at all, simply waiting to give you a piece of information. She caught the look of puzzlement as he turned to face her.

Information? Her puffy eyes confirmed his suspicion.

Yes. I want a divorce. I can’t take your cheating and your lying any longer. Clare rested her gaze on the chiselled features; his green eyes widened in alarm.

This time his platitudes would not work. Their three-year marriage was over.

***

From beginning to end the divorce took seven months. Seven long months of protracted argument, abusive phone calls, even threats to Clare’s wellbeing. Andrew once convinced of her dogged determination not to change her mind, as she had done in the past, on more than one occasion, had become as vindictive and spiteful as he had been charming and persuasive.

He refused to split their marital assets fairly, claiming he had made superior contributions during their relationship and had always earned more money than Clare. He refused to pay any kind of alimony and only reluctantly agreed to pay her a paltry allowance until she relocated and found another job.

Finally, Clare gave into all his demands; she salvaged what was unquestionably hers and went to stay with her parents in Oxfordshire. The following weeks were spent scouring the Times Educational Supplement for a teaching post in Oxford, but nothing materialised so she expanded her horizons and pursued the overseas section. An advertisement for English teachers in the United Arab Emirates caught her attention. Tax free salaries, accommodation, flights…all included. It sounded interesting, certainly worth looking into.

***

Melinda squeezed her battered Ford Fiesta into a tight corner slot; she was late and rushed into the school building, pulling her coat around her against the chilly March wind.

Bloody place, bloody wind, she mumbled as she swished into the rowdy classroom. Quiet! Quiet! she yelled. The children silenced almost immediately; they were terrified of Miss Mann. Get your English workbooks out and continue where you left off last week, she ordered, slinging her bag under the table and slumping into the chair. She gazed idly out of the window; the dull grey sky lowered her spirits and fuelled her depression. She longed for escape.

Miss, I can’t do number four, a freckle-faced boy exclaimed.

How many times do I have to tell you not to shout out of turn! Her tone was so severe that the child blushed a bright crimson.

Sorry, Miss.

Sorry. Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself? You’ll be sorry if you can’t work out how to do that question on your own!

A fearful silence permeated the classroom, each child fearing Melinda’s next outburst.

She took a newspaper from her bag and spread it across her desk. With a red pen she circled the possibilities – a post as a tutor to a wealthy family in Saudi Arabia, a teaching position in Oman, another in the Emirates, Abu Dhabi, now where the hell was that she mused.

The bell shrilled, she folded the paper, scanned the classroom and left for her coffee break in the staff-room. First to arrive, she lit her last Benson and Hedges, crumpled the packet and threw it into the waste paper basket and poured herself a strong black coffee.

Other staff trickled in; Melinda ignored them. Their bubbling chatter irritated her, their constant reference to the children bored her – she wanted more. Tonight she would send off another batch of application forms, which reminded her to get some more passport photographs taken, overseas employers requested them, and she scribbled a note. But the first thing she intended to do after school was to go to the hairdressers.

***

An airmail envelope with an Emirate stamp on it slipped through Clare’s letterbox. She tore it open and quickly scanned the words before throwing her arms up into the air and shrieking with joy – the job was hers!

Chapter 2

Melinda and Clare were seated next to each other on the MEA flight destined for Abu Dhabi. Subtly and silently they weighed each other up, though Melinda was far more adept at the non-verbal skill than Clare would ever be. She estimated her neighbour to be around 34 and was pleased she could claim to be a triumphant 5 years younger. And youth was everything, was it not? She could not, however, claim the same superiority when appraising Clare’s beautiful golden hair framing her small oval face, nor the striking sapphire eyes with their wide clarity and childlike sincerity.

Melinda touched her own dark, curly hair, cropped short on an impulse just before leaving, and wished she was blond or at least had blue eyes instead of brown-flecked hazel ones. Still, at least her creamy complexion had always been remarked upon and admired.

A stewardess swept by and Melinda ordered a gin and tonic. And don’t forget a twist of lemon. I suggest you order a drink now too, if you want one. She turned to Clare who was seated by the window and was flicking through a glossy magazine. They’ll practically ignore you once we’re airborne. Too busy pushing trolleys up and down and settling snotty kids. Now, if we were in First Class things would be considerably different.

I won’t have anything just yet, thanks, said Clare, amused by her companion’s observations.

She turned another page; beautiful women with flawless complexions and perfect bodies gazed blankly back at her. She pondered briefly what kind of woman he had betrayed her with this last and final time.

Get out! Get out! I never want to see you again! echoed in her mind. Words she had screamed in fury at Andrew that fateful day, just a few short weeks after their marriage.

Naturally, at first she had forgiven him; she loved him. Repeatedly she forgave him, until her pain had cut too deeply and the deception was too cruel. The betrayal had been so complete this time that it caused her to tremble and she plunged the memories into the lower regions of her mind.

Melinda sipped her gin and tonic, stirring the ice cubes and squeezing the lemon wedge with the Middle East Airline cocktail stick. She closed her eyes and savoured the bittersweet liquor as it trickled down her throat.

She was deeply relieved to be going overseas, suburban school life with its petty bureaucracy and monotonous routine had become loathsome; not to mention the neurotic, housewives she had had to endure daily with their endless pathetic little problems.

Billy must miss games today; he’s feeling a little under the weather. Didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Melinda mimicked mentally, picturing the very fat, absurd Mrs Davis wearing her usual Marks and Spencer tracksuit and black hair band placed on her straight, always slightly greasy hair. Will you keep an extra eye on Basil today? Paul? Sally is playing up...

They bombarded her daily with requests, complaints, demands…but no longer would she have to tolerate their incessant badgering.

A contented smile spread across her face as she drained her glass.

***

The aeroplane shuddered to a halt, safety belts instantly clicked open and passengers began to stretch and stir, free at last from their constriction. Local women covered themselves with black chadors and clambered from their seats, hustling their tired bleary-eyed children along the gangway. A small dark-haired girl began to howl uncontrollably, her mother’s pleading voice ignored as she snivelled and screamed.

The inky black night slightly troubled Clare as she gazed outside and watched the steps being lowered, her emotions edged with nerves and excitement lurching apprehensively.

We should wait until everyone has gone, suggested Melinda, who was growing steadily more impatient with the mass exodus, or we’ll only have to stand around in the deadly heat out there. She sank back into her seat and sighed dramatically.

It seemed to take an eternity for everyone to disembark. Arab women held bulging bags, spilling over with food or toys, as untidily they pushed forward, their jewelled hands clutching stray children and edging them out.

The men followed, most still dressed in Western suits, though some had changed into starched white robes, as was their custom. The air was heavy with body odour and Clare felt a little sick.

Eventually, as the last stragglers left the aircraft Clare and Melinda gathered their hand luggage from the overhead hold and struggled towards the exit, passing the heavily made up stewardesses, who bade each of them an automatic farewell.

Heavens, it’s hot, said Clare as stifling humidity drew down on her.

And it will get worse – believe me, moaned Melinda. Now come on, let’s get down these steps and out of here.

They followed the fluorescent signs towards customs and immigration. Armed guards dotted randomly along the way their darting eyes unnerving Clare as they scanned the new arrivals.

This will take hours, moaned Melinda as she surveyed the heaving queues building up in every direction.

It certainly looks that way, agreed Clare, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. I had hoped someone would be here to meet us.

They struggled onwards towards tinted, glass doors. Penetrating glares watched their every move as they entered the dark eyed, male-dominated Middle East.

They keep staring, complained Melinda as she flicked back her head raising her eyebrows in alarm. Inwardly and secretly she was enjoying every moment of the delicious attention.

I’m sure we are a novelty to them Melinda. There doesn’t seem to be any other Western women around. In fact, there are very few women at all, observed Clare, as Pakistani and Indian men gathered their crude possessions around her, bewilderment searching their faces as they surveyed their new environment.

What’s that over there! exclaimed Melinda suddenly, dropping her bag to the floor and pointing her finger in the direction of a large overhead clock. That sign being held up over there! Eifa International! Does it say Eifa International? Clare strained to see over the crowds.

Yes! Yes it does. Well done Melinda. Well spotted!

Thank God for that. At least we may get through this bloody mess now. She picked her bag up and marched confidently forward. I hope you are here to manoeuvre us through this chaos, Melinda asked bluntly as she approached the short muscular man holding up the sign.

Indeed I am and you must be Clare and Melinda. George Cooper, school supervisor, how do you do? He smiled warmly and extended his hand.

We’ll feel a lot better when we are out of here.

Yes, I’m sure you will. Come on, follow me. His friendly manner and northern accent comforted Clare as she pondered the wisdom of arriving in this strange and bustling place.

***

The searches invaded intimate corners of their bodies. Their suitcases were flung onto old wooden tables and brutally opened. Clare reddened as her careful packing tumbled chaotically onto dusty surfaces.

What iz dis? the fiercesome custom officer asked, accusingly holding a small white bottle between his thumb and index finger, raising it suspiciously, and revealing large stains of perspiration on his khaki shirt.

Oh they are only… interjected Clare nervously but before she could explain the offending bottle had been taken away for closer inspection. Milk of Magnesia…

The unmarked bottle has raised their suspicions, explained George, sensing Clair’s apprehension. "They’re looking for drugs you see; always best to leave tablets and the like in their original packaging.

Christ this is outrageous, spat Melinda. I’ve got all kinds of lotions and potions in my toilet bag! It’s none of their bloody business!"

It is when you want to live and work here, said George, swiftly concluding he would have to watch Melinda very carefully.

Half an hour later the officer emerged from behind the swinging black doors. He smiled begrudgingly and handed Clare the small bottle. Her sigh of relief was short lived when to her surprise he angrily leaned over to her hand luggage and turfed out the magazines her mother had given her to read on the journey. Seeing her bewilderment George explained again.

Pornography, they’re looking for porn. Big no no here.

"Good God! Woman’s Own, National Geographic, scorned Melinda raising her eyebrows in disgust. Hardly hard porn." George pulled out a bag of peppermints and offered the girls one before sitting back on a wooden chair and stretching out his legs, used to these formalities, and the time they took.

Three long hours later, exhausted and weary, Melinda and Clare dragged their heavy suitcases outside into the hot darkness, where George loaded them into a bright yellow school bus.

Is this the best form of transport our new employer can provide? moaned Melinda as she slung herself down onto the hard leather seat. Not even any air conditioning! I can’t believe it! Clare threw a sly smile at George who winked as he clambered into the driving seat.

The brief journey over a dirt track road took them to a fenced compound. The heavy wrought iron gates opened as George waved a pass at the guard and dim lights outlined what appeared to be several large wooden portakabins scattered along sandy pathways.

Well, this looks marvellous. Real five-star stuff! mocked Melinda, scouring the bleak horizon.

Now, don’t get too worried ladies. It’s not as bad as it looks. These are all temporary arrangements and we’ll be moving into a spanking new building in Abu Dhabi Central very soon. A month – tops.

A month! You can’t be serious. We can’t be expected to work here for one minute; it looks like a derelict bloody caravan site!

George silenced the engine and they all clambered out.

Things will look better in the morning, I’m sure, consoled Clare, rather unconvincingly, glancing round the shabby room George had just led them into.

Hello girls – I’m Jill, a cheerful voice broke into Clare’s observations and a middle-aged woman proffered her warm, chubby hand. I’ve just put the kettle on, nothing like a cuppa to cheer oneself up. It’s all a bit of a shock at first but you’ll get used to it. I rather like the makeshift environment now and it’s surprising what one can come up with. Her positive demeanour pleased Clare and enlightened this dreary room, bare, save a narrow bed, a small table, three chairs and a bright poster of Dubai plastered, unevenly to an ancient wardrobe.

There you are dears, a good home brew made with my very own hand-carried English tea bags. She offered them each a mug of steaming tea.

I’m surprised you were allowed to bring them in, snarled Melinda who had been unusually silent.

Oh yes, no problem at all. Clare noticed the map of Abu Dhabi on her chipped mug and wondered briefly what this foreign land had in store for her. She was not to know that her life was about to change beyond all recognition.

It was late when George finally showed Clare to her room; much like Jill’s it was small and dark with the statutory, single bed rammed up against the wall and a tiny wash hand basin and shower unit hidden behind sliding doors. There was a small cooker and refrigerator barely visible in the far corner.

Oh no! screeched Melinda as she popped her head around the corner. You can’t possibly expect us to stay in these rooms? They’re awful, just awful. Christ, I’ve seen better accommodation in student doss houses.

It won’t be for long, assured George as he shoved Clare’s heavy suitcase along the linoleum floor next to her wardrobe.

One night is too long as far as I’m concerned.

Well, you’d better get the next flight back then, said George, getting slightly irritated at her constant sniping. Melinda, he was convinced, was going to be serious trouble.

No, there’s no need for that just yet. We’ll give this establishment a chance at least – won’t we Clare? She turned and smiled wickedly at her companion.

Certainly, we will.

Well, on that note let me show you to your suite my lady. Sixteenth floor, en-suite bathroom et cetera, et cetera...

OK, OK, I’m coming. Good night Clare. See you tomorrow.

Sleep well.

Hum! In a bed like that?

See you.

Silence fell as she watched them walk away. Left alone, a peculiar desolation gripped her and a fearful shiver ran down her spine. Quickly, she forced her attention to the task of unpacking and tried to organise her clothes in the very limited space available.

She showered and climbed into the hard, cold bed and though exhausted was unable to harness her confused thoughts, or to sleep, until the bright dawn sunlight tumbled into her shadowy room and she fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

Chapter 3

The clatter of dishes from the kitchen and guttural Arabic tones vibrated through the thin walls as Clare tossed restlessly in the early hours. The illuminated numbers on her alarm clock indicated 6.00 a.m. and she jerked forward, momentarily forgetting where she was.

The smell of frying seeped into her nostrils and invaded her room like dust after a sandstorm; slowly, she gathered her wits as she recalled the kitchen next door and her arrival to this strange, foreign place.

She pulled herself up from bed and stretched her aching limbs before standing under a shower of trickling murky water, which very slowly and begrudgingly rinsed away the soapsuds. There were no towels when she clambered out so she wrapped herself in her dressing gown and applied her make-up. Bright sunrays reflected off her hand mirror and she squinted as she outlined her lips with peach lipstick and brushed her cheeks with a translucent blush.

Suddenly loud knocking at the door startled her. Breakfast in the cafeteria in 10 minutes! warned the heavily accented voice. Clare quickly slipped her jeans on and tucked a double-pocketed shirt into the elasticated waist. She tied her hair back with a