Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 13

BEMUSED, Felicia asked herself how on earth order would ever result from such chaos. The household was preparing to move to the oasis, and Zahra, lifting yet another armful of dresses from her wardrobe, said impishly that it was no wonder that Raschid had absented himself from the house. His excuse had been that he would go on before them to make sure that everything was in readiness for their arrival, but Felicia believed that if he had the smallest spark of decency he would be as anxious to avoid her company as she was his.

Never, if she lived to be a hundred, would she forget the emotionless destruction of her flimsy barriers, the calculated assault on her senses, and the bitter lessons she had learned. When she slept at night she dreamed of him, of his cold, jeering face, and most of all of his knowledgeable, caressing hands, and she would wake, trembling with anguish, tears cascading down her cheeks.

It was no wonder that she was losing weight. Several times she had started to pen a letter to Faisal, telling him as gently as she could that their love had died, but every time she reached the part where she had to beg him to send her the money for her fare home, her pride stopped her. She was reaching the point where she was contemplating paying a visit to the British Embassy, but Zahra’s delight that she would be with them for her birthday celebrations prevented her from making a move until they returned from the oasis. She could manage for a few more days, she told herself, trying to believe that it was true.

‘It’s a pity that Raschid cannot spare Faisal,’ Zahra mourned. A pity indeed, Felicia agreed, although she knew that the supposed ‘emergency’ that kept Faisal in New York was no more than a figment of Raschid’s Machiavellian imagination.

She was helping Zahra with her packing. She had not imagined that a girl could possess so many clothes at the same time, and said as much.

Zahra grinned. ‘Raschid makes me a very generous allowance.’ She indicated a filmy harem outfit comprising baggy trousers in flame chiffon and a matching sequinned top. ‘What do you think of that? I bought it for a joke. Raschid would be furious if he knew.’ Felicia’s raised eyebrows prompted a defensive outburst. ‘Saud said it was a pity that harem dancers no longer existed, outside the imagination of Hollywood producers, and I thought….’

‘I can see what you thought,’ Felicia murmured drily, amused and touched to see Zahra blushing a little. What business was it of Raschid’s if the younger girl chose to play the harem dancer for her undoubtedly appreciative bridegroom? She folded the outfit briskly.

‘It won’t go in this box, it’s full,’ Zahra complained.

‘Never mind, give it to me. I’ve plenty of room in my case.’ Felicia looked rather quizzically at Zahra. ‘Why do you want to take it? You won’t be wearing it until you are married, I trust?’

‘I daren’t leave it here in case one of the maids sees it,’ Zahra confessed. ‘Mother wouldn’t understand.’

‘I can see why,’ Felicia agreed, thinking of the transparent chiffon. It was obvious that Zahra was very much in love with her Saud, and Felicia wondered a little enviously what it was like to prepare for marriage basking in the warm approval of one’s family. Had she ever anticipated Faisal’s caresses with the enthusiasm with which Zahra looked forward to Saud’s?—and not for the first time she questioned her ability to respond to a man’s lovemaking. Had her uncle’s cold rejection of her as a child destroyed her ability to give and receive love? And yet she had responded to Raschid. But she did not love him. She hated him. He was determined to destroy her, she thought bitterly, gathering up the small pile of garments which would not fit into Zahra’s boxes and putting them in her own case. And he did not care what means he had to use to do so. She straightened up and her breast throbbed pulsatingly as it had done when he had touched her. Her face flaming, she squashed the impulse to place her own hand against her quickening flesh in an effort to eradicate the tingling memory.

IT WAS NOT a great distance to the oasis when measured in mere miles, but the journey would take them through empty desert and careful preparations had to be made, checked and re-checked by Ali, who had been left in charge of their safety. Water bottles had to be filled, tires checked, and spare gasoline cans placed in the trunks of cars. They were to travel in convoy, the Mercedes carrying Umm Faisal, Zahra and Felicia, going first, three other cars with the staff and the luggage following on behind.

Felicia tended to be amused by the flurry of preparation, until Zahra pointed out the fate of other, less careful travellers. To die of thirst under a burning sun was no pleasant death, and could happen even to the most experienced desert traveller if a sandstorm blew up, obliterating the road, or a sharp stone pierced a gas tank, leaving them without transport.

It was just over a hundred miles to the oasis, but Felicia was ready to agree feelingly that it might have been a thousand, long before the green fringe of the palm trees warned her that journey’s end was in sight. Even with the air-conditioning on full the heat inside the car was stifling, the sun dazzling as it bounced off the immaculate black hood of the Mercedes. The tires hissed wetly along the soft tarmac until they turned off on to a sandy track, throwing up clouds of fine dust to clog the throats and eyes of those driving behind.

‘Now you see why we go first,’ Zahra explained. ‘The last vehicle is the most at risk. Even an expert driver can lose his way when the windscreen is covered in sand.’

Felicia repressed a small shudder at the thought of being lost in this vast wasteland. And yet for all its terrible emptiness the desert held a beauty all of its own. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but mile upon mile of never-ending sand, burning golden-red against the cobalt blue sky. The intensity of it hurt the eyes, and Felicia wondered anew at the tenacity of a people who had carved out their lives from this unyielding wilderness.

‘Nearly there,’ Zahra said cheerfully, as the fringe of palm trees on the horizon grew tantalisingly larger. ‘You will love the oasis, Felicia. I believe Raschid considers it is our true home, although Faisal does not care for it in the same way, but in you I sense a sympathy for our ways. You do like our country, don’t you?’ she asked anxiously.

Felicia acknowledged that she had fallen under its spell, surprised to realise how true this was. Had circumstances been different, she would have been content to make her life in this magnificent, timeless land.

‘Only one more day until Nadia arrives,’ Zahra added. ‘I’m longing to see her!’

Felicia hoped that Faisal’s elder sister was as easy to get along with as his younger. Since the arrival of Faisal’s letter she was conscious of being something of an impostor, in her own mind at least, and having Raschid as her enemy was more than enough to cope with.

It was dusk when they drove into the oasis, so Felicia could see very little of her surroundings apart from the clustering tops of palm trees, swaying lightly in the evening breeze, and the silky shine of moonlight on water as they drove past the silent oasis.

‘Once the Badu camped here,’ Zahra said softly, ‘but now the tribesmen have retreated into the interior of the desert to pursue their chosen way of life unhindered.’

The house bore no resemblance to the villa outside Kuwait. Built of white stone, its narrow Moorish windows presented a blank face to the world. They drove through a fretted archway into a courtyard slightly similar to the one belonging to the villa, but whereas that was of modern construction combining the best of East and West, this one bore mute evidence of age. Behind them enormous iron-studded oak doors slammed shut, a reminder that once visitors to the oasis might not have been friendly. The soft-footed Moslem servants added to the sensation of having stepped back in time, and Felicia would not have been surprised to see a couple of Zahra’s harem dancers wandering in the garden, the bracelets on their ankles tinkling in time to their sinuous movements.

Instead, Ali ushered them into a large hallway, and then Felicia did gasp with amazed delight. Huge pillars of malachite supported an intricately patterned ceiling, painted in jewel-bright colours. She could hear the sound of water somewhere in the distance and the timeless enchantment of the East engulfed her.

Zahra laughed at her open-mouthed wonder.

‘I knew you would like it!’

Ali and the other servants were bringing in their luggage, stacking it on the cool marble floor. Selina hurried away, promising that soon they would have a cup of coffee, and as the double doors at the other end of the hall opened, Felicia saw Raschid framed there, his flowing white robe in stark contrast to the rich bronze of his skin and the jewelled silks of the furnishings.

‘Zahra will take you to the women’s quarters, Miss Gordon. They overlook an inner courtyard. In the desert a wise man kept his rarest treasures under lock and key, and in my grandfather’s day the women of the harem were never allowed outside the confines of this house. For my grandmother’s pleasure he had a garden constructed inside the protective walls of his home so that she might enjoy the cool breeze that blows over the desert when dusk falls. She used to say that it reminded her of England.’

‘You will love it, Felicia,’ Zahra said softly, ‘and the harem quarters. They are ridiculously exotic. Believe it or not, there is even a marble bath large enough to swim in.’

She laughed delightedly when Felicia flushed, exclaiming suddenly, ‘Uncle Raschid, Felicia’s eyes are exactly the same colour as these pillars!’

‘The colour of malachite,’ Raschid agreed, looking down at Felicia, and running his lean fingers caressingly down the pillar nearest to him. ‘But I don’t suppose Miss Gordon will be complimented to have her eyes compared with the cold hardness of marble—mm?’

As always his tone when he spoke to Zahra was teasingly indulgent, and Felicia was struck by the difference from when he addressed her.

Ali staggered in with more boxes, which he dropped by Felicia’s cases. The top one fell on its side, bursting open to spill its contents in gay profusion across the floor. Felicia had been looking at Raschid and she saw his face change suddenly, from avuncular indulgence to grim disgust. He stepped forward, crossing the floor with a couple of lithe strides, bending to finger disdainfully the crimson chiffon billowing against the starkness of his robes.

Zahra trembled, casting Felicia a look of agonised appeal, and instantly she rose to the occasion. It didn’t matter that Raschid’s fingers were flicking the chiffon away with arrogant contempt, nor that his eyes were narrowing thoughtfully on her flushed face, his mouth curving downwards in contempt.

‘Mine, I believe,’ Felicia said bravely, with saccharine sweetness as she made a dive for the chiffon. Raschid was holding the fabric more firmly than she had realised and as she tugged effectually at it, the harem pants were revealed in their full glory. Almost she would have laughed at his distasteful expression as he relinquished the sequinned waistband after one look of incredulous contempt.

‘I bought them in the souk the other day. I thought they might start a new fashion at home.’ Some devil of mischief, too long submerged, suddenly reasserted itself prompting her to add flippantly, ‘I hope Faisal likes them.’ Demurely she let her eyelashes drop to veil her cheeks in mock modesty, even risking a coy giggle. ‘They aren’t the thing for shopping in Sainsbury’s, of course, but for a quiet evening at home….’ She deliberately let her voice trail away, raising limpid eyes to the concentrated acidity in Raschid’s and allowing just the merest hint of suggestiveness to peep through her assumed modesty. Watching his impassive features, she admitted that she was playing with fire, but shrugged the thought aside—in for a penny, in for a pound! When long seconds ticked by with Zahra frozen like a sphinx and Raschid’s expression remotely unreadable she wondered if she had gone too far.

A cold grey glance, informed with deliberate and exactly calculated insult, roamed her body, oblivious to Zahra’s shocked protest, and at length he drawled carelessly:

‘Not your colour, I would have thought, Miss Gordon, with that hair.’

‘No.’ She was all smiling sweetness. ‘You surprise me. I should have thought you would consider it exactly right for me, being scarlet.’

The way the heavy-lidded eyes narrowed told her that he had not missed the point, but he did not deign to answer and it was left to Ali to bundle up the rest of the clothes cascading across the floor and carry them from the room.

It was just as well that Raschid’s annoyance with her was occupying the best part of his thoughts, Felicia reflected as she followed a thoroughly shaken Zahra, otherwise he might have realised that the rest of the clothes littering the floor had belonged not to her but to his niece!

It was a very subdued young girl who came into Felicia’s room an hour later, when she was completing the last of her unpacking. The bedroom was as different from the one in Kuwait as chalk from cheese. For a start it was devoid of modern furnishings, apart from the comfortable double bed. The floor was polished wood, scattered with soft Persian rugs, of great age and value. A long low couch stuffed with cushions was set against one wall beneath the arched windows, tempting the languorously inclined to relax and admire the cunning arrangement of trees and plants in the courtyard below. As in all Arab houses of any wealth, the sound of water was never far away, for in days gone by an Arab could measure his wealth in the amount of water he was able to waste.

A small dressing room had been fitted with wardrobes, but it was on the ornamental brassbound chest that Felicia had placed the carefully folded harem outfit.

Zahra pulled a face when she saw it.

‘I’ve never seen Raschid so angry,’ she said in a low voice, her eyes disturbed. ‘Oh, Felicia, I’m so sorry—the way he looked at you—the things he said!’

‘Well, now you know why I didn’t enthuse over them in the first place. But there’s no harm done,’ Felicia assured her lightly.

‘No harm!’ Zahra’s eyes filled with indignant tears. ‘You can’t say that after the way Raschid treated you—and you Faisal’s intended wife!’

Now was her opportunity to tell Zahra the truth, but before she could do so, Zahra continued impulsively, ‘I shall tell Raschid how wrong he was, Felicia. I cannot allow you to take the blame for my folly, and Raschid shall apologise to you for what he said.’

Her lips trembled and Felicia felt moved to pity, guessing how much it had hurt the younger girl to see her adored uncle revealed in his true colours. In that moment she felt immeasurably older than the Felicia who had arrived in Kuwait such a short time ago. She comforted Zahra as best she could, promising that the now despised garments would be suitably disposed of and reminding her that she herself had added insult to injury by deliberately goading Raschid, but Zahra was not convinced. She shook her head sorrowfully.

‘He wanted to shame you before us, Felicia. I could see it in his eyes, but instead he shamed me!’ Her voice thickened on fresh tears. ‘I thank Allah that I witnessed his contempt, for I could not bear it if Saud had looked upon me in the way Raschid did you.’

It saddened Felicia to hear the pain in her voice, but she could offer scant comfort, aside from pointing out that Raschid had his reasons for not liking her.

‘Because he does not want Faisal to marry you? Felicia, promise me you will not let Raschid drive you from us. You have become very precious to me and already I think of you as a sister. Raschid will come round, I know it!’

THE NEXT DAY BROUGHT the noisy arrival of Nadia and her husband with their small son. Several years older than Felicia, she was a smaller, feminine version of Faisal, complete with his white smile and soft brown eyes, and yet the familiarity between brother and sister sparked off no emotion in her, Felicia discovered.

Her little boy, however, captured her heart, and before he had been in the house five minutes, Felicia was completely under his spell, listening delightedly to his important chatter as he followed her to her room. He exhibited none of the shyness of his European contemporaries, his large brown eyes frankly curious as he wandered around her room. He found the tissue-wrapped parcel she had stuffed in a corner of her empty suitcase and forgotten, and insisted on seeing what was inside and was, in fact, engaged on carefully removing the contents when Nadia walked in.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled, dropping carelessly on to the divan in the same cross-legged pose as Umm Faisal. Far more Western in outlook than either her mother or her sister, she had, nevertheless, the aura of a sheltered Eastern woman. She ruffled little Zayad’s dark hair affectionately as he staggered towards her, relieving him of the package.

‘A present?’

‘Something someone gave me in error,’ Felicia heard herself saying stiffly, changing the subject quickly. ‘You must be excited about Zahra’s marriage.’

‘Not as much as I was about my own.’ Nadia chuckled reminiscently. ‘It seems strange to remember that there was ever a time when I didn’t want to marry Achmed.’ She saw Felicia’s look of surprise and nodded her head. ‘Oh yes, I was a rebel when I was younger. Our marriage was arranged before my father’s death, and I plagued Raschid to free me from it. I even threatened to starve myself if he refused.’

‘What happened?’ Felicia enquired, intrigued. She could not imagine any female getting the better of Raschid, but plainly Nadia was perfectly happy in her marriage, and she was curious to know how this had come about.

Nadia smiled ruefully.

‘It was all Raschid’s doing, bless him! You will have heard of the siyasa on which we pride ourselves? Well, when I refused point blank to marry Achmed—and you must bear in mind that this was at the start of the month of Ramadan with the wedding only weeks away, for it was to be celebrated at the same time as the feast of Eid al-Fitr which marks the end of our fast—Raschid did not attempt to argue or reason with me. Instead he told me that he had arranged for Achmed to visit the house and that if I positioned myself in his bedroom and looked out on to the courtyard I would see Achmed arrive. He begged me to wait until then before demanding to be freed of our betrothal.’ She spread her hands, laughingly. ‘What could I do? I agreed.’

‘And?’ pressed Felicia breathlessly.

Nadia laughed again.

‘And when I saw this outstandingly handsome young man walk nervously into the courtyard I knew my protests had been those of a maid who fears the intimacies of marriage, but when I looked into Achmed’s face and saw gentleness and understanding there, I knew there was nothing to fear. Raschid knew me better than I knew myself.’ Her eyes softened into an expression of shining pleasure. ‘I will say only this to you, Felicia. There are those of your race, and mine too, who anticipate their marriage vows, tossing away the kernel of the grain and keeping only the worthless husk, but there is no freedom, no equality that equals the pleasure of sharing the mysteries of one’s body with the husband of one’s heart, and knowing that those mysteries are revealed for him and him alone.’

The soft words almost moved Felicia to tears, expressing as they did sentiments she had always cherished but never been able to utter. In complete understanding they looked at one another, and Felicia knew that whatever Raschid might choose to believe of her, Nadia had guessed the truth.

As she got up to go, she pressed Felicia’s hand lightly. ‘Zahra tells me that Raschid has greatly wronged you. For her own sake she must tell him the truth, but he is a proud man, and apologising will not come easy. You will bear this in mind?’

And make it easy for him? Was that what Nadia was asking? Raschid was lucky in his family, Felicia thought enviously; they held him in high esteem.

‘You are very like Raschid’s grandmother,’ Nadia sighed. ‘But Zahra will already have told you this. My mother tells me that you and Faisal are friends.’

Sensing what was coming, Felicia said hurriedly, ‘Can we talk of this at a later date—after Zahra’s birthday? Nothing must be allowed to overshadow that.’

‘Indeed not,’ Nadia allowed, smiling, as she led her son away for his afternoon rest.

Felicia soon discovered that all the family shared Zahra’s love of the oasis, and the luxurious home Raschid’s grandfather had built there for his English wife. In the desert the family reverted to the ways of their ancestors, with the women gathering every morning to chat and drink coffee while Raschid and Achmed inspected the fruit farm on the other side of the oasis, and exercised the fiery Arab horses stabled in one of the outer courtyards. Zayad had attached himself to Felicia, following her wherever she went, much to the amusement of Nadia.

The day before Zahra’s birthday, when the men were out riding, a messenger arrived from Saud’s family inviting the ladies to drive over. Felicia was rather dubious as to whether or not the invitation was meant to include her, but Zahra and Nadia overruled her protests.

When the men returned, Zahra rushed to tell them the news. She exhibited no shyness in the presence of her brother-in-law, who in turn treated her with brotherly indulgence. Felicia liked Nadia’s husband. He was all the things she had once thought Faisal—kind, gentle, tender to his wife and affectionate with his son. Against her will her eyes were drawn to Raschid’s remote figure. How would he treat a wife? Never with tenderness!

He said something to Zahra and the younger girl shrugged and moved away. There was an air of constraint between them, and Felicia was sorry that Zahra had been disillusioned. From Nadia she knew that Zahra intended to confront Raschid with the truth, but she suspected that she was hoping for a more propitious moment. These seldom came, as Felicia knew from experience. She was still hoping to find a tactful way of breaking the news that she must soon return home. It was bound to cause speculation. Her original visit had had no time limit and it was generally accepted by Umm Faisal that she would stay with them until Faisal returned. That was no longer possible. Tonight she must write to him.

‘And is Felicia looking forward to meeting Saud’s family?’ Achmed asked with a twinkle. ‘You know, of course, how highly placed in Government circles they are?’

‘Saud cares nothing for his family’s prominence,’ Zahra explained self-consciously, but Felicia could tell that the younger girl was deliberately playing down Saud’s importance.

‘Now you see why it is so important that our family observes the proprieties,’ Raschid drawled. ‘Already in certain religious quarters there is unrest because our government has brought in so many modern reforms. The greatest tact is needed in equating the needs of the flesh with those of the spirit, and if a member of a prominent family were seen to be flouting the unwritten rules of behaviour it could be interpreted in some quarters as a direct contravention of the Koran itself. Zahra is especially vulnerable through her connection with me. Have you forgotten that I am Christian?’ he demanded.

Felicia had. She also saw much more than she had seen before.

‘There is a letter for you, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid added. ‘From Faisal. If you will come to my study…’

‘Raschid, if you have a moment there is something I should like to discuss with you,’ Zahra interrupted hurriedly. ‘I will come with you, Felicia, and then when Raschid has given you your letter he and I can talk.’

In vain Felicia tried to catch her eye to tell her that there was no need for her to confess her guilt to Raschid. As far as she was concerned the matter was over and done with, and besides, she doubted that anything would be gained by telling him the truth. Far better that Zahra put the episode completely behind her, but Zahra avoided her warning look and got to her feet, scattering silk-covered cushions.

‘Overspent your allowance again?’ Raschid commented humorously, opening the door for them.

‘Will you see Saud tomorrow, when we visit his family?’ Felicia asked Zahra as they walked behind Raschid.

She shook her head.

‘That would not be permitted. In fact we should not see one another at all until he lifts the veil from my face during the wedding ceremony, but you will find our visit interesting. His family owns an old fortress about two hours’ drive from the oasis, and his father still likes to spend at least a part of the year in the desert.’ She hesitated as Raschid disappeared into his study.

‘There’s still time to change your mind, you know,’ Felicia pointed out gently, but Zahra shook her head.

‘No, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s go in.’

In silence Felicia took her letter from Raschid’s outstretched hand, her eyes telling Zahra that there was still time for her to back down if she wished, but the younger girl resolutely ignored her, placing herself in front of Raschid, hands clasped together, head bent.

As she closed the door gently behind her, Felicia heard him say indulgently,

‘So, and what is this urgent matter you wish to discuss with me, little one?’

Little one! Just for a moment Felicia felt like a child herself—the child she had once been, deprived of love and affection, forced to see others more fortunate blessed with what was denied her. And then she shook the feeling off and retired to her room to read Faisal’s letter.

The words seemed to leap angrily off the paper, a bitter jumble of accusations and demands, and even when she had read it twice Felicia could barely take it in. She supposed she had Raschid to thank for this, she thought bitterly, as she read it yet again, some of the more condemnatory phrases sticking in her mind.

‘Your wanton behaviour… encouraging my uncle to behave in the most familiar fashion… making a laughing stock of my reputation….’ These were but a few of Faisal’s accusations, revealing how very thin his veneer of Westernisation actually had been. The letter finished quite abruptly, and Felicia read the last paragraph slowly.

‘… and in view of your totally disgraceful behaviour I am forced to say that I can no longer countenance any marriage between us. I am writing to my uncle separately to inform him of my decision, and I am sure once it is known to him he will lose no time in sending you back to England, where you may parade yourself on the streets for the whole world to see without causing me to lose face.’

He had never really loved her, Felicia thought with a sigh, crumpling the letter into a small ball and throwing it into her wastepaper bin. She could not blame him entirely. She was as much at fault as he—and yet it hurt to read his letter, to know that Raschid had quite deliberately written to him showing her in a bad light—it must have been Raschid, it could be no one else. How would she have felt if she had in truth loved Faisal? What would her feelings have been at this moment? And yet she could not deny that it would be a relief not to have to pretend any longer. No doubt as soon as Raschid heard from Faisal he would lose no time in sending her home. Bitter pain shafted through her. She did not want to leave this country. Strangely enough, what hurt far more than Faisal’s desertion was the knowledge that Raschid had deliberately gone behind her back and betrayed her. And yet why should he be so surprised? Hadn’t he promised that he would find a way of parting them? If only he had waited a little longer he need not have put himself to the trouble. Time had achieved his ends for him, without any help. The love she thought so strong in the gentle climate of England had soon shrivelled in the merciless heat of the desert.

She took a deep breath and then another. Outside her bedroom window the swimming pool shimmered temptingly, blue as a turquoise stone set into the paved courtyard. Raschid had had it installed, so Zahra had told her, and its coolness drew her, as though somehow its silken caress could wash away her pain and hurt. Like a wounded animal she sought oblivion—not from Faisal’s betrayal, which had taken second place in her chaotic thoughts, but from the new, dangerously hurtful knowledge that when she left Kuwait, she would leave behind a part of herself—in the hard uncaring hands of his uncle!

How it had happened she did not know. Nor why her senses should be enslaved to the one man who had no use or desire for her, but now the truth was inescapable. She refused to use the word ‘love’ in conjunction with her feelings for Raschid, but neither could she continue to deny its existence. All her heart-searching, all her reluctance to leave Kuwait had their roots in the same hidden depths of her being which had given birth to the sensual excitement she had experienced at Raschid’s touch. She was attracted to him, she told herself, nothing more. But it was more than attraction. That could not account for the driving need within her. The ache to touch and be touched; the burning, hurting desire that kept her awake at night.

She glanced in the mirror, barely recognising the white face staring back at her. She found her black swimsuit, deeming it more suitable than her bikini, unaware of how it accentuated her curves, flattering her slim shape, drawing attention to the valley between her breasts, the silky sheen of her skin. As she pulled it on she realised that in the move from Kuwait she had forgotten to buy herself a fresh supply of salt tablets. She shrugged. It hardly mattered now. She would not be here much longer—just as long as it took Raschid to read Faisal’s letter. She did not think he would allow her to stay under his roof one moment more than necessary, birthday celebrations or no!

Although he might not know it, Raschid had won. How ironic that it should be Faisal who was responsible for his victory; the same Faisal who had sent her out here in the first place to win his uncle over. It seemed that Raschid had known Faisal far better than she had done.

It was hot outside, away from the protective shelter of the house. The pool shimmered under the bright sun. Felicia dived in, the water like cool silk against her heated skin. She swam a couple of lengths, then turned over to float luxuriously on her back, her hair a bright cloud of molten fire against the vivid blue of the water. She closed her eyes, letting her tense muscles relax. In the distance she could hear voices raised in angry protest, but they faded and then there was only the benevolent heat of the sun and the soothing slap of the water against the sides of the pool.

As she lay there she wondered idly why neither Nadia nor Zahra used the pool, and then dismissed the thought, as she struck out for the far side in a lazy crawl.

She trod water for a few seconds, trying to find the energy to haul herself out. Her eyes stung from the chlorine in the water and she closed them, rubbing them with one hand.

Someone grasped her arms, hauling her unceremoniously out of the water, to stand at the side of the pool dripping moisture on to soft leather boots.

Her eyes travelled upwards. Wide trousers were tucked into the boots, a dark cloak flung back from broad shoulders.

‘Miss Gordon!’

‘Raschid!’ Awareness shivered through her. Was this it? Was he going to tell her that she was going home?

She forced herself to look up into his face. His expression was forbidding, his mouth tight, although whether with distaste or anger she could not tell.

‘I was on my way to the stables when I saw you here.’

Felicia gritted her teeth, willing him to get to the point. Tears were not very far away, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that after today she would probably never need to endure his anger again. Oddly, it brought her no relief.

‘What were you doing in the pool?’

She stared at him. ‘Do I have to have your permission before I can swim now?’

His glance impaled her, sending sharp splinters of apprehension through her trembling body. Her wrap was on the other side of the pool, and she glanced helplessly at it, wishing for its admittedly frail protection against the steely thrust of his eyes.

Even the doves seemed to have ceased their endless cooing and in the unnerving silence she felt sure he must hear the frightened thudding of her heart. His eyes searched her face, looking for she knew not what, and then, as though satisfied, he smiled coolly.

‘I have been looking for you. I wish to speak to you.’

Of course he did. He wanted to gloat over Faisal’s defection, no doubt.

Head held high, she refused to let him see how she felt. ‘I’ll go and get changed, and….’

He forestalled her, his touch on her deceptively light. ‘I think not. What I wish to say to you requires privacy, and where better than here in the seclusion of this courtyard, where none will disturb us, since it is my own private domain.’