Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 9

‘WILL she be all right?’

The anxious question hovered somewhere on the outer periphery of her subconscious, registering in a dim and distant fashion even while its import eluded her. The voice was familiar, though, and Felicia struggled to recognise it. Mercifully, someone else took on the responsibility of replying, a male voice, deep, crisp, with faintly indolent overtones; a voice that sent small feather tendrils of fear curling insidiously down her spine, so that she was tempted to curl up into a small ball and hide away from it.

‘Don’t worry, Zahra. It’s a combination of exhaustion and temperature change, I suspect, coupled with too much rich food on an empty stomach. Now you know why your mother forbids you to go on these ridiculous slimming diets.’

‘Felicia doesn’t need to slim,’ Zahra objected. ‘She looks so pale, Raschid. Don’t you think we ought to send for a doctor?’

Raschid! Now she remembered! Felicia opened her eyes, wincing in the electric light, forcing away the darkness that reached out for her and struggling to sit up. She was in her bedroom—she recognised that much at least—and Umm Faisal was hovering anxiously in the doorway, while Zahra and Raschid stood by her bed.

‘I don’t need a doctor,’ she croaked, disconcerted when all three pairs of eyes focused at once upon her.

‘You’ve come round!’ Zahra exclaimed thankfully. ‘We were so worried about you. What could we have told Faisal if you had fallen ill?’

‘I’m sure Faisal would have agreed with me that Miss Gordon should have told us she was feeling unwell,’ Raschid interrupted unsympathetically. ‘Zahra, find one of the maids and get some fresh fruit juice for our patient. After her long flight she is probably somewhat dehydrated, and perhaps a sleeping pill will help Miss Gordon to get a good night’s sleep, Fatima?’

‘Didn’t anyone warn you that jet travel can be extremely dehydrating?’ Raschid asked her severely as his sister and niece hurried to do his bidding. Felicia closed her eyes, turning her face to the wall, dismayed to hear him drawl mockingly,

‘Still hating me, Miss Gordon? How wise of you not to try to deny it. Your eyes smoulder in a most disconcerting fashion when you are angry, but you had best not let my sister see them. She comes from a generation that believes implicitly in the absolute supremacy of the male.’

‘Then you must be a throwback!’ Felicia muttered unwisely under her breath, shocked when, without warning, Raschid’s fingers grasped her chin, forcing her face round so that she was obliged to endure his cool scrutiny.

‘What can have happened to all your good intentions?’ he mocked unkindly. ‘Were we not agreed that for Faisal’s sake you must seek my approval or are you perhaps foolish enough to believe that this is the way to do so? Allow me to disillusion you. Do not continue this foolish and pointless defiance. I am not renowned for my patience, Miss Gordon, but neither am I the monster of your imaginings. Faisal is an extremely wealthy and spoilt young man. I am his guardian—for my sins—and although I cannot stop him marrying where he chooses, I do have the means to delay that marriage if I am not convinced that it is right for him. If you really seek his happiness you must see the sense of what I am saying.’

‘Is it so difficult for you to accept that his happiness lies with me?’ Felicia countered shakily, determined to withstand the fierce onslaught of his gaze. ‘You talk to me of sense and reason, and yet you condemned me without knowing the first thing about me. Whether you admit it or not you don’t want Faisal to marry me. And yet why? By what right do you take it upon yourself to choose for him? You know nothing about me. How can you say that we won’t be happy?’

‘Zut! Either you are an imbecile or a stubborn fool, Miss Gordon. Faisal is a Moslem—an Arab, with all that the word encompasses. You are British. Even today the two worlds lie far apart. Marriage to Faisal would make you his possession, every bit as much as his car or his home.’

‘Perhaps I want to be,’ Felicia retorted, refusing to be quelled.

Raschid’s expression was sardonic. ‘You may want him to possess your body, Miss Gordon,’ he stated baldly, ‘but, as you will discover if you do marry Faisal, he will own you body and soul.’

‘I thought women weren’t supposed to have souls,’ Felicia commented rather unwisely. ‘I thought they were just men’s playthings; bearers of children. You won’t frighten me by telling me these things. If you honestly believe a woman to be an inferior being, why do you let Zahra attend university?’

‘We are not talking of my beliefs, Miss Gordon,’ he reminded her coolly, ‘but those of my nephew. Do not deceive yourself. For all his outward Westernised views, Faisal is every bit as conservative as his father, and his father before him. He may not expect you to go into purdah or veil yourself, but he will not countenance a loss of face because you, his wife—his possession—refuse to acknowledge his superiority.’

His ears, sharper than hers, caught the sound of feet on the stairs, and he frowned warningly. A hectic flush stained Felicia’s previously pale face. She was so angry that she trembled beneath his suave gaze.

‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss these matters,’ Raschid told her. ‘We shall talk again when you are rested, but I warn you now that nothing you have said so far has done anything to convince me that you could make Faisal happy. Marriage is a serious business, Miss Gordon, not to be undertaken on a mere whim.’

‘How would you know?’ Felicia muttered bitterly, as Zahra bustled in. ‘You’ve never been married, have you?’

He turned on his heel, ignoring her taunt, and when he had gone Zahra cast a nervous glance at the closed door.

‘Felicia, you have been quarrelling with Raschid, haven’t you?’ she whispered.

‘I think you can guess why. He doesn’t want me to marry Faisal,’ Felicia told her bleakly, driven by the need to confide in someone.

‘I know,’ Zahra admitted. ‘He has spoken of this to me. You must not get upset, Felicia, it is just that Faisal….’ she coloured, patently embarrassed. ‘Well, you are not the first girl he has believed himself in love with, and Uncle Raschid is merely anxious to protect my mother. She does not understand these things. To her a betrothal is as sacred as a marriage, and that is why Uncle Raschid will not allow you to become engaged until he is sure that your marriage will be a happy one.’

In other circumstances Felicia might have seen the wisdom behind these words, but Raschid’s implied criticism of Faisal fuelled her anger, causing Zahra to eye her with growing concern as indignant colour burned her cheeks.

‘You must have patience,’ Zahra soothed. ‘Raschid will come round in time, I am sure of it. You must have siyasa.’

‘Siyasa? What is that?’ Felicia enquired, intrigued in spite of herself.

Zahra laughed. ‘It is what in England you would call tact, but more! It is the art of getting what you want without forcing the other man to lose face.’

‘It is obvious that your uncle does not think me deserving of siyasa,’ Felicia complained. ‘I honestly believe he wants to humiliate me!’

Zahra made a shocked, tutting sound.

‘Never would he be so impolite to a guest,’ she averred firmly. ‘He is merely anxious for my mother. He wishes to protect her, that is all. Marriage is a big step….’

‘So your uncle was telling me,’ Felicia agreed wryly. ‘He seems to be quite an expert on the subject, although he isn’t married himself.’

‘That is because his betrothed died,’ Zahra explained in a low voice. ‘It used to be the custom for a girl to be engaged to her first cousin, and this practice was adopted by Raschid’s father, so that Raschid is my mother’s brother, but he was also my father’s cousin.’

It was all rather difficult for Felicia to assimilate, with an aching head, but she did her best.

‘Raschid is, of course, my mother’s stepbrother,’ Zahra continued. ‘He was the child of my grandfather’s second wife. That is why he is of your religion and we are not. Faisal will have told you something of this?’

‘He told me that your uncle’s grandmother was an English girl—a Christian,’ Felicia admitted, curious, despite her averred dislike of Faisal’s uncle.

‘Yes, that is so,’ Zahra agreed. ‘Raschid’s grandparents met in the desert, when he rescued her from a sandstorm. They fell deeply in love and since Raschid’s grandfather was the head of his family he was free to marry whomever he chose. It was for her that he built the house at the oasis, for despite their love, sometimes she yearned for her old life amongst her own people. Raschid’s mother was their only child, and she was the second wife of my grandfather. That is how Raschid comes to be Christian. It is a romantic story, is it not?’

Felicia allowed that it was.

‘I do not think Raschid will marry now,’ Zahra mused. ‘I think he enjoys his single state too much.’ She dimpled a smile at Felicia. ‘Mother is constantly suggesting this girl or that, for his approval, but he always has an excuse.’

‘Another example of siyasa!’ Felicia commented dryly, wincing when Zahra clapped her hands and laughed.

‘I am going to enjoy having you staying with us, Felicia. Poor Uncle Raschid! He will not be able to stand out against you for long, especially when Faisal comes home. Mother has always spoiled him dreadfully, and I don’t think she would object if he took four English wives!’

Umm Faisal might not, Felicia thought tiredly, but she certainly would. She closed her eyes, trying to relax and ease the tension from her muscles, but Raschid’s darkly sardonic features would keep transposing themselves between her aching head and the peace she sought.

In the end she welcomed Umm Faisal’s entrance, to bear her chattering daughter away and leave her guest a glass of chilled fruit juice and the promised sleeping tablet.

IT WAS THE unfamiliar figure of the maid tiptoeing past the window that eventually woke Felicia. She opened her eyes, disorientated, and wondering where she was, and then the events of the previous day came flooding back. Of course! She was in Kuwait faced with the seemingly impossible mission of trying to persuade Sheikh Raschid to accept her into his family.

The maid threw back the curtains with a shy smile, but in response to Felicia’s questions, she only shook her head and left the room, reappearing several minutes later with Umm Faisal.

‘So! You are feeling better?’ the older woman exclaimed in her slow English, giving her guest a beaming smile. ‘That is good. Zahra has gone to the university, but she left a message to say that she will meet you in Kuwait later in the day. Ali will take you in the car and wait for you.’

‘Zahra has left?’ Felicia sat up and stared disbelievingly at her watch. How on earth could it be eleven in the morning? When she broke into an appalled apology Umm Faisal shook her head, plainly undisturbed.

‘It is the pill,’ she assured Felicia, ‘and you will feel better for the long sleep. My brother has gone to the bank, and so we are alone. Selina will bring you rolls and honey or fresh fruit if you prefer and then we shall drink tea and you will tell me all about my Faisal. Zahra laughs at me, but a mother grows anxious for her only son, when he lives amongst strangers.’

Felicia could only sympathise. She missed Faisal already, and longed for his presence as a bulwark between herself and Raschid.

‘It is a bad time for him to go to New York, just when you are visiting us,’ Umm Faisal acknowledged, ‘but Raschid thought it necessary.’

And Raschid’s decisions must never be questioned, Felicia thought resentfully.

The fresh fruit and delicious warm rolls Selina brought helped to revive her, and after a refreshing shower Felicia dressed in a flattering ice blue linen skirt, attractively pleated at the front, a toning striped blouse, completing an outfit that was both cool and practical. The skirt had a matching jacket, but the morning was so warm that Felicia left it hanging in the wardrobe. Pale blue eyeshadow and soft pink lip-gloss gave her a hint of sophistication, building up her seriously depleted self-confidence.

With a good many nods and smiles Selina led her to Umm Faisal’s private sitting room on the ground floor. The older woman was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, and she rose gracefully when Felicia entered. The room was cool and shadowy, a long divan beneath the iron grille of a window, heaped with cushions covered in vivid silks, the rich crimsons and peacock blues picked out in the jewel-coloured Persian carpet, a vibrant note of colour against the black and white tiled floor. On a small low table stood a brass samovar, bubbling gently, the scent of mint tea wafting towards Felicia as she crossed the room. Above the faint whirring of the air-conditioning she could hear the sound of birds singing.

‘Raschid had an aviary built when we moved to this house,’ Umm Faisal explained. ‘It is pleasant to walk in the gardens in the evening and listen to their song.’

‘I thought I heard fountains playing when we arrived last night, and they sounded wonderful,’ Felicia acknowledged.

‘Ah yes. There is no sweeter sound to the Arab ear than that of water, and even now when we no longer need to fear the dry season I have to force myself not to waste a drop.’ She shook her head. ‘Old habits die hard, and Raschid is constantly chiding me for my folly. He bought this house for us when my husband died—Raschid really prefers the desert, but it is not safe to bring up children so far from medical care even in these days. He gave up much when Saud died—but then Faisal will have told you that.’

Had he? Felicia could remember well enough Faisal’s complaints about his uncle. ‘He must have been very young,’ she murmured now involuntarily, referring to Raschid.

Umm Faisal smiled. ‘Barely nineteen. He was the son of my father’s second wife. My mother bore no sons to my father, so he took a second wife, but Yasmin was never truly happy. She was her parents’ only child and had been educated in England according to her mother’s wish. However, when it came to her marriage her father insisted that it must be in the old tradition. My father was her second cousin, but although she was a dutiful wife, she rarely smiled or laughed. She died when Raschid was three, and I have often wondered if she yearned for her mother’s country. Raschid does not speak of it, but her death saddened him greatly. He has not had an easy life,’ Umm Faisal continued quietly, ‘and it is for this reason that I should like to see him settled with a family of his own.’ She looked at Felicia with contemplative eyes. ‘In Raschid, East and West meet, and I know that he is sometimes impatient of our ways. It was his wish that Zahra and Nadia attend the university—and I think the English part of him yearns for a closer companionship with his wife than Moslem girls are taught to expect. It is for this reason, I think, that he has never taken a bride.’

She pitied the woman who eventually took him on, Felicia thought grimly, but naturally she did not voice these thoughts to her companion.

Today Umm Faisal was dressed in Eastern costume, and Felicia suspected that the Western garb of the previous evening had been donned merely to put her at her ease. Her heart warmed towards this tiny, plump woman whose ways were so very different from her own, but who was plainly willing to welcome her son’s friends into her home. Remembering the gifts she had bought in London—still unpacked—Felicia was tempted to run upstairs and get them, but decided to wait until Zahra returned.

She tried not to feel too dismayed when Ali brought the Mercedes to the door later that afternoon, wishing that Umm Faisal was going with her.

The arrangement was that Ali would drive to the university to collect Zahra and then take both girls back to Kuwait town so that they could look at the shops at their leisure, but when they were driving through Kuwait, Felicia remembered that she had no Kuwaiti money and she persuaded Ali to drop her outside a bank and go on to collect Zahra without her.

‘I shall wait for Zahra here,’ she assured the puzzled servant, gesturing to the large plate glass building behind her.

As she emerged from the interior of the car she was glad that she had changed her striped blouse for a thinner, sleeveless one, with a gently scooped neckline.

The bank cashier was politely helpful, patiently explaining the denominations of her Kuwaiti money and showing her the rate of exchange. He spoke excellent English, and although Felicia doubted that her few pounds would go very far, it was reassuring to have money in her purse.

She emerged from the welcome coolness of the bank into the harsh sunlight, fascinated by the panorama of life passing by in front of her while she waited for Ali to return with Zahra. Hawk-eyed, bronzed men in their white dish-dashes; their robes immaculately clean, their headdresses held in place by glinting gold igals.

A group of old men sat cross-legged on the pavement, and to her amusement Felicia realised that they were watching a television in a shop window.

Although men were undeniably in the majority, she noticed several girls walking about unescorted, some wearing jeans and blouses, but there were still plenty of women who retained the traditional black burga, veils covering their faces as they swayed gracefully in the wake of their men. The men were fascinating, Felicia reflected. Even in middle age they retained their upright carriage and good looks. Black eyes glittered curiously at her, hawk noses and thin lips a reminder of their heritage. It was impossible not to admire them in their strict adherence to their way of life, though she liked that Faisal was more gentle by nature, more malleable, ready to indulge and cosset her, the effect no doubt of his Western education, and a result of the close bond that evidently existed between him and his mother. Raschid was cast in a far different mould.

All too easy to imagine him staring down the length of his arrogant nose at some unfortunate female who had incurred his displeasure.

Ali was gone longer than she had anticipated, and she scoured the busy street looking for the familiar Mercedes. A group of youths were approaching her, their eyes bold and assessing, and Felicia was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable. So much so that she almost wished for the protection of the enveloping black garments of the other women to hide her from the openly lascivious glances she was attracting.

When she did see the Mercedes gliding to a halt several yards away, she started to hurry towards it, but it was not Ali who got out of the car. It was Raschid himself, his face dark and forbidding as he strode towards her, the thin silk of his shirt open at the neck to reveal the strong, tanned column of his throat. A tiny thread of awareness filtered through her dismay, coupled with the unwelcome admission that these olive-skinned men with their arrogant profiles and lean grace made their English counterparts seem pale and flabby in comparison. Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast, her pulses racing, her mouth dry with nervous fear. Instead of going to meet Raschid, she hung back, frozen to the spot like some poor little mouse, petrified by the cruel grace of the falcon on his downward swoop.

Dark fingers, like talons, gripped her arm, swinging her into shocked contact with a hard male body, the scent of male skin filling her nostrils as, momentarily, she was pressed against Raschid’s lean length.

‘Miss Gordon!’ There was exasperation as well as tightly controlled anger in the two words, and Felicia found herself stammering weakly, searching for some means to dispel his wrath:

‘I was waiting for Zahra.’

‘Having told Ali to leave you, completely alone, in the middle of a strange city—Yes, I know,’ he agreed grimly. ‘Fortunately Ali had the good sense to come and tell me.’ His eyes slid over her body; the fragile hip bones revealed by her clinging skirt; the slender curve of her waist below the unexpected fullness of her breasts. Aware of his regard, Felicia went hot and cold all over, suppressing the instinctive desire to conceal herself from him.

‘In this country, Miss Gordon,’ he told her, ‘a woman of good family does not walk the streets alone, with her body on display for the delectation of all and sundry, to be gossiped over and speculated about, as those boys were discussing you. I tell you this—Faisal would not be pleased were he to learn of this escapade.’

Shocked into silence by the censorious words, Felicia bit hard on her lip.

‘I just wanted to get some money,’ she choked, nearly in tears, humiliated by the thought that Raschid was witnessing her distress.

‘You could have applied to me,’ Raschid’s cold voice continued inexorably. ‘Or does that much-flaunted liberation you European women are so fond of mean that you are unwilling even to do that!’

He made her sound so petty and childish that she could have wept. She had simply never thought of asking him to change her few travellers’ cheques for her, but a corner of her mind acknowledged that he had some basis for his accusation, although stubbornly she resisted it.

‘I’m sure it isn’t a crime to walk alone—other women were doing so, and in European dress,’ Felicia said defiantly.

Raschid snapped long fingers, ignoring the challenge in her eyes.

‘Foreigners!’ he announced contemptuously. ‘Women whose families do not have a care for their reputation.’

‘My reputation is my own,’ Felicia snapped crossly. ‘And I’m perfectly capable of taking care of it myself. After all, I’ve been living alone in London for the past five years.’

‘In Kuwait, Miss Gordon, a woman’s reputation is the concern of all her family, and a slur upon that reputation reflects upon all members of that family. Faisal may or may not have told you that Zahra is betrothed to a young man of exceptionally rigid family. The betrothal has only been settled after a good deal of very delicate negotiation. These are sensitive times where the Moslem religion is concerned. The information that a young woman attached to our family—in however nebulous a fashion—is disporting herself as you have been today could have very serious repercussions indeed where Zahra’s future is concerned.’

If he expected her to be cowed and chastened then he had another think coming, Felicia fumed.

‘An arranged marriage? How typical of you!’ she stormed. ‘If you had your way you would ruin Faisal’s life in the same way, and then your life wouldn’t be disturbed by an unwanted English girl whose morals and antecedents you so obviously suspect! I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sheikh Raschid, but I will marry Faisal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us, even if we do have to wait three years.’

She wondered if it was anger or disgust that made his mouth tighten so forbiddingly. No doubt he thought that girls of good family did not state their intentions so openly, but waited with dutifully downcast eyes for their fathers and brothers to tell them whom they would marry. Poor Zahra! How did she feel about her arranged marriage?

The cruel fingers were still holding her prisoner, while relentless grey eyes swept her from head to foot and back again, so that she was reduced to trembling fury.

‘Let me go!’ she muttered. ‘People are staring at us!’

‘And that offends you?’ His mouth thinned cruelly and for the first time she was aware of its full lower curve, indicating a passion she would have thought foreign to his nature.

‘Do you realise that were you married to Faisal you would have just given him cause to divorce you twice over; firstly by disporting yourself as you did in the street for all to see, and secondly for allowing me to address you so intimately and in full view of anyone who cares to see? Faisal would not like that, Miss Gordon.’

She knew that it was true. There was a certain inflection in the younger man’s voice whenever he mentioned his uncle that hinted at the beginnings of a jealousy which could easily be fanned from a small spark to a blazing conflagration.

‘And I don’t like being stared at as though I were on sale in the market-place!’ Felicia replied tartly, tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic effect of his cool stare.

‘You surprise me. In one respect at least I cannot fault Faisal’s judgment. You are an extremely beautiful woman, but it takes more than a desirable body and a pretty face to make a good wife.’

‘Although they are admirable traits in a mistress? Is that what you mean?’

Raschid’s eyebrows rose quellingly, adding to his formidable air of hauteur.

‘I did not say so,’ he replied positively. ‘Was that your intention when you agreed to come out here? To sell yourself to the highest bidder, knowing that a wealthy Arab would pay well for that lissom white body you conceal so inadequately?’

She would have struck him there and then in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare if he had not transferred his grip from her arm to her wrist, pain stabbing through her tender flesh like a shock from red-hot wires at the ferocity of the fingers clamped round her frail bones.

‘Why do you ask?’ she cried bitterly. ‘Are you thinking of putting in an offer yourself?’

She knew instantly that she had gone too far. His mouth tightened ominously, his eyes condemning as they swept her with thinly veiled contempt.

‘No way,’ he said cruelly, shaking his head. ‘I don’t buy soiled merchandise, Miss Gordon, desirable though it may be superficially. A chipped jade figurine, a flawed carpet, a second-hand woman, they are all worthless!’

His words left her gasping with mingled shock and rage. She tried to pull herself free and suffered the added indignity of being jerked against the hard length of his body, shock driving the breath out of her lungs as she bunched her muscles against the impact. The contact lasted only a second, but as she pulled away and stalked across the pavement to the car, where Zahra was staring curiously from the window, she felt as though the imprint of Raschid’s flesh was burned against her own, and she, who had been held far closer to Faisal, wondered why she should have found that momentary contact with Raschid so intensely disturbing. Long strides brought the object of her tumultuous thoughts alongside her, lean fingers descending over hers, clinical eyes studying the way she flinched away as he grasped the car door, holding it open for her.

The entire episode could have lasted no longer than the space of a few minutes, but Felicia felt for some reason as though it were one that she would never forget. Tense and defensive, she tried to calm her jangled nerves as Raschid closed the door and walked round to the front passenger seat.

Just for a second she had glimpsed the emotions Raschid concealed behind his cool façade, and what she had seen had frightened her. He was as different from Faisal as chalk from cheese, she reflected shakily. He had none of Faisal’s gentle compassion; none of his boyish charm, so why should he linger in her thoughts when she badly needed to cling to the memory of Faisal’s love?