Читать книгу Daughter Of Hassan - Пенни Джордан, Penny Jordan - Страница 6

THESE words were repeated, although in a somewhat different vein, the following day when Danielle’s stepfather was discussing the events of the previous evening.

‘Philippe is pleasant enough,’ Danielle agreed sedately, ‘but I suspect that he finds all girls who are reasonably pretty, “attractive”.’ She made a slight moue and her stepfather laughed, ruffling her hair.

‘And as a definitely more than “reasonably pretty” girl, you disdain his attentions, is that it?’

He was in a very expansive mood and it struck Danielle that he was relieved that she did not find Philippe attractive. Why? she wondered, and then smiled. Of course, Hassan made no secret of the fact that he liked having her at home and had no doubt feared that she might have taken Philippe’s attentions too seriously.

‘He is an entertaining companion, nothing more,’ she assured him, darting him a glance and wondering if now was the time to mention something which had begun to trouble her lately. She had no wish to hurt her stepfather’s feelings, but it was time that he and her mother realised that she was old enough to make her own decisions, run her own life. ‘You can’t continue to vet all my boy-friends, you know.’ she teased, taking a chance that he would take the comment in the spirit in which it was made. ‘I’m grown up now!’

The look he gave her was that of a man and not a father, and Danielle flushed defensively as it encompassed her high taut breasts and slender body, before returning to dwell speculatively on her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

‘So you are,’ he agreed gravely, his voice suddenly serious as he added, ‘You know that your happiness is my prime concern, don’t you, Danielle?’

When she nodded, he smiled. ‘So then there is no need for us to quarrel, is there?’

Weakly agreeing, Danielle was left with the definite sensation that she had been out-manoeuvred.

Her stepfather would have to face up to the fact that she could not live at home for ever, she decided later in the afternoon, preparing for a shopping trip with two friends from finishing school. One of them was training to be a model and the other was a dancer and had just obtained a contract to appear in a West End show. Danielle envied them their free and easy life style, although she was honest enough to admit to herself that the casual procession of men in and out of the lives of some of her friends was not for her. She enjoyed going out with boys and liked them as friends, but somehow she found herself shying away from the thought of a full-blooded affair, even, a little to her own surprise, viewing the idea of such intimacy with a certain amount of distaste. Could she be frigid? She tried to analyse her own instinctive objection to the use of the word, which immediately decried her innate sense of femininity. She would just have to accept that as far as sex was concerned she was a late developer, she decided humorously as she discarded the expensive clothes in her wardrobe in favour of a thin tee-shirt and clinging jeans; either that or she was too romantic, for certainly the thought of sex for sex’s sake did nothing for her, and as far as she could ascertain, for her, love must certainly precede the intimacies which other girls had described to her in giggled whispers.

Her friends were an entertaining duo; although coming from relatively wealthy families, they cheerfully searched markets for second-hand clothes of the twenties and thirties, and both, like Danielle herself, were dressed in the ubiquitous jeans and tee-shirts when they met her at the appointed rendezvous. Both girls were full of what they were doing and their plans for the future, and as they described the flat they were sharing and the carefree life they were leading Danielle felt quite envious.

At last Corinne, the dancer, asked her what her plans were for the future, and when told Corinne raised her eyebrows a little.

‘A restaurant of your own? That’s rather ambitious of you, isn’t it? I always had the impression that you were one of those girls who would marry early. In fact I’m surprised you aren’t engaged already, especially in view of your background.’

When Danielle looked puzzled she explained lightly, ‘Your stepfather, Dan. Don’t tell me he doesn’t have some eligible man waiting in the wings for you. I mean, in the Middle East the arranged marriage is still very much the thing, isn’t it, especially among the wealthy upper classes? A friend of mine was involved with one of them several months ago. She’s a girl who’s in the show with me, and it’s taken her simply ages to get over him. Apparently some of these men are really dynamite, if you’re prepared to accept that you’ll never be anything to them but something on the side.’

Danielle grimaced, not liking Corinne’s expression, descriptive though it was.

‘He loaded Vanessa down with jewels and expensive clothes,’ Corinne continued, unaware of Danielle’s distaste, ‘but when it came to the crunch—marriage,’ she elucidated when Danielle looked puzzled, ‘he told her quite categorically that there was simply no way he was going to marry her. Apparently there was some dutiful little bride already lined up waiting for him. Vanessa was simply furious, and she told him so, but he just laughed at her, apparently. Told her she’d been paid well for the pleasure her body afforded him, but it was over.’

‘At least she got something out of it,’ Linda observed cynically. ‘You hear some pretty unpleasant tales about what can happen to girls who get involved with Muslims in my business. The days are gone when rich Arabs were swept off their feet by fair skin and blonde hair. They’ve realised that everything has its price, and as everyone ought to know by now, when it comes to bartering they’re impossible to beat. Still, if a girl’s sensible she can still do quite well—jewellery, holidays, clothes that sort of thing.’

Feeling faintly sickened, Danielle said it was time for her to leave. It was hard to know who offended her innate sense of chastity most—the girl who so cynically sold her body for jewels, or the man who bought it. On balance she thought the man, because he was using the woman for nothing more than momentary satisfaction and thus completely debasing the very foundations of a mutually caring relationship between the two sexes.

‘Oh, Vanessa didn’t do too badly out of it in that respect,’ Corinne agreed carelessly, ‘but according to her this Jourdan was quite something, and what she really had in mind was marriage.’

Jourdan! The moment she heard the name Danielle went hot and cold all over. Perhaps it was silly of her to leap immediately to the conclusion that the ‘Jourdan’ Corinne spoke of was her stepfather’s nephew, and yet surely there could not be two wealthy Arabs with that same unusual name.

‘Are you okay, Dan?’ Corinne asked her with some concern. ‘You’ve gone quite pale.’

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, collecting her bag and standing up. ‘But I ought to be going. I promised my parents I’d be in for dinner tonight.’ It was a lie, but all at once it had become imperative to learn more about her stepfather’s family, and the only person she could ask was her mother, or failing that, her stepfather himself. On the way home she wondered why she had never thought to question the lack of contact with her stepfather’s relatives before; perhaps because she had been away at school so much, so involved in her own life and her own contentment.

She broached the subject over coffee after dinner. Her parents employed a live-in couple, Mr and Mrs Bennett, who acted as chauffeur and cook respectively, and once Mrs Bennett had removed the remains of their meal and they had retired to the drawing room, Danielle merely waited until her mother had poured the rich, sweet coffee her stepfather adored before asking her questions.

‘Danielle!’ her mother protested when Danielle asked why it was that they had no contact with her stepfather’s family.

‘No, Helen, she is right to ask,’ her husband responded, smiling at Danielle. ‘In fact I am surprised that she has not done so before now.’

‘I think I was probably too immature, too wrapped up in my own affairs,’ Danielle admitted honestly.

‘So, and what has prompted this sudden maturity?’ Sheikh Hassan queried, his eyes suddenly sharpening. ‘Could it have been Philippe Sancerre?’

‘Partially,’ Danielle admitted, mindful of her stepfather’s business relationship with Philippe’s family and not wishing to prejudice it by making him angry with Philippe. ‘But I think that living at home as I’m doing now has made me realise how isolated we are.’

‘Well, I can tell you the main reason,’ Danielle’s mother began. ‘Ahmed’s family did not approve of his marriage to me. Oh, they were quite within their rights,’ she added before Danielle could object. ‘After all, what did they know of me? Your stepfather has had to give up a great deal to be with us, Danny.’

The reversion to her baby name made Danielle smile a little, her own eyes misting over as she saw the tears in her mother’s as she turned to her husband.

‘My family were wilfully and blindly prejudiced,’ he said softly. ‘And never for a moment doubt that I have not treasured every second of my life with you, Helen.’ His free arm came out to encircle Danielle. ‘The happiness the two of you have brought to my life has enriched it like rain to the parched desert.’

‘And now we shall be even happier,’ Danielle’s mother said with a smile. She turned to Danielle. ‘Hassan’s family want a reconciliation.’

‘Even Jourdan?’ Danielle could not resist saying a little bitterly.

Her stepfather’s protective arm dropped and it seemed to her that her parents exchanged a look which excluded her totally; a look which made her blood run cold with a nameless fear.

‘What do you know of Jourdan?’ her stepfather asked her quietly.

‘Only that he didn’t want you to marry my mother; that he considers women to be animated toys designed specifically for his pleasure, and that when he’s finished with them he throws them aside like so many unwanted empty cartons.’

‘Jourdan is of the desert,’ her stepfather said, without making any attempt to deny her words. ‘He has its strength and endurance, and perhaps a little of its cruelty, but there is another side to him. No man can live as the hawk for all his life; there comes a time always when he needs the softness of the dove; when even the fiercest heart cries out for the tranquillity of the oasis. In Jourdan, it is true that this side is well hidden. I will not ask where you learned so much of my nephew,’ Sheikh Hassan added, ‘for I believe I already know the answer. It is not always wise to allow the hawk and the sparrow to grow up together, for the sparrow will always seek to taint the nobility of his fellow, knowing its lack in himself.’

‘Philippe is not a sparrow,’ Danielle protested, shocked by the cynical twist of her stepfather’s lips.

‘No? Were you aware that his father had approached me for your hand in marriage on Philippe’s behalf?’

Even as she absorbed the formally old-fashioned words Danielle’s shocked face betrayed that she had not.

‘Danielle.’ Her stepfather’s arm round her shoulders comforted her distress. ‘You must not blame him too much. Philippe is a young man with expensive tastes, and as the daughter of an extremely wealthy man—and a very, very beautiful daughter, of course, Philippe has the sybarite’s love of beauty as well as wealth—a man who already has business connections with his father, what could be more natural than that his practical French mind should turn towards marriage?’

‘I thought he liked me,’ Danielle murmured bleakly. ‘I had no idea…’

‘But you did not love him? There had been no intimacy between you?’

Danielle heard her mother’s small protest above the sharpness in her stepfather’s voice and regained enough of her normal calm independence to say sardonically,

‘Fortunately, no.’ She turned to her mother with a bleak smile. ‘How lucky you’ve been, darling. Two men have loved you—if all the men I meet are going to turn out like Philippe and Jourdan, I doubt if I’ll ever find one to love me.’

‘Jourdan? Why do you mention him?’ her stepfather demanded, while Danielle was still trying to come to terms with her own admission to herself. She did want someone to love her, and to love them in return. She was obviously not as independent as she thought, and not for the first time she wished that her parents’ care of her had not been quite so protective. She might feel just the same as other girls her age, but in many ways she was not, and she was forced to admit that her view of love had probably been too coloured by her stepfather’s obvious adoration of her mother. She knew that he was probably unique among his own race, but she was now beginning to wonder if he was not also unique among men in general.

She gathered her thoughts hurriedly, aware that her stepfather was still awaiting her reply. Something about the look in his eyes made her lift her head proudly and say, ‘Isn’t it true that he’s betrothed to some poor girl who has to accept him in marriage whether she wants to or not; some girl who’s most probably kept in ignorance of her fate, and the manner in which her prospective husband conducts himself?’

‘You would condemn a man purely on the conviction of one other, who is known to be envious of him?’ her stepfather asked mildly. ‘I had thought better of you, Danielle.’

‘It wasn’t just Philippe,’ she retorted, resenting her stepfather’s knack of making her feel guilty, especially when she had nothing to feel guilty for.

‘Some friends of mine happened to mention him—quite by chance, they had no idea that I knew him. They were telling me about a girl he’d been involved with in Paris.’

Her stepfather made an abrupt disdainful gesture. ‘A putain; a woman of the world who gives her body in return for gain…’

‘It doesn’t matter what she was,’ Danielle protested hotly, ‘she was still a person, a human being with feelings. If men were not prepared to buy then women wouldn’t sell…’

It was plain that her stepfather did not agree with her.

‘A man has needs,’ he said frankly, ‘and when he can slake them nowhere else he will queue in the market-place and buy water. Of course, it will not have the fresh sweetness of water from his own private oasis; it will taste brackish and perhaps not refresh, but it is still water. I had thought you more generous, Danielle, than to condemn a man purely because he indulges a perfectly natural appetite…’

Danielle turned away, suddenly close to tears. For all their love for one another she and her stepfather were miles apart. She sensed that were she to say to him, ‘What of women’s needs; is their “thirst” to be slaked in the same fashion?’ he would have been honestly shocked and distressed. It was the old double standard, she told herself bitterly, but her sex wasn’t merely enchained by what men expected of it, it was also enchained by its own emotions, for whereas a man could take merely out of need, a woman could rarely give without emotion, without giving something of herself. It isn’t fair, she wanted to protest rebelliously, but instead she summoned all her powers of reasoning and logic and said calmly,

‘Naturally any man could be forgiven one lapse, but from what I hear your nephew, far from restraining his “thirst” having slaked it once, encourages it to grow stronger. As I said before, I sincerely pity the poor girl who is destined to be his wife. Or one of his wives, I should say.’

‘Then you would be wrong.’ Her stepfather said coolly. Danielle thought she discerned a mixture of pain and admiration in his eyes, but overriding both emotions was a determination which sent prickles of primitive awareness running along her body until the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck and along her arms rose as defensively as the prickles of a hedgehog.

‘Jourdan can only take one wife. I assume you already know the story of his birth from Philippe, but what you obviously do not know is the promise I had to give his mother before I was allowed to take him from her—namely that he was to be brought up in the Christian religion. Even though she died several days after his birth, I adhered to that promise, and despite his prominence in Qu‘Har my nephew is as Christian as you yourself, Danielle.’

Then all the more shame to him, Danielle wanted to cry, but for some reason her tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of her mouth. A curious sense of unreality enveloped her, a feeling of foreboding, intensified by the anxious look in her mother’s eyes whenever they rested upon her.

‘As my adopted daughter, you will one day be extremely wealthy,’ Sheikh Hassan continued, completely changing the subject. ‘We have never talked of this before because the subject has not arisen. As you know, I am an extremely rich man, but I also own and control much family property which can only be passed down from father to son, from brother to brother, or uncle to nephew. There is no female right of inheritance. Were I to die my own private fortune would be divided between your mother and yourself, but my controlling interest in the oil company would go to either my older or my younger brother, since I have no sons of my own. The balance of power in Qu‘Har is poised delicately between my brothers, both are intensely jealous of each other, and it sometimes takes the wisdom of Solomon to make them see reason, but were I to die and my share of the oil company not be willed away from them, civil war would surely break out in our small country, and thus would follow the destruction of everything my father, and myself after him, have striven for.

‘In addition to this I must make provision for your own safety. On my death you will be very, very wealthy; you have had a sheltered upbringing, and know little of men; it is my great fear that you might fall into the hands of one who will mistreat or abuse you, Danielle, purely through greed.’

He made her sound like an over-ripe fruit, Danielle thought half hysterically. Could he really believe she was so incapable of managing her own affairs?

‘If you believe that, it might be kinder not to leave me anything at all,’ she pointed out logically with a smile. ‘In some ways I would rather you didn’t. I should like to succeed on my own merits…’

Her stepfather’s expression softened at the youthful words and earnest expression on the mobile face before him. She was too beautiful for her own good, this adopted daughter of his, with skin like milk and eyes as green as precious stones.

‘You are a wise child, Danielle, who already sees the burdens of great wealth and will never abuse its privileges, but you have no need to worry, I have already made provision both for the protection of my controlling share of the oil company and you and the fortune you will one day own…’ He looked at his wife, and a look seemed to pass between them; seeking on his part, and accepting on hers, but totally excluding Danielle. Tension tightened her stomach muscles and a dread she could not understand washed over her like icy cold water.

‘How?’

The word was a husky plea, mirrored, although she did not know it, by the expression in her eyes.

Her stepfather came to her and took both her hands in his, his eyes kind.

‘There is nothing to fear, little dove. Jourdan knows what a pearl beyond price he is getting in the greatest treasure I own, and he will treat you accordingly… When you are his wife all this…’

Danielle reeled, hearing nothing more than those fateful words, ‘When you are his wife…’ She was the poor unsuspecting girl who was expected to marry Jourdan, and now she knew why.

‘Danielle?’

It was her mother’s voice, soft and anxious. She forced herself to fight off the faintness threatening to overwhelm her and respond to it.

‘I’m fine,’ her voice gathered strength, ‘But I will not marry Jourdan. I’d rather starve!’

The moment the words left her mouth Danielle realised how childish they sounded; how prejudicial they were to her intended claim that she was old enough by far to decide the course of her own life.

‘Mummy, surely you can understand?’ she pleaded.

‘Of course, darling,’ her mother soothed, glancing anxiously towards her husband. ‘But Hassan merely wants to do what is best for you.’ She touched her daughter gently on the arm and smiled faintly. ‘You know, Danny, you’ve had such a sheltered life that your father and I only wanted to protect you…’

‘Oh, Mother’ Danielle sighed, unconsciously deliberately not using the more childish ‘Mummy’, ‘you can’t keep me wrapped in cotton wool for ever, you know—and besides, from what I’ve already heard of him marriage to Jourdan would be far from a bed of roses.’

‘You must take what Philippe Sancerre told you with a pinch of salt,’ her stepfather said calmly. ‘While I cannot attempt to speak for Jourdan’s past, Danielle, like all men of good sense he knows that marriage is a serious business, and once married…’

‘It doesn’t matter how seriously he takes it,’ Danielle interrupted swiftly, ‘and it wouldn’t alter my views in the slightest if we were talking of some other man; personalities do not enter into my argument, object to the principle of the arranged marriage, no matter how or why it arises. Oh, I know you have only my welfare at heart, but such a marriage is abhorrent and repugnant to me. I could no more agree to it than I could… fly!’

‘I understand how you feel, darling,’ her mother said gently. ‘Hassan, try to understand,’ she appealed to her husband. ‘Although Danielle has had a sheltered upbringing, she is not a Muslim girl trained from birth to accept male dominance and her role in life unquestioningly.’

‘And nor should I wish her to be,’ Danielle’s stepfather agreed, smiling fondly at the downbent darkened head and rebelliously taut body of his stepdaughter.

‘Then you accept that there can be no marriage between your nephew and myself?’ Danielle asked him.

‘If that is your wish, but I cannot pretend that I am not disappointed. It would have been a good marriage. Jourdan will have to be told, of course…’

‘I’m sure he’ll soon find someone else,’ Danielle said grimly, remembering the girl Corinne had mentioned.

‘When it becomes known in our family that he is not to marry you, he will lose face,’ her stepfather said sombrely, ‘but the fault is perhaps mine. I forgot that for all I consider you to be my daughter, you are not, as your mother does well to remind me, a daughter of the East…’

He looked so cast down that Danielle was moved to comfort him. ‘I know you were trying to secure my future, but when I marry I want it to be to a man I can respect and share my life with, not a man who looks to me only to bear his children. Besides,’ she added firmly, ‘I’m not ready for marriage…’

For the second time in a very short span of hours her stepfather’s wryly encompassing scrutiny of her slender, determined form filled her with embarrassment.

‘Perhaps not yet,’ he agreed. ‘But the time is not far off… If you will not marry Jourdan, then will you at least visit my family as my emissary? As you know, I shall shortly have to go to America on business. Your mother will come with me, and it would please me greatly, Danielle, if you would use these weeks before you start college—if that is what you are determined to do—to show my family how beautiful and chaste a daughter I have.’

‘You mean fly out to Qu‘har?’ Danielle asked. ‘Oh, but I couldn’t…’ Couldn’t live with complete strangers, was what she meant, strangers who disapproved of her mother and her marriage to their relative; strangers who included the man she had just refused to marry!

It was later when she was preparing for bed that her mother entered her room, so quietly that at first Danielle didn’t hear her.

‘Danielle,’ her mother begged softly, sitting down on Danielle’s bed, and watching her daughter brush the gleaming cloud of darkened curls clustering on her shoulders, ‘please go to Qu‘Har. It means so much to Hassan—far more than he has told you. You have compassion and imagination, surely you can understand how bitter has been his own lack of children, especially in view of his position? To claim you as his daughter, albeit by marriage, is one of his greatest joys. Do not deny him the pleasure of showing you off to his family…’

‘A family who don’t want anything to do with us as long as Daddy continues to make money for them,’ Danielle protested rebelliously, putting down her brush and turning to face her mother. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t pretend the way I would have to…’

‘Not even for the sake of your father?’ her mother prodded gently. ‘It would be a compromise, Danny. I know Hassan mentioned that Jourdan will lose face over your refusal to marry him, but so will Hassan…’

Her sympathy aroused in spite of her own feelings, Danielle stared reluctantly at the floor, knowing what her mother was asking of her and yet unwilling to commit herself to visiting Qu‘Har.

‘I can understand Daddy,’ she said at last. ‘But you… surely you knew that I would never agree to such a marriage?’

‘I knew, but Hassan was so sure he was doing the right thing, so convinced that he was protecting you that only your own reaction could convince him. Having gained so much surely you can afford a little compromise now, darling?’