Читать книгу Daughter Of Hassan - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 6

A LITTLE compromise took one a long, long way, Danielle thought ruefully, staring out of the window of the powerful jet—one of the twelve owned by Qu‘Har Air. This jet, though, was special. It was the personal property of her stepfather’s family, and a courteous, deferential young man had been conscripted from his normal job in the oil company offices to accompany her to Qu‘Har.

The whine of the high-powered engines changed abruptly, denoting the fact that they were nearing their destination. In spite of her resolution not to be, Danielle felt nervous. She smoothed the skirt of the silk two-piece she was wearing with fingers that trembled slightly. The silk was peacock green, highlighting her hair and flattering the golden tones the summer sun had given her skin. She eyed it ruefully. Never in all her holidays abroad had she ever tanned. When she had complained about it to a beautician the girl had chided her, telling her she ought to be grateful for having such a delicate English complexion and preserve it at all costs. The colour in it now was only as a result of slow and careful exposure over the entire length of a particularly good English summer, and her stepfather had told her that even though the worst of the humidity had passed the temperature in Qu‘Har in August was very high, and would continue to be high throughout the duration of her stay. For this reason she had been careful to include in her packing a good supply of sunscreen, essential if her skin wasn’t to get badly burned. The girl in the chemist had also suggested a new sunburn lotion which she had assured Danielle was extremely effective, and that too had been packed with her other cosmetics just in case.

What would her stepfather’s family think of her? Although she assured herself that she couldn’t care less, for his sake she knew that she hoped they would approve of her. Jourdan, thank goodness, would be in Paris, on business, or so she had been told, and she was grateful to her stepfather who she was sure had been responsible for this diplomatic move. It would have been awkward and embarrassing to have to meet the man who had so callously agreed to marry her, without even seeing her, and she was glad that she would not be called upon to do so.

The jet was descending; she glanced out of the window but could see nothing apart from dazzling blue sky. As she glanced back Danielle saw that her escort was watching her shyly, although he looked hurriedly away when he realised that she had observed his speculative glance. He was about her own age dressed expensively in a Western style suit, his black hair neatly groomed. He was, her stepfather had told her, the son of one of his cousins, in addition to being on the staff of the oil company. In Arab countries nepotism was obviously a virtue rather than a vice, and as the jet came to rest on the tarmac runway Danielle wished that she had had time to study the life style and customs of the people with whom she would be living, a little more thoroughly. What if she transgressed against some unknown rule and disgraced herself? Hassan’s eldest brother’s first wife would take her under his wing, her stepfather had told her, adding that she would like Jamaile, who had already brought up three daughters and had several grandchildren.

More grateful than she was prepared to admit for the presence of the shy young man at her side, Danielle descended the gangway. The staff were lined up at the bottom. The captain asked if she had enjoyed the flight. Although she had been accustomed to the respect people accorded wealth, she had never known the true meaning of the word ‘deference’ until she became a member of the Ahmed family, Danielle acknowledged; realising with a sudden startled shock that she was a member of that family, even if only by marriage.

That thought gave her the courage to walk calmly to the waiting limousine—no other words could describe the sleek black Mercedes parked prominently on the forecourt flying pennants which Danielle decided must reflect the status of her host and hostess. It was only just beginning to dawn on her that she would be staying with Qu‘Har’s Royal Family, and the realisation intimidated her a little.

The drive to the palace was completed in silence—an awed one on Danielle’s part as she observed the number and variety of buildings being erected on either side of the main road. Beyond them stretched the vast emptiness of the desert broken only by the odd clump of palm trees, until suddenly, quite out of the blue, they came to a vast acreage of tunnel greenhouses, which she was told were part of a new scheme to decrease Qu‘Har’s dependence on imports from abroad.

‘This and the new desalination plant just completed on the coast are the result of Sheikh Hassan’s wishes that our people share in the oil wealth of our country,’ Danielle’s escort told her proudly. And it was something to be proud of, Danielle acknowledged, observing the signs of technology all around her.

One particularly light airy building was pointed out to her as a new girls’ school—a very daring innovation and one which had caused considerable tension and high feeling until the country’s religious leaders had given the ambitious scheme their approval. Even so, Danielle caught the hint of disapproval in the voice of her young escort.

‘You don’t approve of education for women?’ she asked him directly.

Colour ran up under his dark skin. Danielle would have had to be blind to be unaware of the admiration in his dark eyes as they rested on her, but apart from being mildly flattered that such a handsome young man should so obviously find her attractive she didn’t give the matter another thought.

‘It is not the way of the East,’ was the only diplomatic response she could get to her question, and sensing that he would prefer not to pursue a subject which obviously embarrassed him, Danielle turned instead to his family and in particular those members of it with whom she would be staying.

‘The Emir is the head of our family and our country,’ Saud confided with a shy smile. ‘I am the son of his second cousin and thus of minor importance within the family. Indeed it was only through the good offices of Sheikh Hassan, my uncle, that I obtained my position with the oil company.’

‘But you have a university degree,’ Danielle persisted, remembering what her stepfather had told her about this personable young man. ‘You could have obtained a job elsewhere…’

‘I should not have wanted to. Qu‘Har is my home and the home of my fathers before me. Sheikh Hassan paid for my education, as he has done for many of us, and it is only fitting that I repay him by using my skills for the benefit of my country.’

It was said so simply, so without pretension and priggishness, that Danielle felt tears prick her eyes. This was the other side of the fierce desert warrior, this almost childlike simplicity and determined loyalty.

‘Sheikh Hassan is a generous and wise man,’ Saud added seriously. ‘Many within our family have reason to be grateful to him.’

‘Especially Jourdan,’ Danielle added, thinking of how her stepfather had rescued and brought up the small child.

‘Ah, Jourdan,’ Saud said warmly, so warmly that Danielle glanced at him, surprised to see a look almost approaching worship in the liquid eyes. ‘My father says that he is the natural successor to Sheikh Hassan and that without him our country would be torn to shreds and thrown to the winds. He is what in our family we call “The gift of the Prophet”.’

Danielle thought he was referring to a discreet way of describing Jourdan’s illegitimacy until he saw the look of solemn reverence on his face.

“‘The Gift of the Prophet?” What is that?’ she asked, curious, in spite of her aversion for the man who would have married her without thought or compunction.

‘Quite simply the birth of one with the power, the knowledge and the skill to hold our people together,’ Saud told her seriously. ‘Always such a one is born to our ruling house in times of conflict and need. Sheikh Hassan himself was thought to be such a gift by his father until it was realised that he could not father children. You must know that in a family such as ours with many brothers and sons there is always fierce rivalry. Sometimes that rivalry breaks out in warfare as rival factions battle for control.

‘We are only a small country, but very rich in oil. Unfortunately our people sometimes lack the education to use wealth wisely. It is important that we plan now for the future when we may no longer have our oil, and that is what Sheikh Hassan is trying to do. Many schemes have been launched, many of our brighter young men educated abroad, and much money spent in technological equipment and learning, but all this will be wasted if there is no one to continue Sheikh Hassan’s work when he is gone. It must be a man strong enough to quell opposition, fierce as the hawk and wily as the snake. Jourdan is such a man…’

He sounded very unpleasant, Danielle thought distastefully. ‘Fierce as the hawk.’ That no doubt meant domineering and aggressive. ‘Wily as the snake.’ She conjured up a picture of a Machiavellian mind capable of all manner of intrigue. She already knew how much the Muslim mind appreciated subtlety and how necessary it was to have this gift in full measure if one were to succeed in the Arab business world. The Arab would not respect a man he could cheat, and respect was all-important.

‘You obviously admire him,’ Danielle said in a neutral voice, wondering if Saud was aware of the marriage her stepfather had planned for her. In view of Jourdan’s importance it was strange that a full-blooded Arab girl from within the Royal Family had not been chosen for him, and she realised for the first time that her stepfather had been trying to confer a great favour (in the eyes of his family at least) upon her by this marriage.

‘I do,’ Saud agreed. ‘Although it is thought by some that his adherence to the religion of his mother is foolish. However, the Koran acknowledges the worth of other religions, and Jourdan accepts the precepts of the Koran and abides by them far more stricly than many of our race.’

‘He sounds quite a paragon,’ Danielle said dryly, her dislike of the unknown Jourdan growing by the minute. ‘What a shame that I shall not meet him…’

She was too busy studying the scenery beyond the window to see the swift, startled sideways glance Saud gave her. They were driving up to an archway set in a high white wall, the white paint glittering so brightly in the brilliant sunshine that Danielle had to close her eyes against the glare.

When she opened them again the huge car had come to rest in front of a long, low building, its windows all shuttered like so many closed eyes, the delicate mosaic work adorning the gateway making her gasp with pleasure.

‘I must leave you here,’ Saud announced, climbing out of the car. ‘The driver will take you round to the women’s quarters where you will be received by the Sheikha.’

‘Will I see you again?’

All at once he had become an important link with home and all things familiar. Saud flushed and seemed to glance hesitantly at the driver as though reluctant for him to overhear their conversation.

‘It may be permitted. I shall ask my father,’ he muttered in a low voice, and then the car was sweeping away through another archway decorated with a continuous frieze of arabesques and into a courtyard enclosed on all four sides.

A door in one wall opened inwards, and feeling rather Alice in Wonderlandish, Danielle realised that she was supposed to get out of the car and enter the building.

She did so like someone in a dream, aware of activity behind her as another door in the adjacent wall opened and the car boot was opened and her luggage removed.

As she stepped through the open door, the scent of jasmine immediately enveloped her, together with a welcome coolness which she realised was stimulated by the powerful air-conditioning whose hum she could just faintly hear.

‘If the Sitt will follow me.’

The girl was draped from head to foot in black, her voice low and melodious, and Danielle could just catch the faint chime of ankle bracelets as she swayed down the corridor in front of her. At the bottom she opened a door and indicated that Danielle was to follow. She found herself in a small square room with a low divan under one window and a small sunken pool just beyond it.

‘If the Sitt will permit.’

Gently but inexorably Danielle was pushed down on to the divan, her high-heeled sandals removed. She was glad that she was not wearing tights when the girl promptly proceeded to wash her hands and feet with water from the pool, again scented with some elusive perfume which drifted past her nostrils and refused to be properly identified.

The girl’s movement were deft and sure, her hands delicately hennaed and her eyes modestly downcast all the time. She must be a maid, Danielle reflected when she walked across to the other side of the room and returned with a pair of soft embroidered slippers.

‘It is necessary to wear these in the presence of the Sheikha,’ the girl explained. ‘It is the custom to kneel and approach, and then to leave the room backwards, but in your case it is necessary only to kneel. For you the Sheikha has waived the normal formalities…’

The girl’s English was perfect, so perfect that Danielle felt ashamed of her own lack of Arabic. She had learned it from her father, she explained when Danielle questioned her, and had been fortunate enough to get her position in the Sheikha’s household because of it, because the Sheikha wanted all her daughters and granddaughters to speak it.

‘It is necessary when they go to school in England,’ she added. ‘The Sheikha wishes the women of her family to have the benefit of a good education. She says it is important that the women of our race do not cause our menfolk to have a contempt of them because of their ignorance. I shall take you to her now, if you will please follow me.’

The room they were in was an ante-room leading into a huge chamber with a vaulted, carved and painted ceiling, the intricacy of the arabesques and stylised carvings on the ceiling taking away Danielle’s breath; and the colours! Never had she seen such a multitude of rich, jewel-bright colours all in one room before, and yet as her eyes became accustomed to the richness she realised that they were carefully and subtly arranged so that turquoise ran into lilac and rich purple into crimson, into royal blue and back to turquoise, the skilful blending shown to its best advantage on the plain off-white divans placed around the room and covered with multi-coloured silk cushions.