Chapter Two
brave words! But she was feeling far from brave now, Felicia
acknowledged as she stared out of the plane window and down on to the
banked clouds below. Unbelievably, she had never flown before,
Continental holidays being disapproved of by Uncle George, and outside
her slender budget in any case.
The other passengers were obviously well seasoned travellers;
businessmen with tired faces and bulging briefcases; Arabs in
traditional white robes wearing head-dresses held in place by the
gold-wrapped frames she had learned from Faisal were called igals.
The Arab passengers were displaying a keen interest in the
stewardesses, and watching the neatly uniformed girls going about their
business. Felicia lost any envy she had ever had of their supposedly
glamorous lives; the girls seemed to be little more than glorified
waitresses! One of them had made a special point of putting her at her
ease, showing her how to use the ear-phones that tuned into eight
different channels of taped music, or permitted one to listen to the
sound track of the in-flight film.
It was a long flight--six hours, although with the time difference
Felicia knew that she would lose another three hours as Kuwait was
three hours in front of Greenwich Mean Time, and many of the more
seasoned travellers were apparently asleep. Felicia had started to
watch the film, but the tight knot of tension that had been steadily
taking possession of her insides from the moment the plane took off
Y
refused to let her relax, and after a very short time she abandoned the
film, devoting her attention instead to her fellow travellers.
Faisal had insisted that she travel first-class, and she was grateful
for his insistence when she saw the cramped quarters of the economy
cabin, full of what looked like entire Arab families, complete with
crying babies and restless toddlers.
In the plane's hold was her shiny new luggage, all neatly labelled, and
the small gifts she had purchased for Faisal's mother and sisters.
She had not bought anything for Faisal's uncle, quite deliberately
so.
They would not meet as friends and she was not going to give him the
opportunity to hand her gift back to her with sneered accusations of
bribery, or of trying to flatter him into acceptance of her.
And yet wasn't that exactly what Faisal wanted her to do? she asked
herself uneasily; use her charm to try and sway his judgment? Her
thoughts gave her no peace, jostling this way and that until her head
ached with the effort of trying to reconcile her heart with her head.
In the end she abandoned her efforts to put herself in the right frame
of mind to meet Faisal's 'wicked uncle' and concentrated her thoughts
instead on the other members of Faisal's family.
For his mother, who quite obviously worshipped him, she had bought
perfume, and for his younger sister, soon to be married, a luxurious
make-up kit with all the latest eye-shadows and lipsticks. His elder
sister had been a little more difficult. Felicia knew that Nadia was
married with a small child and that her husband was in charge of the
Saudi Arabian branch of the family bank, so she had bought her an
exquisite glass paperweight which had caught her eye in an expensive
London store.
Indeed the paperweight was so beautiful that for an instant Felicia had
been tempted to keep it for herself, but her present-buying had already
stretched her slender budget to its limits and regretfully she admitted
that she could not afford two such luxurious items;
not when she had bought herself what amounted to a complete new
wardrobe for this trip. Even now the extent of her spending spree
dismayed her, but she wanted Faisal to be proud of her, so she had
dipped quite deeply into the small nest egg she had been saving ever
since she had started work.
When the skies opened out beneath them, and the businessmen began to
ruffle their papers, Felicia guessed that they were nearing journey's
end.
In the small washroom she inspected her makeup, hoping anxiously that
the heat would not make her nose shine. Her skin was very fair and
burned easily. She had deliberately used even less make-up than usual,
not wanting to offend against Moslem tradition, and inspected her
reflection anxiously in the mirror, hoping that she would not look too
pale and washed out in comparison to the dusky Arabian beauties of
Kuwait. Faisal had told her that in the Arab world, Kuwaiti women had
the reputation of being the most beautiful, and she was dreading
letting him down by comparing unfavourably with his countrywomen.
Strained green eyes stared nervously back at her, the length and
thickness of her eyelashes startling against her pale skin. A faint
flush of natural colour highlighted her high cheekbones, her mouth
curving vulnerably beneath its covering of lip-gloss. She was wearing
her hair loose, and it curled luxuriantly on to her shoulders,
shimmering like raw silk whenever she moved. Should she wear it up in
a discreet knot? she agonised, lifting it off her shoulders. It would
look much tidier. Outside she heard the metallic request for seat
belts to be fastened and realising that there was no time, she let it
drop back on to her shoulders, running cold water over her wrists and
dabbing on her favourite perfume, before hurrying back to her seat.
"Chanel Number Five--my favourite," the stewardess commented with a
smile, as Felicia sat down.
"Soon be down now."
Felicia's stomach clenched as the big jet descended on to the runway.
The engines screamed protestingly as the captain applied reverse
thrust, then they were taxiing gently down the runway.
As she emerged from the aircraft, the heat and noisy bustle of the
airport almost threatened to overwhelm her, and then she was anxiously
following the other disembarking passengers to have her visa and
passport inspected.
The official who took her passport flashed her a warm, appreciative
smile, as he glanced from her photograph to her face. There was a tiny
scar high on her arm from the mandatory typhoid injection and tucked
away in her handbag were the salt tablets Faisal had warned her that
she would need as the temperature started to climb into the eighties
and nineties.
Everyone apart from herself seemed to know exactly where they were
going and what to do. An incomprehensible flood of Arabic washed all
round her, punctuated here and there by heavily accented English from
the taxi drivers and porters.
Felicia looked round in despair. Faisal had told her that she would be
met at the airport, but by whom?
Could one of these immaculately uniformed chauffeurs be waiting for
her?
She was just debating the wisdom of making enquiries at the Tourist
Information Desk, when a tall figure strode towards her, effortlessly
parting the milling crowds.
"Miss Gordon?"
He was tall; taller than Faisal by several inches, and his voice held
the certainty of a man who makes a statement rather than asks a
question. She probably did stand out like a sore thumb, Felicia
acknowledged wryly, but need he make her feel like an unwanted package
he had come to collect?
She gave him a faltering smile, instantly quenched as she felt his cool
scrutiny. Now, when it was too late, she wished that she had found
time to put her hair up. It would have given her some badly needed
sophistication. She darted her companion a surreptitious glance. Was
he a relative of Faisal's, or just an employee sent to collect her?
"My luggage," she murmured hesitantly, noticing the impatient manner in
which he shot back the cuff of an immaculate pale grey silk suit to
glance at the heavy gold Rolex watch strapped to his wrist. The
gesture, so completely and arrogantly male, disturbed her, although she
could not have said why.
"All is collecting your luggage," she was told.
"Come."
He took her arm, propelling her through the crowd. Even Felicia,
inexperienced in these matters, was aware of his aura of command. His
clothes looked expensive, his manner cool and decisive, and she decided
that whoever he was, he was obviously a man of some importance, used to
giving orders rather than taking them.
Y
Dazzled by the colour and light, she hurried wearily after him to a
waiting Mercedes, humiliatingly forced to drop behind him when his pace
increased, for all the world like some Moslem woman dutifully following
her husband, she thought wrathfully, as he paused to wait for her.
There was nothing welcoming in his manner. In fact he seemed to derive
considerable mocking amusement from her hot and bothered state, and
smiled, openly derisively, when two robed Arabs stopped to stare at
her.
"Don't worry," he told her sardonically, opening the car door.
"The days are gone when an Arab was bowled over by the pale beauty of
Northern women. He has learned for himself that they are not as chaste
as their appearance leads him to believe!"
In the sunshine his hair had the blue-black gleam of a raven's wing,
thick, and long enough to cover the collar of his suit. He wasn't
wearing sunglasses, and Felicia was surprised to see that his eyes were
grey and not brown, a cold, hard grey like the North Sea in winter.
She shivered suddenly, and a chill ran over her despite the heat.
When she hesitated by the car he raised his eyebrows in silent
mockery.
"A plane leaves for England in three hours, if you have changed your
mind," he told her.
Changed her mind? Felicia shot him a suspicious glance. Was that what
he had been expecting? Was that why he had been so offhand with her?
Obviously Faisal's uncle had confided in him, and her soft lips
tightened at the thought of the two of them discussing her
disparagingly. No doubt for all his outward Westernised appearance
this man was as much a traditionalist as Faisal's uncle. He had looked
her over and found her wanting. She tilted her chin and looked up at
him bravely, quelling her fear. Already the sun was dropping over the
horizon with a speed that surprised her, used as she was to the more
leisurely sunsets of more northerly climes.
"I am not going back," she told him firmly.
In the silence that prickled between them she could almost feel his
antagonism and then he was holding open the car door, his expression
unfathomable.
"Please get in. Miss Gordon," he requested curtly.
"It is an hour's drive to the villa."
Did he have to make her feel like a stupid child? she asked herself
crossly, as she got into the Mercedes. After all, despite his air of
authority he could scarcely be much more than thirty-two or three--a
little more than ten years older than she was herself.
The chauffeur--who she gussed must be "Ali'-appeared with her luggage,
which was stowed away in the boot, and then they were driving out of
the airport and down a wide tarmac road in the direction of Kuwait
itself.
Felicia stole a glance at her companion's impassive face. He must know
how strange and nervous she felt, and yet he made no attempt to put her
at her ease--very well, she decided mutinously, she was not going to be
the one to end the smothering silence. He moved slightly, thick black
lashes veiling his eyes as he turned his head suddenly to look at her.
Colour flooded her cheeks. Now he would think she had been staring at
him! Hateful man!
"No doubt Faisal has prepared you for the kind of life we live here in
Kuwait," he drawled coolly in perfect accentless English, which Felicia
suspected was the product of an exclusive public school.
"He has spoken to me of his family, yes," she replied equally
disdainfully. She paused deliberately, then added, as though it were
an afterthought, "And of his uncle, of course. You know him?"
"To judge from the exceedingly challenging note in your voice, you have
already come to your own conclusions," her companion replied very
dryly.
"But I shall answer your question anyway. Yes, I know him."
"And you know that he does not approve of our engagement as well, I
suppose?" Felicia said bitterly.
"Engagement?"
Did she imagine the faint hardening of those cruel lips as they looked
down at her ring less hand?
"Faisal wanted us to be engaged," she flashed back, thoroughly enraged,
'but I prefer to wait until we can have the sanction of his family.
"
"How very wise!" he mocked sardonically.
"But then of course any marriage without Raschid's approval would
result in a discontinuation of Faisal's extremely generous allowance,
as I am sure you already know."
His words shocked Felicia into momentary silence, and then colour
stormed her pale face as she contemplated their significance. Her
fingers clenched into small, impotent fists. How dared he insinuate
that she had deliberately and calculatedly persuaded Faisal to wait
because she was motivated by greed? If Faisal's uncle thought like
this man she would have no hope of persuading him to accept her. The
thought made her reckless.
"I would have married Faisal without his uncle's sanction," she
stormed, 'but he didn't want to cause a rift in his family. His money
means nothing to me. It's him that I love! "
/
"And that is why he has sent you to persuade Raschid? You with your
red-gold hair and sea- green eyes? Did he tell you that you bear an
unmistakable resemblance to Raschid's grandmother?"
Felicia's colour betrayed her, and he surveyed her in silent contempt,
his eyes cold.
"You have come on a fool's errand, Miss Gordon. Faisal knows that
Raschid will not give his consent to any betrothal. Indeed I suspect
this is merely another of his attempts to persuade Raschid to release
to him the control of his inheritance. How much is he paying you to
come here and..."
"It's not like that!" Felicia stormed.
"I love Faisal and he loves me. "
"How very touching!" he mocked, ignoring her distress.
"But Raschid will never give his consent."
His arrogance infuriated her.
"How do you know?" she demanded incautiously.
"Who are you to speak for him?"
"Who am I?" he repeated softly, his eyes narrowed and watching.
"Why, Miss Gordon, I thought you must have guessed. I am Faisal's
uncle.
Sheikh Raschid al Hamid al Sabah. " Mocking irony informed the words,
and Felicia was glad of the encroaching dusk to mask her confusion.
She suppose she ought to have guessed, she thought tiredly, but somehow
she had it firmly fixed in her mind that Raschid would be a much older
man. He had deliberately deceived her, she thought angrily, aware of
the merciless scrutiny of cold grey eyes that told her how much he was
enjoying her embarrassment.
You can't be Raschid, she wanted to protest. She had expected a man of
middle age, with a greying beard and the traditional flowing white
robes; this man with his expensive European clothes and elegantly
groomed appearance bore no resemblance at all to the Raschid of her
imaginings.
He had tricked her into a trap, and she had foolishly helped him, but
there was one point at least that she could make clear.
"I do love Faisal," she told him shakily.
"And I loved him before I knew he was your nephew."
Green eyes clashed with grey, but it was Felicia's that dropped
first.
"And what, I wonder, is that supposed to mean?"
At his side Felicia fumed silently. He had already trapped her into
enough indiscretion; she was not going to compound her folly by
admitting that she suspected he believed her interest in Faisal stemmed
from avarice.
They were driving through the heart of the city and she roused herself
sufficiently to stare interestedly out of the car window, ignoring the
silent disparagement of the man at her side. Faisal had told her that
his family lived on the coast between Kuwait and the town of Al Jahrah,
although apparently his uncle had a villa at the oasis which had been
the original home of their tribe.
"This is Arabian Gulf Street," Raschid informed her dryly.
"It runs along the coast. If you look carefully you will see the Sief
Palace."
Mutinously Felicia ignored him, staring resolutely through the
window.
As the car swept down the road a shattering wail broke the silence,
jerking her upright to stare wide-eyed out of the car.
"The muezzin," her companion said sardonically.
"This is the hour of sunset when the faithful must face Mecca and pray,
but if you expect to see them do so in the streets as they once did,
you will be disappointed. Miss Gordon. Nowadays our lives are y
ruled by more mundane needs than prayer."
"But you're a Christian," Felicia began impulsively, remembering what
Faisal had told her, and falling silent when she saw the anger
tightening his face.
"By baptism, yes," he agreed curtly.
"But make no mistake, I live my life according to the laws of my
family, laws which Faisal's wife will have to obey as implicitly as he
does himself. Make no mistake, Miss Gordon, my English blood will not
incline me to look favourably upon you, no matter what Faisal might
have told you."
Felicia snatched a look at the forbidding line of his mouth, and knew
that he meant what he said. Despair filled her. She had promised
Faisal that she would do her best to impress his uncle, and yet already
she had aroused his anger and, worse, his contempt. Crossly she bit
her lip, fuming in silence until they were clear of the town, the
powerful car carrying them swiftly through the suburbs, where houses of
all shapes and designs jostled one another, the scent of lime trees
heavy on the evening air, when Raschid pressed the button to wind down
his window and throw out the stub of the thin cigar he had been
smoking.
"Still sulking?" he drawled when Felicia remained silent.
"And yet I am sure Faisal impressed upon you the importance of gaming
my goodwill."
"Which we both know will never be forthcoming," Felicia shot back
unwisely.
"I know why you suggested this visit. You wanted to part us, to prove
to Faisal that I will not make him a good wife, to make him have second
thoughts..." To her horror her voice wavered and weak tears blurred
her vision.
"Well, you won't succeed!" she stormed at him.
"We love each other, and I would still love him even if he were a
beggar!"
Her companion's mouth twisted sardonically.
"Woman's eternal cry when she knows there is little chance of it coming
to pass. Faisal could no more live in poverty than you could
yourself." He looked at the expensive linen suit she had bought for
travelling, his eyes mocking.
"Look at yourself, Miss Gordon. From the top of your undeniably lovely
head to the tips of your feet, you evidence expensive grooming. Do you
honestly expect me to believe that you would live in poverty with my
nephew-a boy who has never wanted for anything in his life?"
But I have wanted, Felicia wanted to throw at him. And I've wanted the
most important thing of all- love! But she knew better than to expect
the man seated opposite her to understand her deep-seated need for
that. Money was all he understood, she thought bitterly. Money and
power.
"I know what you're trying to do," she said eventually, 'but you won't
succeed. You're a cruel, hard man, Sheikh, and I know you for my
enemy! "
In the darkness she saw the white flash of his smile.
"Enemies?" His voice was like velvet.
"Is that what you think? In our country there is no enmity between man
and woman."
"There is between the hawk and the dove, though," Felicia retorted,
'and that's what you are--a cruel predator, determined to destroy our
love. "
"And you are the dove?"
He was sneering openly, his eyes contemptuous as they rested on her
slender form beneath its linen covering.
"Vulture would be a more appropriate description, don't you agree?"
There was nothing to be gained by arguing with him, Felicia thought,
blinking away weak tears. The uncle of her imaginings had been bad
enough, but the reality was far worse. She, who had never hated anyone
in her life, disliked him so acutely that the emotion was almost
tangible, filling the silence between them with crackling hostility as
the car swept past the oil tank farm, the glare from the oilfields
illuminating the distant horizon, a sombre reminder that she changed
her world for Faisal's.
They were travelling parallel to the coast, the sky like a dark blue
velvet cloak sewn with diamonds. If only Faisal was with her, Felicia
thought unhappily. At this moment she needed the warm protection of
his love as she had never needed it before.
"Don't bother to assume an air of mock modesty for my benefit. Miss
Gordon," Raschid advised her coldly.
"I have already learned how you comport yourself, from a friend who
observed your antics on the dance floor with my nephew."
The words were icy with a disdain that drove the colour from Felicia's
face. Her hands gripped together in her lap to stop them from
trembling.
"Apparently Faisal all but stripped you where you stood," the bored
voice continued sardonically, 'and you apparently made no protest at
all. Do you honestly believe that is the sort of behaviour a Moslem
tolerates in a wife, or is it that having already granted Faisal the
privileges of a husband, you feel confident enough to behave exactly as
you wish? "
Felicia all but choked in her fury. Hot colour stained her cheeks.
How dared he imply. Your friend! " she managed to grit at him.
"I
suppose you mean that horrid man who looked at me as though I were a
piece of merchandise he was contemplating buying? "
"Perhaps he was," came the uncaring retort.
"It is a long time since I was last in London, but my friends are
amused by the low price your women put upon themselves. The British
were once greatly respected, but who can respect a race that allows its
women to sell themselves for so little?"
She was going to be sick, Felicia thought wretchedly. She could not
listen to any more of this.
"Faisal and I were dancing--nothing more."
"Do you always dance so close to your partner that you could be making
love?" was the biting response.
Felicia suppressed an urge to demand him to stop the car so that she
could get out. He was deliberately and relentlessly destroying the
fabric of her dreams, but she could not let him see it.
"It was nothing like that," she told Raschid coolly.
"Faisal respects me."
Just for a second she thought she saw shock mingled with anger, in his
eyes, and then he had himself under control.
"Does he indeed?" he drawled speculatively.
"Then he is even more of a fool that I had imagined."
The dulcet words held a subtle threat. She had handed him a weapon,
Felicia acknowledged unhappily, and one that he would not hesitate to
use against her if he ever got the opportunity.
"If you were so convinced of my moral laxness, why did you invite me
here?" she challenged.
"Aren't you afraid that I might contaminate Faisal's sister with my
wanton behaviour?"
Raschid ignored her wild outburst, studying one elegant gold cufflink
with apparent absorption for so long that she almost wanted to
scream.
"I have sufficient faith in my niece to know she would not be
influenced by you," he announced at last.
"And as to my reasons for asking you here... You are an intelligent
woman. Miss Gordon, what do you think?"
"I don't think you wanted me here at all," Felicia accused slowly.
"You never really wanted to get to know me, did you?"
"Most astute," Raschid acknowledged dryly.
"But now that you are here, let me make one thing quite clear. You are
here strictly on sufferance. My sister knows only that you are a
friend of Faisal's --nothing more, and that is all she will know..."
"Until I can prove that I'm fit to marry her son," Felicia interrupted
angrily.
"Well, I don't care what you think of me, but if it makes Faisal happy
I'm quite willing to go through this farce of trying to get your
approval. After all, in three years' time he'll be free to marry
without it in any case."
His expression warned her that she had angered him deeply. His voice
harsh, he said coldly, "You are more determined than I realised, but
then with good cause. After all, you do not have much to look forward
to in England, do you? A very run-of the-mill job; an aunt in the
North of England who may or may not leave her home to you, and very
little else..."
"Must you reduce everything to terms of money?" Felicia protested
bitterly.
"If I'd merely wanted financial security I could have married before
now."
"But instead you chose to wait until a more attractive proposition
presented itself to you," the hateful voice drawled smoothly.
"How wise of you!"
Wearily Felicia sank back into the leather seat. What was the use of
trying to convince him? She was wasting her time. He was determined
to believe the worst of her. For a moment she contemplated demanding
that he turn the car round and take her back to the airport, but to do
so would be to acknowledge him the victor, and that was something she
would never do. After all, she knew that she was none of the things he
believed, and surely, in time, by just being herself, she would prove
to him beyond any shadow of a doubt just how lacking his judgment had
been.
This thought was enough to quell her desire to return home. Faisal
loved her, and this was the raft to which she would cling throughout
the stormy seas of Raschid's displeasure.
Some hidden well of courage she had not hitherto plumbed enabled her to
face Raschid with a composure to match his own, her voice controlled as
she said calmly:
"If you have so little faith in Faisal's ability to choose a wife for
himself, I'm surprised that you didn't do it for him--an arranged
marriage with the bride carefully selected to match up to his uncle's
very exacting standards."
She had meant the words as a taunt, but something in Raschid's face
warned her that all unsuspectingly she had stumbled upon the truth.
Pressing a hand to her aching temple, she whispered, "Was there a girl?
No, I don't believe it. Faisal would never..."
"You'd be surprised what folly young men will perpetrate in the name of
love. Miss Gordon." Raschid's hard voice cut through her protests.
"But in this case there was no actual betrothal. I did not consider
Faisal mature enough to take on the responsibilities of a wife. You
are not the first young woman with whom he has considered himself " in
love", but you are certainly the first with whom he has actually
contemplated marriage. The others were ******* with a less tenuous
relationship."
Felicia refused to believe it. And yet hadn't she already guessed that
Faisal was nowhere near as inexperienced as she was herself? At the
time she had smothered the thought, but now it was resurrected, and she
was forced to acknowledge that there were parts of Faisal's life of
which he had told her nothing. But what really hurt was that Raschid
should so casually condemn her to the ranks of those girls with whom
Faisal had enjoyed a brief affair. Surely his own knowledge of his
nephew told him that Faisal would never have contemplated marriage
unless he was sure of his feelings?
"Faisal is young, and impetuous," Raschid drawled, as though he had
read her mind, 'and the two do not make for good judgment. You have
known one another a matter of weeks only, what basis is that for a
lifetime together! "
A moment was all it took to fall in love, Felicia wanted to protest,
but dismay kept her silent. She was seeing a side to Faisal that she
had not known existed. In her eyes he was a protective, although
sometimes, admittedly, impatient man. In Raschid's he was an impulsive
boy, falling in and out of love on the whim of the moment. Which of
them was right? She gave herself a mental shake. She was, of
course.
How could she doubt it?
The car swerved off the main road and at her side she felt Raschid move
slightly to adjust to the slight sway of the car.
"Not much farther now," he told her coolly. Faisal's mother and sister
have delayed the evening meal to coincide with your arrival. I hope
you like traditional Kuwaiti food. Miss Gordon? "
As he stretched lithely, she wondered at the glint of humour in his
eyes. Was his amusement at her expense? If so he would be
disappointed. Faisal had already assured her that while his mother
preferred to stick to the old ways, his sisters had insisted that they
ate in the European fashion instead of seated cross-legged on the
floor, and that she need have no fears about being offered some choice
morsel such as sheep's eyes, or something equally unpalatable.
In fact he had once taken her to a small restaurant in London where
they had eaten delicious saffron rice and kebabs, followed by almond
pastry and small cups of coffee, and she had thoroughly enjoyed it.
She was well and truly caught between the devil and the deep, Felicia
acknowledged as the powerful car purred along. On the one hand, if she
flouted Raschid and informed Faisal's mother of their engagement, she
would incur his immediate displeasure, and yet if she said nothing he
would take her acquiescence as a sign that she was deliberately trying
to court his approval. If only Faisal were not dependent upon his
goodwill--but she knew it was useless to dwell on this. Naturally
Faisal would want to take his rightful place in the family business,
which meant that they would probably not be able to marry until he was
twenty-five--aeons away to someone with such a volatile nature as
Raschid claimed Faisal possessed. There was no doubt at all in her own
mind that Raschid hoped that during their enforced separation Faisal
would find himself someone else, and helpless with impotent anger, she
stared bleakly out into the darkness, wishing she had never been
foolish enough to accept Raschid's invitation.
They were travelling through empty countryside, with the sea on one
side of them, and what Felicia took to be the open desert on the other.
Even though
Faisal had prepared her for Kuwait's modern outlook, her first glimpse
of the family villa still caught her off guard. She did not know quite
what she had expected, but it was not this large, two-storey building,
with its painted shutters and white walls, vaguely reminiscent of the
Moorish houses of Andalucia; not at least until she remembered the
origins of those same Moors.
Without checking the Mercedes slid through an arched gateway and across
a flagged courtyard, decorated with urns of tumbling flowers.
Lights shone from several windows illuminating the courtyard and others
beyond it, where she could just see the outline of trees, and hear the
musical tinkle of fountains.
Raschid opened the car door for her, and she drew in a shaky breath of
fresh air spiced with unfamiliar scents.
"This way, Miss Gordon."
It was a command, and she responded unthinkingly, wondering at his
ability to cloak his dislike of her in such formal politeness.
Her earlier attack of nerves was nothing to what she was experiencing
now. What was she going to do if the rest of Faisal's family were as
hostile towards her as his uncle? She tried not to dwell on the
thought as the wooden door was flung open and she stood in a rectangle
of light.
"Fatima, this is Miss Gordon," Raschid said to the small, plump woman
who stood there.
"Miss Gordon--my sister, Faisal's mother."
Felicia's sharp ears caught the warning beneath the coolly drawled
words, as she extended her hand slowly to the woman watching her.
It was taken between two soft, be ringed hands, while Faisal's mother
beamed at her, chattering incomprehensibly to the tall man at her
side.
"In English, Fatima," Raschid told her.
"Miss Gordon does not have any Arabic."
Another black mark against her, Felicia reflected bitterly, but Raschid
was wrong. She did know how to say 'good evening', thanks to Faisal,
although it was difficult to get her tongue round the unfamiliar Arabic
words.
"Massa'a al-Khayr," Faisal's mother responded delightedly, darting a
mischievous look at her brother.
"There you are, Raschid!" she exclaimed in heavily accented English.
"She does speak Arabic."
"Only a few phrases," Felicia protested apologetically.
"And Faisal laughs at my pronunciation."
"Poor Miss Gordon!" another female voice chimed in prettily.
"Let her get into the house before you start cross-questioning her
about Faisal, Mother."
"Zahra, what will Miss Gordon think of you?" her mother chided.
"Young people today have no manners." She turned to Felicia.
"Please ignore this foolish child. She teases me because I am anxious
about Faisal, but when she has a son of her own, then she will feel
differently..."
So this was Faisal's younger sister, Zahra. Felicia studied her
covertly. She was small, plump like her mother, with sparkling dark
eyes, and a warm smile that held none of Raschid's cold reserve.
Faisal had neglected to tell her how pretty his sister was, Felicia
reflected, relieved to see that Zahra at least seemed to harbour no
dislike for her.
"You will sleep in the room next to mine," Zahra explained as she led
her upstairs.
"Mother would stick to the old ways of keeping to the women's quarters,
if she could, but although we use our own sitting room whenever Faisal
or Uncle Raschid entertain business
W
colleagues, Raschid does not believe in women being strictly
segregated. " She pulled a wry face.
"Mother is dreadfully old-fashioned. She hated it when I first started
at university, but Uncle Raschid was insistent, thank goodness. I hope
you are hungry?
Mother has had a feast prepared for you, although I warned her that you
might not be hungry, having travelled so far. "
Mentally blessing Zahra for her tactful warning of what to expect,
Felicia shook her head. In point of fact she felt exhausted and longed
only for a hot bath and a comfortable bed, but it would be bad manners
to show anything less than immense pleasure in her hostess's
preparations-she knew enough about Arab protocol to be aware of that!
"Faisal has written to me about you," Zahra confided, eyeing Felicia
speculatively.
"You are to become betrothed..."
"Perhaps," Felicia tempered, remembering Raschid's warning.
"Provided your uncle approves of me."
Her room overlooked the gardens and was quite Western in concept, with
a comfortable single bed and modem fitted bedroom furniture along one
wall, with hanging space for far more clothes than Felicia had brought.
There was a bathroom off it, tiled in deep pink to match the sanitary
fittings which all boasted gold taps and wastes, and were quite
obviously all of the very most luxurious quality.
"I hope you weren't expecting sunken baths with marble pillars," Zahra
giggled.
"Uncle Raschid swore you would expect us to live like something out of
the Thousand and One Nights."
"Well, I did wonder how you managed those flimsy trousers and
curly-toed shoes," Felicia agreed lightly, earning an approving grin
from Zahra.
"I knew that you would have a sense of humour, despite what Uncle
Raschid said!"
And what exactly had that been? Felicia wondered grimly. Plainly
Zahra knew about their plans, although she suspected that Raschid had
also warned the younger girl not to mention them to her mother.
"If you do have a hankering to see the old Kuwait, you must ask Uncle
Raschid to take you to his villa at the oasis," Zahra surprised her by
saying.
"It was built by his grandfather, although he rarely used it.
He preferred to travel with his people and live in their black tents.
He built it for his English wife. Leave your unpacking," she
instructed, changing the subject.
"One of the maids will do that for you. Are you ready to eat?"
Guessing that she had already delayed the family meal long beyond its
normal hour, Felicia assured her that she was quite ready.
As they went downstairs, Zahra explained to her that the house was
built around the enclosed gardens she had noticed on her arrival, and
that it comprised the traditional women's quarters, with two separate
wings; one of which was used by Raschid and the other being set aside
for Faisal's use when he was at home.
"Not that Raschid sticks rigidly to his quarters," Zahra explained.
"He normally eats with us unless business prevents him. In my father's
time the women never ate with the men, but things are different now,
and Uncle Raschid encouraged both Nadia and myself to take advantage of
a modem education."
"How kind of him," Felicia murmured sarcastically. She was surprised
to discover that Zahra evidently held her uncle in great affection, but
wished she had not given vent to her own feelings for him when
Zahra paused to eye her enquiringly.
"Don't you like Raschid?"
"I haven't known him long enough to form an opinion," Felicia countered
diplomatically, but Zahra was not deceived, and chuckled, explaining,
"When we heard you were coming, I think Mother was frightened that you
would fall in love with him. All my friends think he's wonderful, and
when he was at university in England he had many girlfriends."
I'll bet he did, Felicia thought sourly, and she could just imagine his
lordly reaction to them.
"He is very good-looking, isn't he?" Zahra murmured judiciously.
"Much more so than Faisal."
"But not as gentle or kind," Felicia responded before she could stop
herself.
Zahra's brown eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Zut! Kindness! Is that what you look for in a man? I think Uncle
Raschid is wrong when he says you are experienced in the ways of men,
otherwise you would know that kindness is not necessary between a man
and a woman, where there is love."
She said it so seriously that Felicia could not contradict her,
although her own love-starved childhood had taught her that kindness
was a precious virtue. Perhaps the harshness of their desert climate
bred the need for it out of these people, she reflected. To her
amusement Zahra was dressed in jeans and a thin T-shirt, her long hair
caught back off her face with a ribbon, and as they entered what was
obviously the family dining room, Felicia noticed the younger girl's
mother frowning rather despairingly as her eyes alighted on her
daughter.
"Raschid, you must speak to this child," she protested.
"Look at her!"
"Mother, everyone at the university wears jeans,"
Y
Zahra laughed, 'and Uncle Raschid will not forbid me, because he wears
them himself," she said triumphantly.
"I have seen him."
Faisal's mother looked at her brother, as though seeking confirmation,
and although his mouth twitched a little he betrayed no
embarrassment.
"Maybe so," he allowed, 'but not at the dinner table. Tonight we shall
excuse you, but in future, unless you come to dinner properly dressed
you will eat alone in the women's quarters. "
Zahra pulled a face, but subsided a little, obviously accepting that
Raschid would put his threat into practice if she defied him.
"Come, we must eat. Miss Gordon..."
"Oh, call her Felicia, Mother," Zahra cried impetuously.
"And she must call you Umm Faisal."
Felicia was about to demur, conscious of Raschid's cool scrutiny, and
her own tenuous position in the family, when Faisal's mother looked
anxiously at her, and said something in Arabic to her brother.
"My sister begs you not to take offence at Zahra's impetuosity. Miss
Gordon," he said sardonically.
"She had intended to ask you herself to do her the favour of calling
her " Umm Faisal", but Zahra has forestalled her. She also reminds me
that as I am head of our family it is my duty to welcome you to our
home, and beg you to treat our humble dwelling as your own for as long
as it pleases you to remain with us."
While there was no doubting the sincerity of Faisal's mother's welcome,
Felicia stiffened, knowing that Raschid did not mean a word of what he
was saying. His expression told her that much. However, before she
could say anything, Zahra caused a minor disturbance by remarking
teasingly.
"Miss Gordon! You cannot call her that, Uncle Raschid, not when she is
to.. not when she is such a close friend of Faisal's," she amended
hurriedly.
"You must call her Felicia--mustn't he?"
She turned to Felicia for corroboration, unaware of the cold antipathy
in her uncle's eyes as they skimmed the slender figure of the girl
standing in the shadows. Personally she did not care what Raschid
called her, although she was sure he had adopted the formal "Miss
Gordon' to remind her that he wanted to keep her at a distance.
Fortunately no one else seemed to be aware of the antagonism pulsating
between them, and Felicia was invited to sit down and help herself to
the food set before them. Despite the variety of dishes pressed upon
her, she could barely touch a morsel. She did her best, glad of
Zahra's distracting chatter, and answering her many questions as best
she could. A curious dreamlike state seemed to have engulfed her, and
it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. Her heart felt weighted
with despair, and nausea churned her stomach--a legacy of her long
flight, and the confrontation with Raschid, she acknowledged wearily.
Once or twice during the long meal she suffered the disturbing
sensation of the room blurring and fading, although on each occasion
she managed to jerk herself back to awareness.
"Are you feeling all right, Felicia?" Zahra asked in some concern,
observing the other girl's increasing pallor, but Felicia shook her
head, not wishing to draw the attention of cold grey eyes to her
predicament.
Later she was to regret this foolish pride, but as she struggled to
swallow another mouthful of almond pastry and drink a cup of coffee she
was concentrating
Zahra laughed, 'and Uncle Raschid will not forbid me, because he wears
them himself," she said triumphantly.
"I have seen him."
Faisal's mother looked at her brother, as though seeking confirmation,
and although his mouth twitched a little he betrayed no
embarrassment.
"Maybe so," he allowed, 'but not at the dinner table. Tonight we shall
excuse you, but in future, unless you come to dinner properly dressed
you will eat alone in the women's quarters. "
Zahra pulled a face, but subsided a little, obviously accepting that
Raschid would put his threat into practice if she defied him.
"Come, we must eat. Miss Gordon..."
"Oh, call her Felicia, Mother," Zahra cried impetuously.
"And she must call you Umm Faisal."
Felicia was about to demur, conscious of Raschid's cool scrutiny, and
her own tenuous position in the family, when Faisal's mother looked
anxiously at her, and said something in Arabic to her brother.
"My sister begs you not to take offence at Zahra's impetuosity. Miss
Gordon," he said sardonically.
"She had intended to ask you herself to do her the favour of calling
her " Umm Faisal", but Zahra has forestalled her. She also reminds me
that as I am head of our family it is my duty to welcome you to our
home, and beg you to treat our humble dwelling as your own for as long
as it pleases you to remain with us."
While there was no doubting the sincerity of Faisal's mother's welcome,
Felicia stiffened, knowing that Raschid did not mean a word of what he
was saying. His expression told her that much. However, before she
could say anything, Zahra caused a minor disturbance by remarking
teasingly.
"Miss Gordon! You cannot call her that, Uncle Raschid, not when she is
to.. not when she is such a close friend of Faisal's," she amended
hurriedly.
"You must call her Felicia--mustn't he?"
She turned to Felicia for corroboration, unaware of the cold antipathy
in her uncle's eyes as they skimmed the slender figure of the girl
standing in the shadows. Personally she did not care what Raschid
called her, although she was sure he had adopted the formal "Miss
Gordon' to remind her that he wanted to keep her at a distance.
Fortunately no one else seemed to be aware of the antagonism pulsating
between them, and Felicia was invited to sit down and help herself to
the food set before them. Despite the variety of dishes pressed upon
her, she could barely touch a morsel. She did her best, glad of
Zahra's distracting chatter, and answering her many questions as best
she could. A curious dreamlike state seemed to have engulfed her, and
it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. Her heart felt weighted
with despair, and nausea churned her stomach--a legacy of her long
flight, and the confrontation with Raschid, she acknowledged wearily.
Once or twice during the long meal she suffered the disturbing
sensation of the room blurring and fading, although on each occasion
she managed to jerk herself back to awareness.
"Are you feeling all right, Felicia?" Zahra asked in some concern,
observing the other girl's increasing pallor, but Felicia shook her
head, not wishing to draw the attention of cold grey eyes to her
predicament.
Later she was to regret this foolish pride, but as she struggled to
swallow another mouthful of almond pastry and drink a cup of coffee she
was concentrating all her energy on merely quelling her growing nausea,
from one moment to the next.
At long last the ordeal was over. Shakily Felicia got to her feet,
swaying slightly as faintness swept her, and from a distance she heard
Zahra cry anxiously, "Quick, she's falling!"
And then there was nothing but the blessed peace of enveloping darkness
and the strength of arms that gripped her, halting the upward rush of
the beautiful crimson Persian carpet she had previously been
admiring.
22-11-07, 02:01 AM
Chapter Two
جديد مواضيع قسم الارشيف
العرض العادي
