Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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there for his English wife. In the desert the family reverted to the ways of their ancestors, with the women gathering every morning to chat and drink coffee while Raschid and Achmed inspected the fruit farm on the other side of the oasis, and exercised the fiery Arab horses stabled in one of the outer courtyards. Zayad had attached himself to Felicia, following her wherever she went, much to the amusement of Nadia.
The day before Zahra’s birthday, when the men were out riding, a messenger arrived from Saud’s family inviting the ladies to drive over. Felicia was rather dubious as to whether or not the invitation was meant to include her, but Zahra and Nadia overruled her protests.
When the men returned, Zahra rushed to tell them the news. She exhibited no shyness in the presence of her brother-in-law, who in turn treated her with brotherly indulgence. Felicia liked Nadia’s husband. He was all the things she had once thought Faisal—kind, gentle, tender to his wife and affectionate with his son. Against her will her eyes were drawn to Raschid’s remote figure. How would he treat a wife? Never with tenderness!
He said something to Zahra and the younger girl shrugged and moved away. There was an air of constraint between them, and Felicia was sorry that Zahra had been disillusioned. From Nadia she knew that Zahra intended to confront Raschid with the truth, but she suspected that she was hoping for a more propitious moment. These seldom came, as Felicia knew from experience. She was still hoping to find a tactful way of breaking the news that she must soon return home. It was bound to cause speculation. Her original visit had had no time limit and it was generally accepted by Umm Faisal that she would stay with them until Faisal returned. That was no longer possible. Tonight she must write to him.
‘And is Felicia looking forward to meeting Saud’s family?’ Achmed asked with a twinkle. ‘You know, of course, how highly placed in Government circles they are?’
‘Saud cares nothing for his family’s prominence,’ Zahra explained self-consciously, but Felicia could tell that the younger girl was deliberately playing down Saud’s importance.
‘Now you see why it is so important that our family observes the proprieties,’ Raschid drawled. ‘Already in certain religious quarters there is unrest because our government has brought in so many modern reforms. The greatest tact is needed in equating the needs of the flesh with those of the spirit, and if a member of a prominent family were seen to be flouting the unwritten rules of behaviour it could be interpreted in some quarters as a direct contravention of the Koran itself. Zahra is especially vulnerable through her connection with me. Have you forgotten that I am Christian?’ he demanded.
Felicia had. She also saw much more than she had seen before.
‘There is a letter for you, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid added. ‘From Faisal. If you will come to my study…’
‘Raschid, if you have a moment there is something I should like to discuss with you,’ Zahra interrupted hurriedly. ‘I will come with you, Felicia, and then when Raschid has given you your letter he and I can talk.’
In vain Felicia tried to catch her eye to tell her that there was no need for her to confess her guilt to Raschid. As far as she was concerned the matter was over and done with, and besides, she doubted that anything would be gained by telling him the truth. Far better that Zahra put the episode completely behind her, but Zahra avoided her warning look and got to her feet, scattering silk-covered cushions.
‘Overspent your allowance again?’ Raschid commented humorously, opening the door for them.
‘Will you see Saud tomorrow, when we visit his family?’ Felicia asked Zahra as they walked behind Raschid.
She shook her head.
‘That would not be permitted. In fact we should not see one another at all until he lifts the veil from my face during the wedding ceremony, but you will find our visit interesting. His family owns an old fortress about two hours’ drive from the oasis, and his father still likes to spend at least a part of the year in the desert.’ She hesitated as Raschid disappeared into his study.
‘There’s still time to change your mind, you know,’ Felicia pointed out gently, but Zahra shook her head.
‘No, I’ve made up my mind. Let’s go in.’
In silence Felicia took her letter from Raschid’s outstretched hand, her eyes telling Zahra that there was still time for her to back down if she wished, but the younger girl resolutely ignored her, placing herself in front of Raschid, hands clasped together, head bent.
As she closed the door gently behind her, Felicia heard him say indulgently,
‘So, and what is this urgent matter you wish to discuss with me, little one?’
Little one! Just for a moment Felicia felt like a child herself—the child she had once been, deprived of love and affection, forced to see others more fortunate blessed with what was denied her. And then she shook the feeling off and retired to her room to read Faisal’s letter.
The words seemed to leap angrily off the paper, a bitter jumble of accusations and demands, and even when she had read it twice Felicia could barely take it in. She supposed she had Raschid to thank for this, she thought bitterly, as she read it yet again, some of the more condemnatory phrases sticking in her mind.
‘Your wanton behaviour… encouraging my uncle to behave in the most familiar fashion… making a laughing stock of my reputation….’ These were but a few of Faisal’s accusations, revealing how very thin his veneer of Westernisation actually had been. The letter finished quite abruptly, and Felicia read the last paragraph slowly.
‘… and in view of your totally disgraceful behaviour I am forced to say that I can no longer countenance any marriage between us. I am writing to my uncle separately to inform him of my decision, and I am sure once it is known to him he will lose no time in sending you back to England, where you may parade yourself on the streets for the whole world to see without causing me to lose face.’
He had never really loved her, Felicia thought with a sigh, crumpling the letter into a small ball and throwing it into her wastepaper bin. She could not blame him entirely. She was as much at fault as he—and yet it hurt to read his letter, to know that Raschid had quite deliberately written to him showing her in a bad light—it must have been Raschid, it could be no one else. How would she have felt if she had in truth loved Faisal? What would her feelings have been at this moment? And yet she could not deny that it would be a relief not to have to pretend any longer. No doubt as soon as Raschid heard from Faisal he would lose no time in sending her home. Bitter pain shafted through her. She did not want to leave this country. Strangely enough, what hurt far more than Faisal’s desertion was the knowledge that Raschid had deliberately gone behind her back and betrayed her. And yet why should he be so surprised? Hadn’t he promised that he would find a way of parting them? If only he had waited a little longer he need not have put himself to the trouble. Time had achieved his ends for him, without any help. The love she thought so strong in the gentle climate of England had soon shrivelled in the merciless heat of the desert.
She took a deep breath and then another. Outside her bedroom window the swimming pool shimmered temptingly, blue as a turquoise stone set into the paved courtyard. Raschid had had it installed, so Zahra had told her, and its coolness drew her, as though somehow its silken caress could wash away her pain and hurt. Like a wounded animal she sought oblivion—not from Faisal’s betrayal, which had taken second place in her chaotic thoughts, but from the new, dangerously hurtful knowledge that when she left Kuwait, she would leave behind a part of herself—in the hard uncaring hands of his uncle!
How it had happened she did not know. Nor why her senses should be enslaved to the one man who had no use or desire for her, but now the truth was inescapable. She refused to use the word ‘love’ in conjunction with her feelings for Raschid, but neither could she continue to deny its existence. All her heart-searching, all her reluctance to leave Kuwait had their roots in the same hidden depths of her being which had given birth to the sensual excitement she had experienced at Raschid’s touch. She was attracted to him, she told herself, nothing more. But it was more than attraction. That could not account for the