Penny Jordan Tribute Collection. PENNY JORDAN
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you treat those birds like children!’
‘Because like children they have to be trained to obey, and rewarded when they do so.’
A servant was handing him a leather glove, heavily embroidered with silver and gold threads, the leather as soft and supple as silk. Raschid pulled it on, smoothing it over his hand before transferring the bird from the saggar’s wrist to his own.
Felicia watched as he proffered it a piece of raw meat. It took it, ripping the flesh with its talons and beak. Slightly nauseated, she turned away.
Nodding to the saggar, Raschid handed the bird back to him.
‘This is life, Miss Gordon,’ he told her drily, proving that he had observed her reaction. ‘In the desert one has to fight to survive.’
‘And kill?’ she whispered, trying not to look at the bright splash of blood on the cobbles.
‘When necessary,’ Raschid agreed coolly. ‘Perhaps you would prefer to remain behind and keep my sister company?’
And miss the opportunity of those last remaining hours of his company? She shook her head, and their eyes clashed.
‘Very well, on your own head be it. I warn you now, though, there will not be time to make allowances for your inexperience and ignorance of our ways.’
Nadia and Achmed were already in the Land Rover, Zahra chatting eagerly to her sister through the open window.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise we were ready to leave,’ Felicia apologised, hurrying towards them.
Raschid’s voice halted her.
‘You will be travelling with me, Miss Gordon,’ he announced. ‘Please get in the Land Rover. Zahra, will you go with Achmed and Nadia. Selim, Ali, one of you go with Achmed and the other come with me.’
Almost paralysed with dismay, Felicia glanced pleadingly at Nadia. ‘Miss Gordon, you are keeping us waiting,’ Raschid reminded her.
Nadia made a sympathetic grimace and gave her a little push.
‘Go on, he won’t eat you!’
There was nothing else for it. With dragging footsteps she walked across to the second Land Rover, her face resolutely averted from Raschid’s masked features.
The door slammed behind her. Selim climbed into the back, reaching over to hand Raschid the pile of letters Felicia had seen in the hallway.
‘Ali brought the mail when we went for the Land Rovers.’
Taking it from him, Raschid stuffed the letters on to the shelf in front of him, giving them only the most cursory glance. Faisal’s letter was at the bottom, and holding her breath Felicia waited to see if he had noticed it. Apparently he had not. She opened her mouth to say that she had changed her mind and would not be going with them, but it was too late. The gates were open and as the sun finally burst over the horizon in a dazzle of molten gold they drove out into the unknown.
With every second she expected Raschid to reach for his mail, but he was concentrating on his driving, and gradually she allowed her clenched muscles to relax. They would have to stop sooner or later, and when they did…. She closed her eyes in despair. When they did he would read Faisal’s letter and then…. She dragged her thoughts away, trying to concentrate on her surroundings. Even this early in the day she could feel the heat rising from the desert, and before too long her blouse was clinging stickily to her back. Only the odd remark in Arabic punctuated the silence as Selim pointed out various landmarks to Raschid.
Secretly Felicia considered that one sandhill looked very much like another, but obviously this could not be so, for several times during the course of the morning Raschid changed direction.
After a while she noticed that he always kept the sun on the left-hand side of the Land Rover, and feeling rather pleased with herself she deduced that he was using it to navigate. There was no compass in the Land Rover, but to a man used to the desert and its ways, the sun would be all the guide he needed.
This supposition was reinforced when Raschid brought the Land Rover to a halt shortly before noon, his abrupt nod confirming that she should get out. Her eyes flew instinctively to the letters, her mouth dry with apprehension.
Her clothes and face were gritty from the sand thrown up by the tires, but it was tension that was responsible for the cramped state of her limbs. She almost fell out of the jeep, and it was Raschid who saw what was happening and thrust open his door, striding round to swing her unceremoniously to the ground. Beneath lowered lashes she watched him. Hard and impassive, his face had a quality of strength that would give one confidence in him. If one had to be lost in this vast wilderness, he would make a good companion, she thought irrelevantly. A woman could rely on his strength even when she could not hope for his tenderness.
He started to walk back to the Land Rover.
‘Stiff?’ Zahra teased.
‘A little,’ Felicia acknowledged, her eyes on Raschid. He was taking the letters from the shelf. ‘Do we hunt now?’ she asked Zahra absently. Was he going to open them now? Already she could hear his sardonic jeers.
‘After we have eaten and had a drink. The men will put up the falcons and we will follow them in the Land Rover. Sometimes they fly several miles without spotting a single hubara. They are wily birds, because although they cannot fly great distances, they have learned how to remain immobile while the falcon flies over them, and they can also discharge a thick, slimy substance into the falcon’s eyes and feathers which renders it defenceless, so you see the hunt is not all one-sided.’
Achmed’s eyes twinkled.
‘I can see that such a state of affairs appeals more to your British sense of fair play, Miss Gordon. Like your fox, our hubara, although a much humbler species, nevertheless has its own native cunning, which allows it to outwit its much more intelligent foe.’
Raschid hadn’t spoken during this interchange, but at this he raised his head, regarding Felicia with a sardonic smile.
‘I doubt if Miss Gordon would be quite as impressed with the hubara’s cunning if she had to rely on its meat to survive.’
‘I am not the fool you would have everyone believe me, Sheikh Raschid,’ Felicia said quietly, with dignity, ‘but I thought the purpose of this outing was to enjoy ourselves, not catch our dinner.’
‘Touché, Miss Gordon. I doubt if Raschid has ever eaten hubara meat in his life, have you, my friend?’ Achmed asked gaily.
‘Then you would be wrong,’ Raschid replied, without elaborating.
If only those letters had remained in Kuwait! How long would it be before he opened them? After lunch?
The falcons started to screech, sensing freedom, and the subject of hubara meat and its desirability was dropped. Accepting a cup of fresh lime juice from Zahra, Felicia sat down next to her, letting her aching limbs relax. She lay back and closed her eyes, letting her body absorb the sensations of her surroundings—the coarseness of the sand under her fingers, the heat of the sun, the faint smell of petrol, the soft murmur of Arab voices.
‘What do you think of the desert, Miss Gordon?’
Raschid’s voice startled her and her eyes flew anxiously to his.
There was no sign of Faisal’s letter. She started to tremble, wondering if he had devised some subtle form of torture, whereby he was going to say nothing until she herself raised the subject. Very well, two could play at that game!
‘It’s magnificent,’ she said coolly, glancing round.
‘Whenever I’m here I wonder how I can endure to shut myself in an office, like an animal in a cage, but even the freest among us is chained by something; the greater our responsibilities, the greater the chains that bind us. A woman who shares the life of a man such as I has to learn to share his love for places such as these.’
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