Falcon's Prey. Penny Jordan
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had practically admitted as much. ‘Raschid will never expect you to accept his invitation,’ he said with a good deal of satisfaction, when Felicia conveyed her decision to him.
Invitation! Command, more like, Felicia thought wrathfully. A command to present herself for inspection and rejection. Well, for Faisal’s sake she would ‘present’ herself, but not for one moment was Faisal’s lordly uncle going to be allowed to think that he could pass judgement on her!
‘Come back with me to my apartment,’ Faisal begged her when they had finished eating. ‘There is much I must tell you about my family and our ways….’
Normally Felicia avoided being too much alone with Faisal, but tonight she did not demur, and in the taxi she plagued him with questions about his country.
‘Shall I have to wear a veil or go into purdah?’ she asked him anxiously.
Faisal shook his head.
‘Of course not. The older generation still adhere to those ways, but nowadays our girls are well educated, part of the equalization that has swept our country. Your will love Kuwait, Felicia, as I do myself. Although I must confess that I also love London, for different reasons….’
The sudden passion she saw flaring in his eyes made Felicia glad that the taxi had stopped. Faisal had an apartment in an expensive and exclusive Mayfair block, furnished with a modern décor of stark white walls and carpets, with plushy hide chesterfields in dark leather and a quantity of glass coffee tables and matching display shelves. She admired the apartment, but found it too palatial and immaculate; too impersonal in its stark elegance.
Faisal’s manservant greeted them, offering Felicia coffee which she refused, watching Faisal while he put on some music. The haunting and evocative sound of Felicia’s favorite song swept the room; Faisal pressed a button, instantly dimming the lights, the heavy off-white curtains shutting out their aerial view of London.
As he took her in his arms, Felicia felt herself stiffen slightly. Why couldn’t she relax? she chided herself. Faisal meant her no harm. He was, after all, the man she was going to marry. What was the matter with her? Why could she not abandon herself to the passion she had heard other girls discussing so frankly?
‘What is wrong?’ Faisal whispered, unconsciously reiterating her own thoughts. ‘You stiffen and tremble at my touch like a dove in the talons of a hawk,’ he told her indulgently. ‘When we are parted, I shall dream of the moment when I lift the gold necklace from your bridal caftan and unfasten the one hundred and one buttons, to discover the one thousand and one beauties of your body. Do not worry,’ he assured her confidently, ‘your reluctance is as it should be. You are as chaste as the milk-white doves my mother keeps in her courtyard, and soon my uncle shall know that for himself.’
There was a certain element of satisfaction in his words, but Felicia could not help trembling a little with fear. Faisal seemed so confident that once they were married she would respond with passion to his lovemaking, but what if this should not be so? What if she was incapable of passion? Although her heart thrilled to his words of love, her body felt only nervous fear. Faisal’s desire for her was increased by his knowledge that she had had no other lover, she knew that. But what if this had not been so? Did he love her, or her chastity? She banished the thought as unworthy. This was undoubtedly an after-effect of Faisal’s disclosure concerning his uncle. It was only natural that Faisal should place greater importance on purity in his bride than her own countrymen, it was part and parcel of his upbringing. And yet this admission served only to stir fresh doubts.
‘It is just as well that I am not rich enough to support more than one wife,’ Faisal murmured with a small smile in his voice, ‘for with you in my arms I could want no other, Felicia.’
It was this knowledge to which she must cling in the weeks ahead, Felicia reminded herself—not her own lack of reaction to Faisal’s lovemaking. It was only her inexperience that made her doubt her capacity for response. However, his remark about the four wives permitted to men of the Moslem faith had also disturbed her. It came as a shock to remember that he came from a vastly different culture from her own; a culture that permitted a man more than one wife as long as he was able to maintain them all in equal comfort; a culture that made no pretence of being anything other than male-orientated, and yet the Arab women she had seen were always so serene, Felicia acknowledged, so candidly appealing; so protected from all the unpleasantness of life by their male relatives. There was the other side to the coin, though; harsh punishments for those women who went against the rulings of the Koran, or so Felicia had read, and she could not in all honesty picture herself as merely a dutiful plaything, living only through her husband.
All at once the task ahead loomed ominously. If only Faisal could accompany her to Kuwait, to ease those first uncomfortable and uncertain days when she was still a stranger to his family. How subtle his uncle had been, suggesting this visit; more subtle than she had at first realised. Although Faisal was a comparatively wealthy young man, as he had told her, the bulk of his inheritance was tied up in the family merchant banking empire, held in trust for Faisal by his uncle until his twenty-fifth birthday. Until that time Faisal was virtually dependent upon his uncle both for employment and finance. Discarding the disloyal thought that Faisal could have got round his uncle’s edict simply by finding a job in England as totally impractical, Felicia acknowledged uneasily that at present it appeared that Faisal’s uncle had the upper hand.
Here she was, virtually committed to journeying alone to a strange country, forced to court the approval of a man who, she was sure, was deliberately trying to force her to show herself in a bad light, and would probably never approve of their marriage.
‘Are you sure your mother will like me, Faisal?’ she asked in a small uncertain voice.
‘She will love you as I do,’ he promised. ‘It will not be so bad, you will see. I am to spend two months in New York, and then we shall be together again. Then we shall make plans for our wedding. Perhaps it is as well that you will be with my family. That way no other man can cast covetous eyes upon you. You are mine, Felicia,’ he told her arrogantly, unobservant of the faint shadows lingering in her eyes.
Faisal drove her back to her flat himself in the car he kept parked in the underground car-park provided for the use of the apartment tenants. It was an opulent Mercedes with cream leather upholstery and every refinement known to technological man, from a hidden cocktail cabinet to a GPS system.
Privately Felicia considered that Faisal drove too fast, but on the one occasion she had mentioned this to him he had looked so angry that she had not done so again.
‘As you are a guest of my family, it is only right that we should pay all your expenses,’ he told her when he stopped the car outside the small and rather shabby bedsit that had been her home since she first came to London.
Felicia protested, unwilling for Faisal’s family to think of her as being financially grasping and reminding him that the knowledge that she had not paid for her own ticket would surely influence his uncle against her.
‘He will not know,’ he assured her carelessly, ‘and besides, you will need some new clothes, more suitable for our climate.’
It struck Felicia that perhaps he feared that she would shame him with her small wardrobe, for she was aware of the importance his family placed upon outward show, and so, unwillingly, she allowed him to persuade her to accept the gift of her ticket and save her money for what he termed ‘necessary expenditure’.
The days flew past, with her seeing Faisal every evening. She wanted to learn as much about the country she was going to as she could, and often by the time Faisal took her home her brain was a confused jumble of facts and figures.
Even so, she could not help but admire the tireless energy of the Kuwait Government when she learned just how much had been achieved in such a very short span of time.
Even allowing for the fact that the country’s vast oil revenues had made many types of technological advancement possible, the swift rebuilding after the war left her breathless.
Naturally Faisal was proud of his country’s progress,