Penny Jordan Tribute Collection

Sleepily Umm Faisal offered a cup of coffee, but Felicia refused. Like a greedy miser, she wanted to gloat over her precious hoard of happiness to fall asleep, dreaming of those sacred moments when Raschid’s arms had held her without anger or punishment.

It was quiet in the courtyard. Zahra was with Umm Faisal. With the month of Ramadan fast approaching, the arrangements for the wedding had to be finalised. Only that morning Umm Faisal had shown Felicia the soft rose silk from which Zahra’s bridal caftan would be fashioned. Shimmering threads of beaten silver flashed in the sunlight, and Felicia fingered the fabric in awe.

Later Zahra had shown her the gifts Saud had sent her—the silver and turquoise hand jewellery handed down through seven generations of his family, necklaces of beaten gold studded with rubies, rings and ankle bracelets, a whole treasure trove of precious and semi-precious stones guaranteed to excite the most prosaic female imagination.

Lastly Zahra produced an intricately worked girdle of beaten silver. This was the symbolic girdle used to fasten the bride’s shift, she explained, and once it was fastened in place, none but her bridegroom had the right to remove it.

‘Raschid still has the girdle made for his grandmother,’ Zahra told her, ‘and although he is Christian, he will marry according to the laws of our faith as well, for that was his grandfather’s wish, thus the two religions will live side by side in harmony with one another.’

Every mention of Raschid brought nervous tension to Felicia’s body. Every day she expected to be summoned to his study and told that he had heard from Faisal. Why did she torture herself like this? Why did she not go to him and ask to be sent home before he discovered the truth about why she had been content to linger long after she knew of Faisal’s change of heart? Her own heart gave her the answer. She was sitting by the fishpond, staring lazily into space. A tortoiseshell carp jumped in the water, showering her with tiny droplets; in the distance doves cooed; even the perfect symmetry of the house echoed the same pervasive sense of peace. Her red-gold head bent over the pool, unaware that she was being observed by the man who stood in the shade of the lime trees, the fragile vulnerability of her lightly tanned skin exposed to his searching gaze. His expression unfathomable, he continued to watch, and then turned abruptly, his progress across the courtyard fluttering the doves into noisy protest. Felicia glanced up, her expression unguarded, unable to quench the fierce joy running through her veins.

‘Sheikh Raschid!’ There was even pleasure in saying his name.

He inclined his head in the manner which had become so familiar that it was engraved on her heart. A small pang shot through her, and a hesitant smile quivered on her lips, as she suppressed her alarm.

‘Have you heard from Faisal?’

Now what had made her ask that? His brows drew together in blank disapproval.

‘No,’ he replied curtly. ‘Are you missing him so much that you are willing to beg me for news of him? Perhaps I did you an injustice. Perhaps you do care for him after all.’

Now was her chance to tell him the truth. The words trembled on her lips, only to be silenced as he added cynically, ‘However, as we both know, appearances can be deceptive. Our strong sun darkens the colour of your skin to the colour of ours, but it cannot change what lies underneath. There can be no happiness in a marriage between yourself and Faisal.’

‘East and West can live in harmony,’ Felicia protested. ‘Your own grandparents….’

‘They were an exception,’ Raschid interrupted curtly. ‘My grandmother willingly gave up everything to be with my grandfather. Can you honestly tell me that your love for Faisal possesses that strength? Would you willingly wander the desert with him, an outcast to your own people?’

Her eyes gave him the answer. Not for Faisal, but for him…. She would willingly walk barefoot to hell and back for him. She longed to reach out and touch him, to slide her fingers through the dark crispness of his hair, to kiss those firmly chiselled lips and to urge that lean body to take her and make her a part of him, her flesh yielding and melting into his as his hard hands possessed her. She closed her eyes and prayed as she had never prayed before, that she might banish these tormenting images.

When she opened them again Raschid was watching her dispassionately. ‘It is not safe for you to walk alone out here, Miss Gordon,’ he warned her.

‘In case I might be carried off by some desert barbarian, do you mean? Surely they would scorn me as you do, as being worthless and of little account. An unwanted intruder in their lives; a female of no virtue whose life means no more than a few grains of sand.’

‘Faisal did not scorn you,’ Raschid pointed out. ‘And it is after all, he who holds your heart, is it not?’

She watched him disappear into the shadows, her body aching as though she had been beaten; which metaphorically she felt as though it had. She herself had lashed it unmercifully with the reminder that Raschid cared nothing for her.

All her pleasure in the garden was gone. She went to her room, drawn to the drawer where she had concealed the small phial of perfume. Almost against her will she unstoppered it, and the fragrant, fresh smell of the English countryside stole through the room, coupled with a scent almost bitter-sweet, but faintly haunting, so in tune with her emotions that she could only marvel at the perfume blender’s ability to correctly judge her mood and transform it into this perfume which would always bring home to her the senselessness of unwanted love.

CHAPTER NINE

PROMPTED by Achmed, Raschid had made arrangements to entertain his guest by taking him hawking, a trip which could take two or three days dependent on the game to be had.

Nadia had begged Achmed to intercede with Raschid on behalf of the female half of the household, declaring that it was unfair that they should be left behind while the men enjoyed themselves.

The plan was that the men would take Raschid’s falcons, a couple of servants and two Land Rovers to hold all their gear and spend a couple of days relaxing in the desert.

Nadia explained to Felicia that in their younger days she and Zahra had often accompanied Raschid on these trips, revelling in the freedom from routine these outings provided.

‘In the old days the men used tents, like the Badu, cooking over an open fire, but nowadays things are a bit more civilised. We use sleeping bags and camping Gaz,’ Nadia laughed. ‘Raschid does not really approve. He still prefers to follow the old ways of our people, but Mother used to worry that Faisal would burn himself or get indigestion from half cooked food and so, in the end, Raschid had to give in.’

Even so it sounded enviably exciting—the wide open spaces of the desert, men in long white robes, eating under a dark blue velvet sky studded with stars. Felicia gave a faint sigh. Uncle George had never approved of picnics, or indeed eating out of doors at all.

‘Don’t worry, Achmed will be able to persuade Raschid. He’ll have to,’ she added with a darkling look, ‘otherwise I’ve told him he won’t be going himself.’

Felicia burst out laughing. Nadia was so refreshingly modern in her outlook, and it was plain that Achmed adored her.

He came into the women’s quarters while they were watching Zayad’s antics, a beaming smile splitting his face.

‘Raschid has agreed that you girls can come with us. Not without an awful lot of persuasion, I might add, and I’d better warn you, we mean to set off after first light tomorrow, and Raschid is in no mood to make allowances for you. He says if you are to come with us you must expect to be treated just like the men.’

‘Isn’t that just typical of him?’ Nadia complained. ‘I swear he thinks more of his falcons than he does of us.’

‘Quite probably,’ Achmed agreed cheerfully. He looked thoughtfully at Felicia, who was trying to play cat’s cradles with Zayad. ‘This will be your first trip into the interior of the desert, won’t it? Nadia will tell you what to take along.’ He frowned and seemed to hesitate.

Had Raschid expressed doubts about the wisdom of taking her along because she was to be a member of the party? A casual enquiry of Zahra had elicited the information that unless they sent someone to Kuwait to collect it they would receive no mail while they were in the desert, and so, thinking herself safe for at least a few days, Felicia had closed her mind to the heartache she was storing up for herself, determined to make of the precious time left to her enough memories to warm her through the long cold years ahead.

A little later in the day Nadia went with her to her room to sort out what she ought to take on the trip. ‘Your jeans, I think,’ she announced, pursing her lips, ‘and a long-sleeved blouse. I think I have riding boots that will fit you. When the falcons are hunting the hubara we shall have to follow on foot, and boots protect the ankles and legs from snakes and scorpions.’

‘Raschid didn’t want us to go because of me, didn’t he?’ Felicia interrupted quietly, needing to know the answer, in spite of the pain it might cause.

Nadia looked uncomfortable, and Felicia knew she had guessed correctly. ‘It is just that it is our custom for each girl to be accompanied by a man to watch over her safety,’ Nadia explained, ‘and in Faisal’s absence Raschid is very conscious of his responsibility towards you. Zahra and I are accustomed to the desert. You are not.’ Her smile softened the words. ‘Don’t worry, Felicia, we shall take care of you, but try to understand….’

‘To understand what? That your uncle considers me an unwanted nuisance? I understand that already.’

Nadia bit her lip, her eyes clouded. ‘Forgive me, Felicia, but this hostility you feel towards Raschid—could it be that you use it to mask other—very different emotions?’

One look at Nadia’s face told her that the older girl had guessed the truth. Pride made her grasp at any straw, however frail, to conceal her feelings.

‘If you mean love, I consider that any woman who fell in love with your uncle would need to be either a fool or a masochist!’

Felicia saw with relief that Nadia was staring at her in stunned surprise, but it was several seconds before she realised why. When Nadia continued to stare over her shoulder, the hairs at the back of her neck began to prickle warningly, and she swung round just in time to see Raschid’s coldly furious expression as he strode past the door.

‘Do you think he heard me?’

Nadia recovered her voice, nodding her head commiseratingly. ‘I’m so sorry. I never heard him until it was too late.’

Felicia shrugged, trying to tell herself that it did not matter; another stone on the wall separating herself and Raschid was hardly likely to make much difference one way or the other.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she assured Nadia. ‘After all, he’s never made any pretence of liking me. In fact I’m sure he’s feeling exceptionally pleased with the results of his eavesdropping. He’ll be more positive than ever now that I’m everything he thought, and worse!’

‘Let me explain to him,’ Nadia suggested, but Felicia shook her head decisively. What was there to explain? That Nadia had accused her of being in love with him, and in order to defend herself she had claimed that no woman could be? He would know she was lying.

‘What’s the point? Let him think what he likes.’

‘It’s all my fault,’ Nadia admitted apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t have teased you in the first place. I am sorry.’

When Nadia had gone Felicia stared at her clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Soon it would be empty. They would not be staying at the oasis much longer, and once Faisal’s letter reached Raschid, she would have to face the day of reckoning. If only she did not have to apply to Faisal’s family in order to get home! She was not left with even that shred of pride intact.