Penny Jordan Tribute Collection

AS ACHMED HAD foretold, Raschid lost no time in announcing that if the girls were intent on accompanying them, they would have to present themselves in the outer courtyard at first light.

That had been last night, and now, pulling on her jeans in the pearly light of the false dawn, Felicia rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Below, in the courtyard, she could hear sounds of activity. Tiredly she brushed her hair, securing it with a ribbon. Following Nadia’s advice she added a thick, chunky sweater to the absolute necessities Raschid had limited them to—a change of underwear, a clean blouse, some soft woollen socks to wear inside Nadia’s boots, and a pair of sunglasses.

She could see a couple of menservants loading things into the two Land Rovers parked below. Nadia had invited her to travel with herself and Achmed, and Felicia had accepted. It would be less wearing on her fragile nervous system than riding with Raschid.

Breakfast had been set out for them in one of the salons, although Felicia’s stomach rebelled at the thought of yoghurt and dates before the sun had crept over the horizon.

Zayad gave them all a sticky kiss as they prepared to leave, then went docilely to his nurse.

‘He’s so good, isn’t he?’ Felicia marvelled.

‘Kuwaiti children are accustomed to being obedient, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said crisply from behind her. ‘Unlike in the West.’

It was an unjust accusation, and hot words of rebuttal trembled on her lips, to be swallowed when she reflected that any ill-feeling between Raschid and herself was bound to spoil the enjoyment of the others. Heroically she merely gave him a polite little smile, and pushed back her chair intending to follow Nadia.

The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, glinting on the large oval brass dish on a small table, and Felicia, her attention momentarily diverted, felt the blood freeze in her veins. In the dish lay half a dozen envelopes; the top one an airmail letter, very obviously addressed in Faisal’s hand and bearing Raschid’s name.

Her hand crept to her throat, she longed to reach out and pluck the letter away before it could ruin her last precious memories, but Nadia was urging her through the door and she had perforce to follow.

The morning air rang with the bustle of their departure, the strident cries of the falcons drawing Felicia’s attention.

Until Nadia had mentioned it she had not realised that Raschid trained the falcons himself when he could spare the time. Even hooded, their cruel beaks and curving talons made her shudder, striking a chill right through her; the birds’ scarlet jesses were blood-coloured in the early morning sun.

The bird nearest to her let out a shrill cry and flapped its wings. The servant holding it grinned.

‘Very good falcon, this one. He is named Sahud.’

Felicia raised her hand to touch the bird’s tawny feathers, and instantly her fingers were seized in a crushing grip. ‘Don’t touch him!’

Both Zahra and Nadia looked round to see whom Raschid was addressing with such controlled fury, and Felicia’s face burned beneath the open amusement of the saggar holding the falcon.

‘Those birds cost upwards of two thousand pounds apiece, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said crushingly. ‘They are trained to attack and maim anything that moves—and that includes those pretty fingers you were fluttering about in front of him.’

There was a large lump in her throat. She wanted to make a furious retort, to tell him that she thought the saggar had been inviting her to stroke the bird, but pride prevented her.

‘No harm has been done, Raschid,’ Nadia said soothingly, coming to Felicia’s rescue. ‘Honestly, 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.’