"But I don't know anyone here at Beni Kezar who could be sending me a present. It must be a hoax! " Picking up a knife, Chrys inserted the blade under the seal and broke it. Then she lifted the lid of the box and found inside a small card, and with a frown she read the few words written upon it in perfect French. "A small token to replace what was removed from your pocket." Without speaking Chrys handed the card to Maud, who read it and then looked at Chrys significantly.
"What has he sent you to replace the charm?"
Chrys lifted the cottonwool in the box and disclosed a tiny gold hand, perfectly made, with a blue gem set in the back of it. "Look, Maud! "
"The Hand of Fatma, and a very beautiful example of the charm." Maud looked intently at Chrys. "I know you will want to refuse it, knowing who has sent it to you, but I would advise you against returning it to the Sheik. He will not only be highly insulted, but out here no one takes lightly the significance of Fatma's hand. You will see it impressed into the walls and lintels of the houses, and women hang the charm around the necks of their newborn children. It is said to bring good fortune to those who wear it."
"But, Maud, this charm is made of gold, and the gem in the back of it looks like a small sapphire. How can I accept from such a man a gift like this? He may presume that I wish to encourage him, and that's the last thing I want to do! "
"Not if you accept the charm with a polite little note. You know, 'Dear Sir, It is good of you to send me the Hand of Fatma, and I feel certain it will make my visit to Beni Kezar a pleasant one.' There's nothing coy or inviting about that sort of note."
"You seem to be making it a point of honour that I accept the charm." Chrys fingered its smoothness, with each detail of the hand etched with minute perfection, adorned by that gleaming little sapphire. It was as if he had had her eyes in mind, and she gave a little shiver as
she remembered the glint of his eyes within the almost monk-like head-covering which had prevented her from seeing his face clearly. All she knew for certain was that he wore a thin dark moustache, which was somehow significant of the inherent danger of the man.
"I believe he meant to put me in an awkward position," she said to Maud. "He probably thinks that I will return the charm and give him cause to feel insulted, so I'm going to surprise him and keep it. It's really rather pretty, isn't it?"
Maud smiled a little, for Chrys spoke with a touch of defiance which revealed her inmost doubts about accepting the golden hand. "Oriental men are darned subtle," she said, popping a black grape into her mouth. "But I certainly think it better for you to accept the gift than refuse it. It doesn't do to offend these people, and if you type your note of thanks on my machine, then it will seem more impersonal than if you wrote it. I notice that he's highly educated. His French is far more perfect than mine. Did you notice if he was good-looking? Some of these men are extremely so, though on the other side of the coin you do find some of them as round as barrels, with enough hair on them to stuff a sofa."
Chrys smiled absently, and wished to goodness the donor of the gift had been rotund and bearded and fatherly. She shook her head when Maud proffered the dish of grapes, and was glad when it was time to go upstairs and sleep.
She felt curiously disturbed on this her first night in the East, and it took her some time to fall asleep beneath the fine muslin swathing her bed.
On the bedside table lay the Hand of Fatma, an appealing little charm, and yet somehow significant of the subtle codes of honour and quicksilver temper of the people of the East.
CHAPTER VIII
DESPITE having lain awake until quite late, Chrys awoke feeling invigorated and ready for the day that lay ahead of her. She lay gazing up at the tent of pale green netting over her bed, and saw the sun as through gauze striking through the long opened windows. Alien sounds drifted up from the streets that lay at either side of the hotel; she heard goat bells, and the clatter of donkey hooves, and then there came the cry of the muezzin from the nearby mosque. Allah ila la Allah. So it was still quite early, despite the warm gush of sunshine into her room.
The sun was so beckoning that Chrys could not lie idle another second and she pushed aside the yards of mosquito netting and slid out of bed. The polished wooden floor was warm under her feet, and when she glanced at her travelling clock she was surprised to find that it wasn't long after daybreak.
She opened the adjoining door and saw that Maud was still fast asleep. Well, she wasn't going to waste all this wonderful sunlight by lazing in bed herself, so Chrys hastened to the bathroom, had a wash, and returned to dress herself in narrow white trousers and a lemon shirt. She clipped back her hair, dashed lipstick over her mouth, and decided to have a look at the market stalls that were setting up in the streets below.
She felt delightfully cool, and looked it as she made her way downstairs to the foyer. There were only a couple of the staff about, emptying ashtrays and flower vases, and polishing the floor, and they gave her a rather startled look as she left the hotel. It was evident that the other guests were not such early risers, probably taking breakfast in their rooms, until it was time to go sightseeing in a horse-drawn cab.
As Chrys stepped into the street, a dozen mixed aro-
mas sprang at her. That of Arabian coffee and spices, and the stronger smell of the goats and donkeys. She turned into an alleyway, and found herself in a sort of street of coppersmiths, with highly polished bowls and pans displayed on colourful old carpets. She saw a boy glossing the surface of a great meat dish with a handful of sawdust and lemon, and heard the little hammers beating against the pewter.
Some of the traders coaxed her to buy their wares, but she walked on resolutely, knowing full well that if she stopped to admire anything she would find herself involved in a bargain for it. She turned out of the street of coppersmiths into another that sold leather goods, slippers of all colours, some of them for babies and made of the very softest of leather. There were purses and satchels for sale, and beautiful bags on a shoulder strap buckled with silver or brass. Chrys would have loved to buy one, but she hadn't enough cash with her.
She wandered through the street of silks, and came at last to the stalls selling jewellery and trinkets of every hue, some of it worthless, and some of it quite stunning. She saw a tray of charms, and was reminded of yesterday, and the Hand of Fatma which she had left on her bedside table, gleaming like a small living object as the sunlight touched it. She compared it to other similar charms she saw on the stalls, and knew that it was different, and of greater value.
She came upon carpets being sold in an open courtyard, where they were laid out to show their wonderful patterns, with several lovely Persian cats curled among them. It was like wandering into the Arabian Nights, and her nostrils tautened to the drift of perfume from funny little cubbyholes in the very walls of the souk. She peered into one of these tiny scent shops and was beckoned in by the perfume-seller, to have her wrist stroked with a little glass rod dipped into carnation and rose perfume, into orange-flower, jasmine and musk. The phials lay in dozens of little drawers, and
she couldn't resist the temptation of a scent called Rapture of the Desert, and another for Maud.
The souk lay in a maze which brought her directly back to the hotel, and this time there were guests in the foyer, who greeted her with smiles and wished her a good morning in French or German. It seemed that these days British people came less often to the East, and she felt the young foreigner as she glanced into the restaurant to see if Maud had yet come down to breakfast.
Ah, there she was Seated at the table they had shared at dinner last night, and in conversation with a young man Chrys had not seen before. He wore khaki trousers and a white shirt, tucked into a black leather belt that matched his kneeboots. When Maud spotted Chrys and waved, the man turned round and stared at her. He was about thirty and had a tanned face surmounted by hair so light it looked bleached.
Maud introduced him as Peter Dorn and said that he was already working at the diggings and
that he had been a pupil of her husband's. He shook Chrys's hand and she was unsurprised when he spoke to her with a Dutch accent.
"This is very much a delightful surprise, Miss Devrel. When I heard that Maud had arrived at Beni Kezar with a new companion, well I did not expect to find that companion so — young."
Maud grinned and invited him to stay and have breakfast with them. "I don't doubt that you've already had rolls and coffee, but being a Dutchman, Peter, I'm sure you can put away some bacon and eggs."
"I think I can." He sat down beside Chrys, and she saw his nostrils flicker as he caught the aroma of the scents the Arab had applied to her skin. "I will guess that you have been wandering in the souk, eh? And were enticed into one of those mysterious little perfumeries?"
"I couldn't resist buying something." Chrys handed Maud a phial of scent across the table. "Yours is called
Garden of Carnations, Maud."
"How nice of you, Chrys, to think of an old woman! " Maud immediately stroked the tiny glass rod against her throat. "Mmmm, I'm now likely to get carried off to the tent of an amorous man of the desert."
Chrys laughed, while she felt Peter Dorn gazing inquisitively at the Arabic lettering on her own phial of scent. "Do you believe that rapture might be found in the desert, Miss Devrel ?" His sky-blue eyes met hers and they were teasing and at the same time inquisitive.
"All I really hope to acquire is a sun tan, a good riding horse, and a little knowledge of how to dig for ancient relics," she replied, giving him a very candid look without a hint of flirtation in it. He was a good-looking man, with virile forearms fleeced with blond hair, but Chrys looked as undisturbed as if he had been an elderly professor. When the waiter came to the table she asked Maud to order for her scrambled eggs, kidneys and toast. "I'm ravenous after my explorations. One could spend a fortune in that souk. Such carpets! And some of that copper and pewter ware! Not to mention the handbags ! All handmade and with something inimitable about them."
"I will judge that you have had your first taste of being fascinated by the East and its oriental witchery," said Peter Dorn. "Beware. It can cast spells over certain people, and they find themselves unable to break the spell. Have you yet seen the sun set over the desert sands ?"
She shook her head. "I must admit, mijnheer, that it's an experience to which I am looking forward with a great deal of interest. I have seen pictures of such sunsets, but I have not yet seen the reality. Is it as magical as I have heard ?"
"Even more so — and may I call you by your first name? Is it Christine?"
"No, it's Chrys, spelled like the beginning of the flower."
"Very nice. I like it." He spoke with Dutch decision.
"You must allow me to find a good horse for you, and then you must allow me to show you your first sunset."
"Thank you." Chrys glanced at Maud. "When shall we be making camp in the desert?"
"If Peter can help arrange matters with the local kaid, then I thought we might set up camp tomorrow. Today we could do some sight-seeing, and buy provisions, and have tea in the gardens of the mosque. What do you say, Chrys?"
"Marvellous! " Her eyes glowed, and the sun through the windows stroked the tawny-gold of her hair. She felt young and zestful, and that depression of the past few weeks had lifted suddenly from her spirits. Madame de Casenove had been right to urge her to come to the East. It was a place of forgetfulness, so far from familiar things, and with an underlying sense of mystery of which she had been conscious ever since setting foot on Eastern soil.
She tucked into her breakfast with youthful appetite, and was watched admiringly by the Dutchman. "What a change to see a young woman enjoy her food these days," he said to Maud. "I thought they were all on strict diets to preserve their svelte figures."
"Chrys is the energetic sort who burns off the spare inches. She was up with the lark this morning, and isn't one of your indolent creatures of glamour, Peter. That's why I wanted her for my companion. I can't stand the bored and primping sort, who scream at craw-lies, and want men in attendance all the time."
"Well, I shall be in attendance at the camp, but I hope you won't mind too much." Peter Dorn's smile was charming, and not overbearingly sure of itself. "I shall try to blend in with the background."
"An Arab might succeed in that, but not a Dutchman," drawled Maud. "I have an idea Chrys and myself will quite enjoy having you around. I hoped, in fact, that you might be at the diggings, but wasn't sure if you had returned from Peru, How was it there?"
"Cold." He gave an expressive shiver. "I was glad to
get to the desert, and was most pleased when I found your letter awaiting me here at the hotel. To work again with Malcolm's wife is always a pleasure."
"You're gallant, Peter." Maud bowed her head in acknowledgement of his compliment, both to herself and her late husband. "You were always his favoured pupil . ah, they were good days, and I think I travel so much these days in order to keep myself from being lonely."
Maud and Peter talked about the days gone by, while Chrys drank her coffee and listened to them. He stayed at Beth Kezar all the morning, helping them to arrange about porters to take their baggage to the camp site on the following day, and he also went with them to the kaid's stables, where they hired their mounts and received official permission to use the waterhole at the camp site. Peter then had to get back to the dig and said regretfully that he wished he could spare the time to take tea with them that afternoon.
They watched him ride off, and Maud looked well pleased. "I'm glad we have a European male at the camp," she said. "We shall sleep easier at night."
"I had no idea that you had a few old-fashioned ideas, Maud." Chrys spoke teasingly. "I believed you were fully emancipated from the idea of male protection."
"Oh, I can take care of myself," Maud said at once. "But I have with me on this trip a young and attractive girl who has already caught the eye of one of the local Sheiks."
"Don't remind me! " Chrys tried to sound flippant, but now that Maud mentioned the man, she was glad herself that Peter Dorn would be on hand to look big, blond and masculine. "I suppose I have to accept his blessed charm?"
"Just to be diplomatic, Chrys. Come along, we'll type him a polite note of thanks and arrange for a boy to deliver it to him."
"But we don't know his name or address," Chrys
pointed out.
"The waiter will know. The one who brought the package to you."
But it turned out that the waiter didn't know, for he was a new employer at the hotel and had not been resident before at Beni Kezar, so it seemed like fate that Chrys should have to accept the Hand of Fatma without even a word of thanks for it.
"Mektub, mektub," said Maud philosophically.
When later on they drove to the mosque gardens for tea, the sky was a clear, unclouded blue and the air was as heady and dazzling as great sips of champagne. Chrys leaned forward in the arabeah and filled her eyes with all the passing scenery, crowned by the great palms, which all seemed to take a natural salaam above the heads of the people, and the line of camels marching solemnly in the direction of the desert, loads of bedding and pots swaying on their backs, the women and children walking among them while the men rode high on the humps.
"What a typical sign of male superiority! " said Chrys scornfully.
"Not really." Maud looked at her companion with twinkling eyes. "The camel is a truculent beast and they need firm guidance or they'd dash off like hares with all those Bedouin belongings heading for Timbuctoo. They aren't too comfortable to sit, which is another reason why the women much prefer to walk. See how gracefully they walk! Being curled up on the neck of a camel would spoil that posture of theirs, and they know it. Can you hear the bells on their ankles? These women are the most feminine in the world, and they often choose quite deliberately to wear that one-eyed veil."
"So in the East, what one sees is not always the obvious truth." Chrys gazed after the Bedouin women in their long indigo blue robes, with a
lilt to their walk and a magical sort of music at their heels. "Maud, it must take years to come to terms with the contradictions of
these people! "
"Of course, my dear. You won't learn everything in a mere matter of weeks. Did you like Peter ?"
"He's charming, but aren't you afraid, Maud, that I shall lose my head over him?"
"Somehow I don't see it happening. Two fair people rarely click, for nature has a positive love of opposites." And to bear out her statement, when they reached the gardens Maud took Chrys to see all the varied plants and flowers, growing in a profusion that took licence from the sun. The petunias, the gold and red nasturtiums, starry violet jasmine, and peonies like flame in contrast to the huge white geraniums, and sheets of purple bougainvillaea.
The sun picked out glittering motes in the bright tiles of the forecourt of the white mosque. Pigeons strutted on the stone coping of the fountains, and the drowsy perfume of the flowers mingled with that of the water against the hot stone:
Chrys felt again as if she had wandered into the Arabian Nights, and almost hypnotic was the sound of the cicadas hidden like leaves among the juniper and cypress trees.
This was not prayer time, so they were allowed into the lower hall of the mosque, with its painted panels like Persian carpets, and its marble-tiled floor, and cupola-arched doorways. A sigh was like a whisper, a whisper was like a shout, and the air was filled with an essence of musk and sandalwood and crushed jasmine petals.
They were served with tea and cakes beneath a giant fig tree, which stretched its branches and hung its great leaves like a green parasol above them.
"It's all very beautiful," Chrys murmured. "Achingly so."
"Wait until you see the magnificent loneliness of the desert . . . that will really set your imagination soaring. It's an added blessing that you can ride."
"I learned when I was younger, but I haven't done
much riding in the past few years. A dancer has to take care of her legs."
"I daresay," said Maud drily. "It wouldn't look exactly artistic to see a bow-legged ballet dancer. Missing your old haunts yet?"
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