by Lucy Gordon
Honoured with everything but my freedom, Fran thought.
But she held her tongue. When she next saw Ali she would have plenty to say.
It was early evening. Fran went out onto the balcony and watched the last few minutes of daylight before the light vanished and it was pitch-dark, almost as though somebody had thrown a switch.
Even in her present mood she had to admit that this was a magic place at night. Below her were the palace gardens, hung with a thousand coloured lamps, glowing against the velvety blackness. Beyond that was the city, with its own lights, hinting at a rich, busy life. From somewhere below the sound of music floated up to her.
Looking down, she could see the paths that crisscrossed in the garden, and the figures that strolled in the blessed cool of the evening. One of them might almost have been Ali.
She peered at the tall figure in the white robes and gold agal. She couldn’t see his face, but his bearing and the way he moved made her sure that it was Ali. He was talking to someone by his side, someone smaller, whose head was covered and who might have been a woman…
Fran didn’t even realise that she’d tensed, leaning forward a little more, and a little more, until the figure turned-and she saw his beard. Then she discovered that she was gripping the rail with all her strength. She released it, feeling the waves of relief wash through her so fiercely that she felt faint.
To make it worse, Ali looked up at that moment. She stepped away so that he shouldn’t catch her looking at him. But she was sure he would have seen her. She turned quickly back into the room.
To pass the time she pulled out some of the books she found on a shelf near her bed. They were in English, and all about Kamar.
She had already learned a good deal about the country in her preparation for the feature, but this book concentrated more on the men who had shaped the principality.
Kamar was barely sixty years old. It had become a self-governing state because one determined man, Najeeb, had appeared out of the desert, sat himself and his tribe down on the first oil well, and refused to budge. He was the man the oil companies had had to deal with, and when he’d declared himself sovereign it had been easier not to argue.
He didn’t sound a very pleasant man, Fran thought, but he’d had vision, courage, determination and obstinacy. He’d been Ali’s grandfather.
His son, Najeeb the second, had made money easily and spent it easily. He’d had two sons, who had quarrelled for the throne, and the younger, Saleem, had triumphed. Saleem had opened up Kamar to modern technology, and seemed to have been an enlightened ruler.
The photographs showed men with curiously similar faces, fierce, hard, seeming to look out on far desert horizons. They all had a noticeable unyielding quality about the mouth and chin, the same quality Fran had seen in Ali’s face. He came from a line of men who were ruthless by nature, and also because ruthlessness was the only thing that paid. And he was one of them.
She was suddenly unwilling to read any more. She closed the book sharply. At once Leena was on her feet, urging that it was time to retire. Fran agreed.
It seemed that Leena would stay with her, sleeping on a small truckle bed, in case she should want anything during the night. Fran’s attempts to shoo her away proved fruitless, so she resigned herself. And when she awoke in the early hours, with a parched throat, it was pleasant to have someone make her some herbal tea that sent her back to a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
I N THE morning Leena had a surprise for her.
‘We can go to the bazaar and do some shopping, if it is your wish,’ she suggested.
So she wasn’t to be kept locked in the palace all the time, Fran reflected. Perhaps while she was out she would find a chance to contact the British ambassador.
The maids dressed her in the peacock robes, and set the matching turban on her head. The veil was connected to one side of this, and could be drawn across her face to be hooked onto the other side.
Outside the door she found four large men waiting, their arms folded.
‘They are your guard of honour,’ Leena explained.
‘Oh, I see,’ Fran said wryly.
A stretch limousine waited below. One of the guards drove, the other three settled into the first compartment. Fran and Leena went into the second compartment. The car began to draw away.
But before they had travelled a couple of yards there was the sound of footsteps outside and one of the doors to the rear compartment was wrenched open. Next moment, a man had settled himself on the seat facing Fran, and pulled the door shut.
‘Get out!’ shrieked Leena. Then her hands flew to her mouth and she whispered, ‘My lord!’
It wasn’t Ali but a young man who resembled him, except that his expression was lighter and his eyes twinkled with merriment.
‘I couldn’t resist having a look at my cousin’s latest acquisition,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Your veil,’ Leena gasped to Fran.
‘Too late, I’ve seen her face now,’ the young man said. He smiled at Fran. ‘I am Prince Yasir, Ali’s cousin. Tell me, are the stories true? Did Ali really pay a hundred thousand for you?’
‘Pay?’ Fran gasped.
‘That’s what the rumours say. Most women don’t come so expensive. I’ve never paid more than thirty thousand myself, but Ali acquires only the best, and I can see you’re something out of the ordinary.’
‘Get out of here at once!’ Fran exploded. ‘Go on! Get out before I kick you out.’
Leena shrieked, but the young man merely roared with laughter. ‘And with the spirit of the devil. You were worth every penny. Goodbye-until we meet again.’
The next moment he opened the door and jumped out while the car was still moving.
‘He is a prince,’ Leena moaned, ‘and you threatened him. The royal displeasure will fall on us.’
‘Nonsense!’ Fran said robustly. ‘How dare he suggest that I was bought?’
‘But everyone says you cost Prince Ali a hundred thousand,’ Leena protested.
‘He gave that much to charity because-that is-to please me,’ Fran said, choosing her words carefully.
Leena gasped. ‘Then he must value you greatly.’
So now she knew how she was regarded here, Fran thought: as a high-priced acquisition, on a level with a jewel or a racehorse. No doubt Ali saw her in the same light.
Then she forgot her indignation in her excitement at being in the bazaar. As the limousine glided through the streets people backed away and bowed to the royal flag, although the darkened windows meant that they couldn’t see inside. They drew to a halt. Leena settled Fran’s veil back in place, and they stepped out of the car.
She gasped as she felt the noonday sun beating down on her. But when she’d had a few minutes to accustom herself she enjoyed the heat, the brilliant light and the dazzling colours. If this had been a holiday she would have revelled in it. As it was, the guard of honour constantly reminded her that she was a prisoner, although an honoured one.
Since she could order anything she wanted at the palace, there was little for her to buy in the street, but she chose a pair of white doves, whose cooing and friendly ways enchanted her. The vendor assured her, through Leena, that no cage was necessary.
‘Win their love, and they will stay with you,’ he promised.
‘He means they will fly back to him and he can sell them again,’ Leena said indignantly. ‘We’ll have a cage.’
‘No,’ Fran said. ‘No cage.’
Leena started to argue, but Fran silenced her. She took a bag of food from the vendor, and used it to entice the doves into the car. As they got in, Fran could see the driver talking into the car phone. She discovered why when she reached her room to find a dovecote already set up on the balcony.
To her delight the doves seemed pleased with their new home, and showed no inclination to fly away.
‘Not like me,’ she murmured to them. ‘I’ll fly at the first opportunity.’
There
was a light snack, then Leena seemed mysteriously anxious for Fran to take a nap. But she refused to say why this was so important, until Fran had awoken and was taking a cooling bath.
‘What’s that?’ she demanded as Leena poured a sweet-smelling lotion into the water. Eyes closed, she breathed it in, and instantly strange thoughts began to float through her mind. It was a heady, erotic scent, hinting of passion incited and fulfilled. It was a perfume for lovers, and she breathed it in with relish.
Then abruptly she opened her eyes, assailed by suspicion. ‘I’m getting out of here,’ she said firmly, and climbed out of the tub. ‘And when I’ve had supper I’m going to bed for a very early night.’
‘But I have to prepare you for the master. He has chosen you to be his companion tonight. You are most honoured among women.’
‘Fiddlesticks!’ Fran said shortly. ‘If you think I’m going to let you do me up like a turkey being prepared for the table, you’re very much mistaken.’
‘But it is the custom,’ Leena wailed. ‘To be chosen by the great lord is the finest thing that can happen to a concubine.’
‘I’m not a concubine!’
‘The chosen one is bowed down with honour.’
‘Not this chosen one!’ Fran snapped. ‘I’m not going to be bowed down with anything. I shall go with my head up, look him in the eye and tell him what I think of him.’
‘But properly attired,’ Leena begged. ‘Or I am in trouble.’
‘Very well. Only for your sake.’
The seamstresses had worked through the night and the first of Fran’s new clothes was ready. It was a marvel in pale fawn satin and brocade, with a wide, jewel-encrusted sash around the tiny waist. Over it was a tunic of diaphanous silk gauze, also glittering with jewels. When the matching turban was in place Fran drew a disbelieving breath at the sight of the Arab beauty who looked back at her from the mirror.
Ali seemed to be there with her, whispering ‘I told you so’, his eyes glowing with desire…
She drew a sharp breath and castigated herself. She was furious with Ali, set on leaving him at the first chance and never seeing him again. She must remember that.
The door opened and Rasheeda entered. It was the first time Fran had seen the mistress of concubines since the first day. Rasheeda regarded her loftily, then nodded her approval. Leena visibly relaxed.
From outside the door came the melancholy, mysterious sound of a horn being blown.
‘Your litter is here,’ Rasheeda said, adjusting Fran’s veil. ‘You will travel inside it to His Highness’s apartments, and I will walk ahead proclaiming your coming. When you see the prince, remember to bow low and say, “Your humble servant greets you, my lord.” Do not meet his eyes unless he tells you to. To look at him without his permission is a grave offence. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ Fran said, breathing hard.
Rasheeda opened the door, four large men carried a curtained litter inside, and set it down. Leena parted the curtains for Fran to step in, closed the curtains firmly again, and they were on their way.
The litter was carried by men chosen for their size and strength. The inside was fitted with gold, inlaid with rubies and emeralds, and furnished with gold satin. The sides were shielded by curtains of white and gold brocade.
The journey seemed to take for ever. Shut away behind the curtains, Fran could only guess what was happening. In front of her she could hear the sound of the horn, followed by Rasheeda crying out words in Arabic.
She spent the time trying to sort out her thoughts and prepare what she was going to say to Ali. It would be like him, she thought crossly, not to be there when she arrived.
But he was there. She heard him speaking to the bearers, then the sound of feet retreating, the door closing.
‘You can get out now,’ came Ali’s amused voice.
Fran leapt out of the litter and looked around for him, but Ali had retreated to a safe distance and was watching her with laughing eyes. Fran snatched away her veil and faced him.
‘If you have the nerve to think that “your humble servant” is going to bow to you-’
‘But I don’t,’ he said, laughing. ‘That’s why I took the precaution of making sure we were alone first. If my servants had seen you greet me disrespectfully I should have had to cast you into a snakepit, which would rather have spoiled our evening.’
Fran regarded him. ‘How dare you send for me as though you had only to snap your fingers and I must jump to attention?’ she seethed.
‘But I’m afraid that’s exactly true,’ Ali said apologetically. ‘I appreciate that you are unfamiliar with this arrangement, but don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.’
‘Not in a million years!’
‘Will you and I be provoking each other for a million years, my Diamond? What a wonderful prospect.’ His eyes smiled at her, in a way that almost made her forget her anger. ‘How beautiful you are!’
‘Don’t try to change the subject.’
‘To me, your beauty is always the subject. How your eyes enthral me!’ He deftly removed the turban, letting her hair fall freely about her shoulders, and running his hands through it. ‘And your hair! How I have dreamed of your hair!’ He drew her into his arms. ‘And of your lips,’ he said, covering them.
A thousand answers jostled in her brain, but with her mouth engaged with his possessive kisses she could make none of them. She tried to hold onto rational thought, but she was just realising that she had secretly longed for his embrace. Throughout all her justified indignation, that yearning had been there, like a subtle, endlessly repeated chord. Now she had what her flesh wanted and her mind resisted.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered, ‘haven’t you dreamed of me, just a little?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and watched the eager light come into his eyes. ‘I’ve dreamed of how I was going to make you very, very sorry. I enjoyed those dreams.’
‘How hard-hearted you are!’ he chided her softly.
‘I’m-?’
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by his mouth on hers. She should have been ready for him, but nothing could have prepared her for the scorching intensity with which he caressed her lips again and again, until she gasped from the sensation.
‘Such a battle we will have,’ he whispered. ‘And how we will enjoy the victory!’
‘Whose victory?’
‘When we lie in each other’s arms it will be a victory for both of us. Otherwise it will not be a true loving. We must look to the night ahead with joy.’
‘We-’
‘But for a while we must wait,’ he added, releasing her. ‘Passion, like many things, must be deferred so that it’s full savour can be appreciated. Try to be a little patient.’
Fran was speechless. To give herself the relief of exercise she began to pace Ali’s apartment, which was stupendous in its luxury. It was a kind of labyrinth, with horseshoe arches leading off in all directions. The mosaics on the walls were inlaid with intricately worked gold that gleamed richly in the soft light.
They were in a large room with several tables, laden with every possible variety of food. Instead of chairs, long couches were strewn around, as though for an orgy. But there were just the two of them.
‘It’s shocking, isn’t it?’ Ali said, reading her face.
‘Yes, it is,’ she responded indignantly. ‘Nobody has the right to live like this when there are people starving.’ She studied one of the walls and added, ‘It looks new.’
‘You sound as though that made it worse.’
‘It does. If this was an old palace I might-’
‘Forgive me?’
‘Understand the need. I mean, if it’s there anyway- but building from scratch-all that money-’
‘Blame my great-grandfather, Najeeb. He built the first palace, but it wasn’t big enough, so his son had to build this one.’
‘The first palace?’
‘I love you when your eyes pop with virtuous indignati
on. Come out onto the balcony and I’ll show you the Sahar Palace. It’s called that because Sahar means dawn, and with its high tower it catches the dawn sun before any other building.’
His balcony looked out over the city. Following his pointing finger, she just made out Sahar Palace. It was hard because the building was in darkness. Simply abandoned, she thought crossly. Her fingers itched to get at her Dictaphone and make notes of the waste and extravagance in this country. Luckily her memory was excellent.
‘Can you put your puritan scruples aside long enough to eat something?’ Ali asked, taking her hand and leading her to where a banquet was laid out on long tables decked with flowers.
‘I hope the food is to your liking,’ he said, pointing to one dish.
‘Chicken with dates and honey,’ Fran said in wonder.
‘I promised that we would have your favourite dish the next time we dined together. Who would have thought it would be under such circumstances?’
‘You would. You had this planned all the time.’
‘Oh, no. Not until you threw down the gauntlet. I had no choice but to take it up. You insulted me, and you couldn’t be allowed to get away with it.’
‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, seeking revenge?’ she challenged. ‘Only petty men do that.’
He laughed. ‘In your country, maybe. But here a man who doesn’t take revenge for an insult cannot hold up his head.’
‘On a woman?’
He shrugged. ‘The insult came from a woman. And, since a thousand women cannot be the equal of one man, a man who lets himself be bested by a woman is truly disgraced.’
She was about to explode when she saw his eyes twinkling at her, as though he knew exactly what she expected, and was playing up to it. And she remembered just what a very clever man Ali was. She was moving through a strange dream, where every reference was moved, the impossible became real and the solid ground dissolved beneath her feet. And he understood it all.
As he had done the first night, he handed her to her seat, and served her himself.
‘It’s a good thing your servants can’t see you doing that,’ she observed. ‘I’m sure it’s beneath your dignity to serve a woman.’