Blue Jasmine

by Violet Winspear

  `Only because I've had no breakfast and I'm feeling weak,' she quipped back at him, with spirit.

  His teeth showed in a smile as he gazed into her eyes that were like blue flowers opened wide by the sun. He drew her suddenly hard and close to him, and she knew in her bones that he had a need of her which he would never admit to. His life of leadership admitted of few relaxations . . . with her he was able to let down some of the barriers that his position imposed on him. He wanted no submissive slave. He wanted her, with her blaze of fair hair and her skin that contrasted softly white with his. He wanted her and she was his, with or without the love she might have got from a man more civilized.

  As he kissed her half-parted lips, she could have died with longing, with love, with fear of the future.

  His lips caressed her cheek and the side of her neck and she felt his bristles. 'Come, ma fille, we had better be on our way!'

  He released her and turned to the horse to make sure all was well with the spirited stallion. Half their water had gone to the horse, who must carry both of them across many miles of desert beneath the hot sun. The great horse tossed his mane at the touch of his master's hand. He nuzzled the broad shoulder and gave a nicker of love.

  Lorna watched them as she adjusted her shesh, and she remembered what the Shaikh had said about caring more for his horses than the women who crossed his path. How many women had there been? He was so vital and handsome that Lorna could hardly bear the thought of the lovely Arabian girls he must have held in his arms. He was, after all, the son of a powerful Emir. A prince in his own right.

  With a resilient bound he was in the saddle of his horse. 'Step into my stirrup,' he said to Lorna. She obeyed and was encircled by his arm and swung up in front of him. She felt the steely clasp of his arm and for a moment his eyes held hers. 'I shall not let you go,' he said.

  `Poor Caliph,' she said, and her heart was racing as she wondered if there had been a double meaning in his words. 'He must carry our combined weights.'

  `You weigh no more than a palm bough.' Suddenly his nostrils flared as he drew in the desert air. 'This is not the first time I have carried you across the sands on Caliph's saddlebow!'

  Then they were away, and this time she tingled with enjoyment of the ride. The sky was a wild apricot colour, the sands had a velvety look in the distance. The wind that whipped at them was exhilarating. Never had she felt so vividly alive and aware of the ruthless beauty of the desert. The hills of Yraa receded behind them and Lorna did not look back.

  Halfway through the day they met with a band of nomads who greeted them in a friendly way and were only too happy to give them water. As the sun was high, they were invited into one of the wide-open tents and food was offered them. Lorna was famished and she ate like any Arab, scooping up the meat and gravy with a flap of bread.

  She would have been sent to eat in the women's section of the tent, but the Shaikh told these people she was a boy, lost with him in the sandstorm the night before. 'Hungry but shy, with not much to say for himself.' The gleam in the tawny eyes was full of devilment, but as caravan tea was being served to them, he whispered to her not to remove her shesh. `No Arab boy ever had soft golden hair,' he said wickedly.

  The tea was sweet with sugar and green with mint, but Lorna was dry and she drank several glasses and then drowsed against a big pillow stuffed with sheep's wool. She listened sleepily to the men talking together in deep-throated Arabic. They were rugged but kind, and when the Shaikh said at last that he and the 'boy' must be on their way, the nomads pressed upon them a goatskin of water, some bread flaps and a lump of cheese.

  The sun was smouldering in the west when they set out again, painting the sands with colour as they rode away from the low black tents. 'Allah ibarek,' echoed behind them, and soon all was silence and they were riding in the afterglow of the desert sunset

  Make a sunset wish, Lorna thought, and it will be granted. But she made no wishes. Like these people of the golden sands, she was beginning to believe in kismet. What would be, would be. Everything was written in the sands.

  Her head rested against the strong shoulder of the man she could not resist. His profile was hawklike against the luminous light that spread fleetingly across the desert. She would never betray what she felt for this man, to whom love for a woman was a lesser thing than his love for the desert, his horses, his tribe, and his elderly father who would one day recall him to Sidi Kebir.

  Darkness came and the heat of the day vanished in coolness. There was a splendour about the stillness and the stars, so many of them that several were seen to fall, tiny golden comets that fell into space and flickered out.

  Kasim's thoughts seemed lost in those starlight spaces, and Lorna left him to his silence. In a while he asked her if she was hungry. She shook her head and asked if they were nearing the camp.

  `Another hour,' he said, 'and we will be there.' `Are you following the stars?' she enquired.

  `Yes. Tonight they sparkle like gems, eh? One

  could almost reach up and pluck a handful.'

  would be content with one,' she said.

  `Of course you would.' His smile was teasing. 'You are the girl who shrinks from being decked in pearls. Do you wish that what I told the nomads was true? Would you sooner be a boy?'

  `If I were a boy

  `You would not have caught my ruthless eye.' He laughed, a deep purring sound in the dark. 'As I said at the camp of the nomads, no boy ever had hair like corn silk.'

  `After all that sand last night it needs a good tubbing.' Her cheek against his shoulder was warm. A boy indeed! Never had she felt so glad that she was a woman, and one he found attractive. 'I can't wait to get into a bath of hot soapy water.'

  He laughed again. 'You are a fastidious little cat, and perhaps that is why I like you.'

  What, she wondered wistfully, would an expression of love sound like from him?

  They rode into camp amid a tumult of greetings from the men and women who came hurrying from the tents. Lorna was lifted down off Caliph and she quickly escaped from the confusion into the grande tente, which now felt more like home than any other place she had ever known. She kicked off her boots, ran her fingers through her sandy hair, and was thirstily drinking limoon when Zahra came to her.

  `We were all so worried.' The girl caught at Lorna's hand and pressed it to her cheek. 'Why did the lella ride off and leave the sidi?'

  `Because the lella has less sense than a she-camel.' Lorna shook sand grains out of her shirt. `Zahra, I must have a bath!'

  `Instantly.' The girl smiled, but she didn't leave at once to fetch the water. 'Leila?'

  `Yes, my dear?' For some reason Lorna felt the sudden grip of tension.

  `A message came from Sidi Kebir while my lord was away—his father the Emir is sick. He asks for the Prince Kasim.'

  Lorna stared at the girl and her eyes were like pools of violet-blue shadow in her suddenly pale face.

  `Will the lella go to the palace with my lord Kasim?'

  Lorna's heart beat wildly. 'I . . . I should not think so, Zahra. He will leave me here in camp . .. or he may send me back to Yraa. Is the Emir very sick?'

  `I think so, lella. The Emir Mansour is quite elderly, though the Prince Kasim is a young man. Men of the East often marry very young women, and the Emir's wife was many years younger than he. She was a roumia, only with raven dark hair. She died when her son was thirteen and about to become a man.'

  `At thirteen he became a man?' Lorna's smile was grave and tender. 'In my land he would have been a schoolboy, playing football and getting into all sorts of scrapes.' Lorna' s hands clenched at her sides. 'Please fetch my bath-water, Zahra. I must wash off this sand ... we were caught in the storm last night . . . it was only by the merest chance that the Prince Kasim found me.'

  `The lella must have been very glad?'

  Lorna met the Arabian girl's eyes, so limpid and yet so wise. 'Yes, I was glad,' she said quietly.

  As the flap of the tent fell i
nto place behind the young Arab girl, Lorna at once sank down on to a divan and hid her face against the cushions. She was dizzy from shock, and her heart was aching. The Emir needed his son, and Kasim would go to him as soon as possible ! She would not be asked to go with him.

  Kismet. Now when she desired nothing else but to be with him, he was called away.

  She had bathed and was seated on the foot of the bed, wrapped in a big towel and brushing her damp hair, when the bead curtain parted and Kasim entered in his imperious way. He too had bathed and was clad in a soft linen kibr open at the throat, his hair was darkly agleam, but his eyes were sombre as Lorna glanced up at him.

  `Hassan is bringing our supper,' he said. 'Do you feel more relaxed after your bath?'

  The scent of her bath still clung to the room and to her person, and she was acutely aware of his attraction and her own defencelessness. 'I . . . I have to get dressed,' she said.

  `In one moment.' He sat down beside her and took the brush from her hand. To her confusion he began to brush her hair, which was as soft and shining as an infant's after its tubbing.

  `If we parted for ever tonight,' he said, 'I should remember always the soft feel of your hair and the way it holds the desert sunshine.'

  Though her heart ached at his words, she yet found the courage to spar with him. 'This is a new role, Prince Kasim, valet to your slave girl.'

  He dropped the brush and gripped her shoulders. `My father lies ill at Sidi Kebir, and I leave at dawn to be with him, Lorna.'

  `I am sorry about your father.' She spoke sincerely, and she longed to smooth the lines of worry from his face. 'I hope his illness is not a grave one.'

  `He has suffered a heart attack. Lorna

  `Yes, my lord?'

  She addressed him quite naturally in that way, but he looked at her as if he thought she was being ironical. 'You realize that I have to come to a decision with regard to . . . you?'

  `Of course.' She hardly dared to meet his eyes in case she betrayed her longing to be with him. Her pride was a forgotten thing, lost in the love that had found its place in her heart. She didn't want to be parted from him! Out of a wild fear had grown a tender love.

  His face was stern, thoughtful, and then with a sigh he rose to his feet and towered over the bed. 'We must discuss the matter, but for now I will leave you to dress. Don't be too long, will you?'

  She shook her head with a slight smile, but the smile soon faded as he left her and she began to dress in the garments that no longer felt strange. Her tunic was a soft rose colour over organza trousers, and this might be the last time she would wear them to please the Shaikh.

  She stood hesitant a moment at the bead curtain, then she quietly joined him in the outer tent. His back was to her, so that for a moment she was free to let her gaze roam his wide shoulders, his proud dark head,

  the lean grace of him.

  He swung round and their eyes locked. She knew she looked cool and composed, but it was a brave facade behind which she was hiding her love, her fear of separation from him. No longer was her freedom worth anything to her. She wanted always to be his captive.

  `Our supper is ready and it looks very tasty,' he said. 'Are you hungry? You should be after all those hours in the desert?'

  `The food smells delicious.' She sank down among the big cushions of the divan and felt him close to her as he served her with tender chicken spiced with herbs, and vegetables cooked in butter. 'If Hassan were not so devoted to his master,' she smiled, 'I am sure he would win fame and fortune as a chef in a swank hotel.'

  `After a man has lived in the desert he finds it hard to breathe freely in a city.'

  `You hate the thought of leaving the desert, don't you?' She fought to keep her voice cool and impersonal. He mustn't know how she clamoured to comfort him.

  She felt the brooding flick of his eyes. In a corner of the tent a brasero glowed warmly. The entrance of the tent was firmly closed. They were alone, their intimacy was complete and at the same time so threatened.

  `If my father dies I shall no longer be free to live in the desert. I shall no longer be able to enjoy the life of the tribesmen.' His left hand clenched on the table. `In the desert a man is but a man. He is close to the primitive heart of things, and often very close to danger. He can ride, hunt, be free of the shackles imposed on the city dweller. I would give anything—'

  There he broke off and shrugged in a fatalistic way. Lorna finished the sentence in her own mind. He would give anything to be as free as Ahmed or any of the men who rode and hunted with him.

  They finished their supper and were left quite alone after Hassan came with their coffee. Tonight Arabian coffee which seemed redolent of all the essences of Araby. Lorna welcomed its richness, just as she welcomed the clamour of her love for the Shaikh, who now prowled about the tent with the soft, strong tread of a leopard.

  A restless light burned in his eyes. His tall figure threw a long shadow in the lamplight, and as soon as he crushed out one cigarette he lit another.

  Lorna associated none of his restlessness with her own dilemma. The touch of splendour about Kasim couldn't blind her to his dedication to duty. She told herself he would send her away without a qualm. She was but his toy ... curled down among the divan cushions, silk clad, wearing the pearls he had given her, her fingers toying with them.

  Suddenly he swung to face her with a gesture of controlled violence. Through narrowed eyes he studied her on the divan, the way her slender neck curved out of the rose silk, the way her small feet arched in ruby slippers. His own body grew forbidding in its stillness.

  `Of what are you thinking?' he demanded. 'You sit there so quietly, as if my departure tomorrow had nothing to do with you. Are you secretly glad that I am going? Can't you wait until dawn to see me ride away?'

  She was unable to answer him. She was too stricken, too numb with pain, the tears like barbs of ice in her throat. He mustn't know how deeply she cared, how rent she would be when he rode away on Caliph, his cloak flaring out above the gleaming black haunches of the horse, a vivid etching against the sunrise.

  `Lift your lashes!' He came to her in a stride. 'Look at me!'

  She dared not, and shrank against the cushions as his hands encircled her throat and tilted back her head until he could look into her eyes. His hands were warm, sun-dark against the soft pallor of her skin.

  `Chained ! ' He caught his fingers in the pearls as if to break the chain, and then he gave a low and savage laugh. But tomorrow you go free, eh? I leave freedom for the chain of office !'

  His look, his touch, the way he spoke, they all combined to hurt her. 'I thought you intended to sell me to the next rich Arabian,' she said in a choked voice.

  His look grew smouldering beneath the level line of his brows. The next moment he was beside her on the divan and she was dragged into his arms, crushed and kissed with a violence that frightened her even as it thrilled her. 'You thought I would let you go, eh?' He held her against the cushions and raked the pale gleam of her skin through the rose silk, touched the sheen of her hair in the lamplight. 'Your eyes are the blue of the jasmine that grows in the garden of the palace, and you will see it growing in great clusters over the walls and pergolas beneath the windows of my apartments there.'

  She gazed up at him and saw a nerve beating hard beside his lips so near to hers. Lips that shaped words she didn't dare to believe in.

  `Do you hear me?' His eyes smouldered. 'I am taking you with me to the palace.'

  `The palace?' she echoed.

  `My father has heard of you. He commands me in his message to bring with me the woman I have in my tent.'

  `You .. .' She went weak in his arms. 'You are not sending me back to Yraa?'

  `I am sorry, my bint.' A mocking little smile played about his lips. Not often does my father command me to do a thing, and because of his illness I don't wish to oppose him You will come with me when I leave at dawn tomorrow.'

  `And then what?' she whispered.

&n
bsp; `Who can tell?' He arose with supple grace from the divan and went to his desk. He unlocked a drawer and took something from it. He returned to her, raised her hand and found the finger that the star-sapphire ring would fit. She gazed at him, not at the sapphire.

  The single star you wished for,' he said.

  `Will your father expect your kadin to be well adorned?'

  His teeth flashed in a smile and she sensed a slackening of the tension that had vibrated in him all the evening. He encircled her with his arm and bent his head to drop a kiss in the crook of her elbow. 'Do

  you like the ring, ma fille?'

  `It's very beautiful.'

  `Less so than the woman who wears it.' His lips caressed her earlobe. 'Shall I make you melt, my ice-maiden? Shall I make you respond to me?'

  `If I responded, then you would tire of me. You said so.'

  `So I did.' He laughed lazily and fondled the tendrils of soft hair at the nape of her neck, sending little flame-like thrills through her ... thrills she tensed against.

  `How long have we been together?' he murmured. `Sometimes for me it seems but a very few days.'

  She closed her eyes as his lips stole to her lips. She told him how long it had been, lost, drowning in the delight that for him was surely a thing of the moment.

  `Our desert air seems to agree with you, Lorna. I have not known you to be indisposed in any way. You would tell me, of course?'

  `Concern, Prince Kasim, for me?'

  His eyes were leopard drowsy as they dwelt on hers. `You are but a girl,' he said. 'Naturally there have been times when I have been a little worried about you.'

  `Only a little?' She forced herself to speak lightly.

  `I like to see you glowing and lovely—a sick creature on my hands would not please me.'

  `What a brute you are !' Her fingernails curled against his cheek. 'A cruel abductor of innocent girls !' `Only of one, cherie.'

  Did you twist all the others around your fingers like silken threads and had no need for force?'

  `I am not forcing you right now.' His eyes dwelt on her face, a pale heart against the purple velvet of a cushion. 'You lie in my arms quite willingly.'