by Anne Mather
‘Prince Alain had the schoolroom equipped by a professional designer from London,’ Muhammed explained, as Ashley gazed in some confusion at this new concept in education, and she spread her hands a little bewilderedly at the various consoles and instruments.
‘Am I needed?’ she asked herself, half inaudibly, but Muhammed heard her and came to stand near her.
‘You have doubts, mademoiselle?’ he asked, his dark eyes intent, and Ashley bestowed on him a tight smile.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ she countered stiffly, suspicious of his attentions, and he tipped his turbanned head on one side as he fingered the cord at his waist.
‘Perhaps,’ he conceded, watching Hussein playing with a coloured globe that revolved electronically. ‘But Prince Alain brought you here. He would not have done so if he did not think you were needed, mademoiselle.’
Ashley gasped, never expecting approval from the dour Muhammed. ‘But you know why I’m here,’ she protested, and his lips curled back to reveal large yellow teeth.
‘You are here because my master wills it so,’ returned Muhammed insistently, and Ashley gazed at him in amazement.
‘Your master? But Prince Ahmed—’
‘Prince Alain is my master, mademoiselle!’ he retorted, making a polite obeisance. ‘Saida, Miss—Conway. I will leave you to your task.’
Hussein joined her as soon as Muhammed had departed, and looked up at her thoughtfully. ‘You have green eyes!’ he exclaimed, disconcerting her anew. ‘My eyes are green, too.’
Ashley moved her head up and down rather jerkily. ‘Yes. Yes, I noticed,’ she agreed, clenching her hands to prevent herself from touching him. ‘Isn’t that a coincidence?’
‘Uncle Alain says green eyes are—an accident of nature,’ Hussein replied, quoting the words with studied accuracy. ‘So we must be two such accidents, must we not, mademoiselle? Which means we are a little alike, does it not?’
‘A little,’ Ashley conceded tautly. ‘Now, shall we sit down, and you can tell me all about yourself? I only know what—what your uncle has told me. And it’s important that we should learn about one another, before we learn anything else.’
‘All right.’ Hussein was quite willing to postpone lessons until later, and they seated themselves on the stone ledge that adjoined the windows, and smiled at one another. ‘You are a very pretty lady, mademoiselle,’ he added, with a sincerity Ashley found immensely appealing. ‘I am glad you have come to teach me. Uncle Alain says you were not happy at the school.’
‘Is that what Uncle Alain says?’ Ashley took out a tissue and blew her nose, and then determinedly gathered her defences. ‘So—you tell me what makes you happy, and about your life here at the palace.’
Hussein’s small dark brows drew together. ‘Very well. There are lots of things that make me happy.’ He paused. ‘I like swimming, and playing with my dogs. I like fencing with Muhammed.’ He frowned. ‘But most of all I like riding with Uncle Alain.’
Ashley licked her dry lips. ‘Uncle Alain takes you riding?’
Hussein nodded. ‘Whenever he can. He is a very busy man, you understand, but whenever he can find the time, we ride out into the desert.’
‘Do you?’ Ashley hid her apprehension. The desert seemed such a wild and dangerous place to take a small boy. ‘And—and what about playmates? Don’t you have any friends? Don’t you have any cousins who could share your games with you?’
Hussein shrugged. ‘I have cousins,’ he said, and Ashley’s nerves tightened.
‘You do?’
‘Of course.’ Hussein grimaced. ‘There is Kasim and Ahmed, Mara and Simone and Jalal and Selim and Hassan—’
Ashley interrupted him then. ‘But who are all these cousins? I—I didn’t know that your Uncle Alain had married.’
‘Uncle Alain is not married,’ declared Hussein sharply, and there was an underlying note of possession in his voice as she said so. ‘Uncle Alain does not wish to be married. He does not need a wife to give him sons. He has me!’
Ashley sucked in her breath. ‘And—your cousins?’
‘They are the children of my aunts Media and Ramira. They do not live at the palace, as I do.’ This was said without conceit, but his pride was evident, and Ashley found it difficult to proceed.
‘But you do see them,’ she said at last, and Hussein nodded.
‘When my aunts come to stay.’
‘And apart from that, you have no one?’
‘I do not need anyone else,’ he declared, and his expression revealed he was growing tired of this aspect of their conversation. ‘Now, I have told you about me. You must tell me about you.’
‘Oh, there’s nothing much to tell.’ Ashley made a gesture of dismissal. ‘I used to teach in that school in London, that’s all.’
‘Do you have a family of your own?’ asked Hussein doubtfully. ‘Where are your father and mother?’
‘They died when I was small,’ explained Ashley regretfully. ‘I was brought up by an elderly aunt, but she’s dead now, too.’
‘Then that is something else in which we are alike,’ the boy exclaimed eagerly. ‘My parents are dead also. They died when I was only a baby.’
Ashley’s features felt frozen. ‘Did they?’ she breathed, and Hussein nodded.
‘It was most unfortunate, but Uncle Alain was there to take care of me.’ He smiled. ‘I am very lucky really.’
‘Yes.’ Ashley could only just mouth the word, but Hussein did not seem to notice. It was obvious that so far as he was concerned, Uncle Alain was the most important person in his young life, and she felt a terrible pang at the irony of this. Alain’s name was sprinkled liberally throughout the whole of Hussein’s conversation, and when he went on to tell her how his uncle had taught him to swim and to ride, she acknowledged that so far as her son was concerned their relationship was the most natural thing in the world.
Later on, Hussein took her to the kennels to meet his dogs, and Ashley stood back in some confusion when two enormous hairy monsters launched themselves at him. They were Afghan hounds, she realised, when her initial shock had been contained, and for all their size and evident power they drooled around him with unmistakable affection.
‘Their names are Isis and Osiris,’ exclaimed Hussein, encouraging her to come closer and pat their heads. ‘Do you not think they are beautiful? They were my grandfather’s gift to me.’
‘Not your uncle?’ asked Ashley, rather dryly, unable to prevent the veiled taunt, but Hussein only smiled.
‘They come with us, when my uncle takes me riding,’ he conceded, pushing away their eager tongues as they sought to lick Ashley’s hand. ‘Behave yourself, Osiris, or Miss Conway will not want to see you again.’
Ashley shook her head. They were beautiful creatures, their coats long and silky, and of an attractively creamy shade. She could quite see that given time, she could become attached to them, too, and she guessed that for all his assertion of self-sufficiency, Hussein welcomed their companionship.
The morning passed all too quickly, and Nuzab’s reappearance signalled the end of lessons for that day. Ashley could hardly believe it was already one o’clock, and judging by Hussein’s expression, he, too, regretted that their time together was over.
‘I will see you again tomorrow, will I not?’ he exclaimed, once more under Muhammed’s watchful eye, and Ashley fought back the foolish tears.
‘Of course you will,’ she assured him huskily, bidding him farewell. ‘Until tomorrow—Hussein. I’ll look forward to it.’
It was hard to return to the luxury of her apartments, which, although they were luxurious, were nevertheless impersonal. It was hard too to contemplate how she was to fill her time until the following morning, without even the freedom of the palace grounds to ease her isolation.
Lunch was served at half past one, a light meal of creamy yoghurt, followed by grilled shrimps in a smooth sauce. There was fruit to finish the meal, a choice of juicy melon or apricots, accompanied by a dish of
dates, but Ashley wasn’t very hungry, and Nuzab tutted as she took the food away.
The Arab girl’s suggestion that Ashley might like to rest in the heat of the day had met with an impatient refusal, but after Nuzab had left her, Ashley did feel suddenly weary. Perhaps she would lie down for a while, if only to take off her sticky clothes, she thought, and knew nothing else until Nuzab was drawing wide the curtains on to the lengthening shadows of late afternoon.
‘What time is it?’ Ashley exclaimed, finding her watch had stopped, and Nuzab turned to smile at her.
‘It is thirty minutes after five o’clock, lady,’ she replied, approaching the bed with gentle diffidence. ‘And my mistress, Princess Hélène, requests you join her for the afternoon tea.’
Ashley propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Princess Hélène!’ she echoed faintly. ‘Alain’s mother?’
‘Prince Alain is her son, yes,’ Nuzab agreed, her eyes widening slightly at Ashley’s casual use of her master’s name. ‘You will accept, lady?’
‘Do I have any choice?’ asked Ashley, somewhat tautly, but then she made a placatory movement of her hand. ‘Of course. You may tell Princess Hélène I’d be delighted to accept. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.’
To her relief, Nuzab disappeared to deliver her message, which enabled Ashley to get up and dressed without assistance. After sluicing her face and hands in the bathroom, and promising herself she would take a shower later, she put on another of her summer dresses, a simple yellow cheesecloth. Its short-sleeved design exposed her arms, and she noticed that her morning spent with Hussein, both in and out of doors, had produced a slight reddening of the skin on her forearms, where the sun’s rays had touched her. She would have to take care she did not become sunburnt, she thought, realising exactly how strong the ultra-violet rays must be here, in this scorching part of the world.
It took rather longer to do her hair than she expected, and Nuzab returned before she had it securely wound into its chignon. ‘Let me,’ the Arab girl insisted, bidding her sit down so that she could reach the silky coils. ‘It is shame to hide beauty in ugly knot. Let Nuzab fix it for you, in prettier way.’
‘Thank you, Nuzab, I prefer it how it is,’ retorted Ashley, getting up again, and pushing hairpins into place. ‘There, that looks better. Now, are you going to show me where Princess Hélène lives?’
The Princess’s apartments were only a short distance from her own, and Ashley looked about her with interest, unable to suppress a certain excitement at meeting Alain’s mother for the first time. With the approach of evening, the air was cooling quite rapidly, and it could get quite cold after dark, as Ashley knew from the previous night’s experience.
Her emotions were curiously mixed as she anticipated the impending interview. Remembering Prince Ahmed’s behaviour towards her, she steeled herself not to be distressed by a similar attitude from his wife. But her fears were summarily eased when she was shown into Princess Hélène’s presence. The woman who rose from a cushioned lounging couch to greet her was both eager and smiling, and although she wore a gauzy tunic over loose-fitting Eastern trousers, her face and her manner were totally European.
‘So you are Ashley!’ she exclaimed, after bestowing a kiss on each of the startled girl’s cheeks. ‘I so much wanted to meet Hussein’s mother. Oh, do not look so surprised, chérie,’ she added, subsiding on to the couch again, and bidding Ashley to take a seat. ‘My son had to confess. Alain could never keep any secrets from me.’
Ashley sank down on to the cushioned bench opposite, as much out of necessity as choice. She should have guessed Alain would not conceal her identity from his mother, but somehow the other woman’s attitude had temporarily disarmed her.
To give her guest time to recover from her disconcertment, Princess Hélène summoned her maid, and presently a tray of tea was brought for them, and deposited with great care on the low table between them.
‘Laissez nous, Mignon,’ Hélène dismissed the girl as she would have attended to the cups. ‘We will help ourselves, merci.’
‘Merci, madame.’ Mignon bowed low, and with her departure, Hélène looked at her guest’s pale face once more.
‘You did not expect it, non?’ she said, her tone very lightly teasing. ‘My dear, why should I not wish to meet my grandson’s mother? Particularly when I have so few opportunities to speak with anyone other than my servants.’
Ashley had gone even paler. ‘Your—grandson’s mother?’ she echoed, but Hélène was busying herself with setting out the cups and was not looking at her.
‘Eh bien, my husband’s grandson,’ she corrected herself carelessly. ‘All Ahmed’s grandchildren I treat as my own.’
‘I see.’ Ashley expelled her breath a little more freely, and accepted the bone china cup Hélène offered from the tray. ‘No, no sugar, thank you. And nothing to eat either. I—er—I don’t think I’m quite acclimatised yet.’
Helen shrugged, and helped herself to one of the small cakes Mignon had provided. Round and sugary, they were obviously very fattening, but Hélène’s eyes twinkled as she popped it into her mouth.
‘Would you believe, I was once as slim as you?’ she asked, flicking a crumb from her plump fingers. ‘Living here, you will find, is very demoralising, calorie-wise at least, and there is so little with which to work off one’s energy.’
Ashley did not know how to answer her, and Hélène accepted her reluctance to comment. In truth, Alain’s mother was still a very attractive woman, and although she had obviously put on weight over the years, she was still sufficiently supple to sit cross-legged without any effort.
‘You met Hussein this morning, did you not?’ she continued comfortably, offering more tea which Ashley declined. ‘He is a charming child, is he not?’ She shook her head. ‘He is delightful, and I am very fond of him.’
Ashley drew a deep breath. ‘Then—then you’ll understand why I wanted to come here—why I wanted to teach him—’
‘But of course.’ Hélène’s wide mouth curved. ‘Ashley, I do not blame you. You saw him—you fell in love with him! It is the most natural thing in the world.’
‘Thank you.’ Ashley put down her cup. ‘Thank you for saying so.’
Hélène shrugged. ‘Do not thank me, petite. It is easy for me to say. What is not so easy to understand is why you never asked to see him before this.’
Ashley moistened her lips. ‘But—didn’t Alain—’
‘—explain?’ Hélène grimaced. ‘I know what he told you. But was it enough?’
Ashley bent her head. ‘I had to let him go. I had no job, no money. How could I keep him?’
Hélène nodded. ‘But he was—Hassan’s son. Surely you could have approached his father—’
‘I wanted nothing from the Gauthiers, nothing!’ declared Ashley bitterly. ‘I only wanted to be free of their influence!’
‘You let them take your baby.’
‘I didn’t feel he was mine. Not then,’ protested Ashley painfully. ‘I never even saw him. I knew if I did—’
‘So you allowed Alain to bring him back to Murad.’ Hélène frowned. ‘Were you not curious about him? All these years—’
‘Of course I was curious.’ Ashley rose to her feel, unable to sit still even under so sympathetic an interrogation. ‘But Alain had told me—oh, they would never have let me see him. And I didn’t want to see him, really. I was afraid of how I would feel.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s no point in discussing the past. It’s over!’
‘But not forgotten, I think,’ remarked Hélène quietly. ‘You must forgive my foolish questions, Ashley, but my son’s explanations have been necessarily biased.’
Ashley quivered. ‘Yes, they would be.’
Hélène inclined her head. ‘But now you have—how do you say it?—turned the tables on him, non?’
Ashley pressed her palms together. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ the older woman affirmed dryly. ‘You have made h
im acknowledge your claim at last.’
‘But not my identity,’ put in Ashley tightly, and Hélène sighed.
‘Be patient, little one. You have—what would you say?—a foothold, non? The thin edge of the wedge has been inserted.’
Ashley wished she could feel as certain. ‘Alain may not agree with you,’ she murmured, and Hélène smiled.
‘Perhaps we should ask him,’ she remarked, with gentle amusement. ‘Here he comes.’
Ashley turned as the object of their discussions strolled into his mother’s apartments. This evening, Alain was wearing a dark blue caftan-like robe, his dark hair hidden beneath a concealing kaffiyeh, and as his booted feet covered the floor in easy strides, Ashley realised she must never underestimate his Arab blood. He might look like a European, in European clothes, but his father’s ancestry was uppermost, and therefore strongest.
His glance flicked over Ashley, then he bent beside the couch to kiss Hélène. His mother’s plump fingers lingered with evident pride on his broad shoulder, then he straightened and turned to her guest, acknowledging Ashley with a perfunctory bow. His blue eyes were veiled and enigmatic, revealing none of his inner feelings, and Ashley clung for support to the marble pillar behind her, her indignation kindling beneath that cool assessment.
‘Ashley and I have been getting to know one another,’ his mother inserted lightly, alleviating the rather tense silence that had fallen. ‘It is good for both of us to have a female confidante. In this house of men, it is well to have a friend.’
Alain’s lips tightened. ‘I am sure you have many friends, Maman,’ he declared flatly. ‘And I am equally sure Miss Gilbert does not expect to find friends here, among the enemy.’
‘We are not her enemies, Alain!’ exclaimed his mother in surprise, and her son made a deprecating gesture.
‘Perhaps Miss Gilbert would not agree with you,’ he remarked, returning Ashley’s resentful appraisal. ‘She did, after all, reject all association with this family.’
‘She has told me about that,’ said Hélène comfortably, her eyes shifting from her son to Ashley, and back again. ‘But why do you persist in calling her Miss Gilbert? Were you not once almost as close to her as Hassan?’