by Anne Mather
There was no question that she might refuse, of course, thought Ashley rather indignantly, as both Hussein and Tariq watched her reactions. She had been summoned, just as Princess Hélène had summoned her previously. It was just that Princess Izmay had taken a few more days to get round to it.
‘Yes, nine o’clock would be fine,’ she said at last, realising that she had no possible reason to refuse. Besides, it might break the monotony of a long lonely evening, and perhaps Princess Izmay would not prove to be as intimidating as her husband.
She spent some time that evening deciding what to wear. What did one wear for dinner at the palace? Was it formal, or informal? Or was she simply exaggerating the importance of a dinner invitation that had probably been instigated by curiosity alone?
In the event, she chose a simple pleated polyester dress. It was black, with transparent sleeves that ended in an embroidered cuff, and embroidered motifs on both bodice and skirt. The neckline was modestly demure, displaying only an inch or two of her throat and the smooth skin of her shoulders, and with her hair coiled more loosely than usual into a softly swathed roll, she knew she was looking her best.
Once again it was Nuzab who escorted her along the lamplit corridors to Princess Izmay’s apartments. Ashley was getting quite familiar with the layout of this wing of the palace, and she knew that, left alone, she could have found her way without difficulty to both Hussein’s apartments and those of Princess Hélène.
‘It is not far now, lady,’ Nuzab murmured, glancing back over her shoulder, and Ashley nodded her thanks. ‘Lady look most beautiful this evening,’ the Arab girl added, without ingratiation. ‘You like the way Nuzab dresses your hair?’
Ashley gave a resigned smile. This evening she had allowed the Arab girl to help her, and although the coil was not exactly what Nuzab would have preferred, nevertheless it was a compromise that satisfied both of them. She and Nuzab had compromised over many things during the past week, and although Ashley felt sure she would never get used to the Arab girl’s obsequious attentions, she had lost her initial embarrassment in the girl’s presence. She no longer resented her innocent familiarities, and if Ashley sometimes reflected how easy it would be to become addicted to this pampered existence, she had only to think of Alain to know he would never allow that to happen.
Princess Izmay’s apartments were like those of her counterpart, large and spacious, and peopled by an in-ordinate amount of servants, or so it seemed to Ashley. Some of these young women, however, turned out to be the Princess’s daughters, and Ashley couldn’t help wondering whether their presence was deliberate.
Yet Princess Izmay proved not to be an intimidating person. She was a little shy, if anything, sheltering within the voluminous folds of a tent-like robe, that swathed her head and shoulders as well as enveloping the over-indulged fullness of her body. But she smiled quite politely when Ashley was presented to her, and although English evidently did not come to her easily she endeavoured to speak in that language.
‘My son tells me you come from London, Miss Conway,’ she said, by way of an opening. ‘It is much different from here, I think.’
‘Much different,’ Ashley agreed with a smile, relieved to find that here at least her identity was not in question. ‘Much colder, too,’ she added, settling herself on the cushioned seat which had been offered to her, and bearing the brunt of several pairs of dark eyes. Hassan’s sisters, she thought, with sudden recognition. And Tariq’s, too. Did Alain have any brothers or sisters? It was something she had never asked him.
‘My son will join us in a few moments, Miss Conway,’ Princess Izmay continued, in her laboured English, and Ashley’s skin prickled.
‘Prince Tariq?’ she exclaimed, in some surprise, and her hostess nodded her dark head.
‘I know he enjoys speaking with you, Miss Conway,’ she averred, disturbing Ashley further. ‘But tell me, how are the lessons with Hussein progressing? Is he an ardent scholar, this grandson of mine, or is it hard to persuade him that such things are necessary to the future heir of the Gauthier organisation?’
Ashley hesitated. Princess Izmay’s three daughters, who were seated near their mother, were watching her with an intentness she would have found unnerving, had it not been for the dismay she felt at the prospect of sharing dinner with Alain’s stepbrother. Tariq had made his opinion of her clear enough this morning, and she could not imagine why he might want to join them. Unless he proposed to spend the evening baiting her, she thought, and wished she had known of his intentions before she accepted the invitation.
‘Is something wrong, Miss Conway?’
The Princess was gazing at her anxiously, and hastily Ashley strove for a reply. But as she did so, something else Hassan’s mother had said brought the colour to her cheeks, and she was still fumbling over her words when Prince Tariq was announced.
To her surprise, Tariq was dressed in European clothes, a well-cut navy silk lounge suit, that familiarised his rather typically alien features. After bowing to his mother and offering her a greeting, he turned to Ashley with unexpected courtesy, and his smile was quite urbane as he took the hand she offered.
‘You do not object if I join this predominantly female gathering, do you, Miss Conway?’ he asked her politely. ‘I so much wanted to make your acquaintance, outside the duties that my father thrusts upon me.’
Ashley was perturbed, but she determined not to show it. ‘I didn’t know you felt that way, Prince Tariq,’ she murmured, as his mother and sisters chattered among themselves. ‘I thought you found my attitudes annoying, and my behaviour lacking in respect.’
Tariq’s thin lips tightened. ‘So I do,’ he retorted, lowering himself on to the cushions beside her. ‘But I also find your company stimulating, Miss Conway, and that is something rather more rare.’
Ashley’s dark brows arched. ‘Is that a compliment, Prince Tariq?’
‘If you choose to make it so,’ he replied and although Ashley was relieved that he had decided not to pursue their hostilities, she couldn’t help wondering if it was wise to allow this association to continue.
Even so, she could not deny that the evening proved to be quite enjoyable. It was such a change to enjoy intelligent conversation again, for once Tariq started treating her as an equal, he revealed a surprising sense of humour. He spoke of trips he had made to other African countries, to Europe and America, and even to Australia, and his anecdotes of those journeys had Ashley gurgling with laughter. His mother said little, and his sisters scarcely spoke at all, and Ashley was brought to the inevitable conclusion that this dinner party had been arranged for Tariq’s benefit, and although she was flattered at his interest, she couldn’t help a certain unease at his persistence.
Yet, for all that, he reminded her strongly of Alain, when he was younger. There was a certain similarity in the way each of them smiled, the fine lines that fanned out from the corners of their eyes, and the sensual twist, of their mouths. But Tariq was not Alain, and she must never forget that, or the certain knowledge that to get involved with the Gauthiers again would be courting disaster.
Nevertheless, Tariq insisted on escorting her back to her apartments when the evening was over, and bidding farewell to his mother, Ashley wondered what she really thought of the whole affair. Was she indifferent or sympathetic to her son’s wishes? Did she approve or disapprove of his evident interest in his nephew’s governess? And what did she see as the eventual outcome of their relationship, in this country where mistresses were regarded without disfavour? It was a troublesome consideration, and one which Ashley hoped would not become an issue in this already disturbing situation.
At her door she halted, determined not to invite him inside, and the servant guarding her door would, she hoped, preclude any prolonged discussion. ‘Thank you for bringing me back,’ she said, holding out her hand pointedly, and after a moment’s hesitation he took it and raised it to his lips.
‘Thank you for a most delightful evening,’ he declared, wit
h a wry expression, and she guessed he had defined her meaning very well. ‘We must do this again, before too long. Or perhaps you would do me the honour of dining with me alone.’
Ashley withdrew her hand firmly. ‘I don’t think so, Prince Tariq.’
‘Why not?’ He shrugged. ‘You enjoyed yourself this evening, did you not? You were not—bored or—insulted by my conversation. I have not offended you?’
‘No.’ Ashley was reluctant.
‘Very well—’
‘Prince Tariq—’
‘Think about it,’ he advised softly, turning away. ‘Saida hamam. Sleep well, mademoiselle.’
* * *
Princess Hélène invited Ashley to lunch three days later. Perhaps she had only just heard that the governess had had dinner with her contemporary, thought Ashley a little cynically, as she prepared for the meal. Certainly it was a surprise to receive the invitation after a week of isolation, so close on the heels of the earlier one from Prince Ahmed’s first wife. She wondered if there was perhaps a certain jealousy between the two women still. Or did they each share an interest in their individual son’s lives? Whatever, Ashley accepted the invitation without question, and permitted Nuzab to escort her there as usual.
Prince Hélène was alone, apart from the inevitable guards, on her door, and she welcomed Ashley warmly. Watching the older woman as she drew her outside on to a sunlit patio, beyond the inner doors of the apartments, Ashley could sense no antagonism in the Princess’s attitude, and she wondered if she had been mistaken in imagining that her argument with Alain could not have gone unnoticed.
A long buffet table had been set beneath a striped awning, and Princess Hélène invited Ashley to help herself to some food, then join her beside the sun-dappled waters of the pool. There was a vast assortment of dishes to choose from—cold meats and salads, shellfish and spicy fish curries, meats and vegetables, served in various different ways, and light flaky pastries that melted on the tongue. There were sweetmeats, too, sugar bonbons, Turkish Delight, and fruit of all kinds, sliced and dripping with syrup.
Ashley chose one of the delicious pastries, helped herself to some salad, which was always crisp and fresh, and then settled herself on the padded bench beside Alain’s mother. A patterned canopy shielded them from the worst of the sun’s rays, and it was very pleasant sitting there, listening to the play of the crystal fountain. Almost unconsciously, Ashley relaxed, and her companion smiled as she offered her a glass of some sparkling liquid.
‘I wish to make a toast,’ she said, by way of an explanation, and Ashley’s brow creased. ‘Alain,’ added the Princess, raising her glass. ‘His trip to the United States has been most successful. He telephoned me yesterday to tell me so.’
‘Oh!’ Ashley’s tongue circled her lips, before she allowed Princess Hélène to touch glasses. Did this mean Alain would be coming home now? And why should his mother choose to share her delight with her?
‘Drink!’ commanded the Princess, waiting for Ashley to do so. ‘It is quite innocuous. I am not allowed to drink champagne here, but this is light and sweet, and makes a fair substitute, even if it is totally free of alcohol.’
She grimaced, and Ashley obediently brought her glass to her lips and tasted its chilled contents. It was delicious, cool and bubbly, and enabled her to say, with assumed casualness: ‘Does this mean your son will be coming home, madame?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ said her companion, with evident satisfaction. ‘Naturally he must report all that has happened to the government, but it seems likely that Alain will spend more time in New York from now on.’
‘It does?’ Ashley was appalled by her reaction to this news, but Princess Hélène did not appear to notice the girl’s suddenly pale features.
‘But of course. It is an honour,’ sexclaimed, in answer to Ashley’s question. ‘As he is Murad’s representative, his presence there will be essential, for some time at least, and I regret I will have to get used to being without his company.’
‘Yes.’ Ashley managed to articulate the word with difficulty. What then would happen to Hussein, with his uncle’s departure? Of all the members of his family, Hussein would miss him most, and Ashley knew her son regarded Alain with an almost possessive fervour. She couldn’t bear the thought of the boy’s suffering when he learned what his uncle planned to do, and she knew that she was no substitute for what Alain had given her son.
‘You are not eating.’ Princess Hélène distracted Ashley from her thoughts with a playful pat on her arm. Then, as her sharp eyes observed the girl’s anxious expression, she exclaimed: ‘What is it? Is something wrong? There is nothing the matter with the food, is there? Or is the fruit cup not to your taste?’
‘No. No. The food’s fine, and—and the fruit cup is delicious,’ Ashley exclaimed hastily, but Alain’s mother was not convinced.
‘You do not look as if anything is delicious, petite. You look as if you had seen a ghost. Come, drink up! I thought you would be pleased at Alain’s good fortune, and pleased, too, to have your son all to yourself.’
Ashley put down her glass and her plate on the bench beside her, and folded her sweating palms together. ‘It—it’s about Hussein, I was thinking,’ she ventured. ‘He—well, he’s going to miss Al—your son an awful lot.’
‘Is he?’ Princess Hélène raised her dark eyebrows.
‘You know he is.’ Ashley was desperate. ‘He—he worships his—his uncle.’
‘Yes, perhaps you are right.’ Princess Hélène was thoughtful. ‘But he will get used to it. After all, he has you now.’
For how long? thought Ashley cynically, but she did not voice her fears. How long would Prince Ahmed allow her to remain once Alain was not here to support her? She bent her head. It was the first time she had acknowledged that Alain had supported her, but how strong could that support be when he was thousands of miles away?
‘Do not look so depressed, chérie.’ Clearly, Princess Hélène had no qualms concerning her son’s promotion. But then why should she have? Ashley asked herself bitterly. Hussein was only her husband’s grandchild, not hers, and perhaps she still hoped that Alain might find himself a suitable wife and produce sons of his own blood. ‘Come,’ she added, ‘finish your drink. I have a mind to take a trip this afternoon, and you shall come with me.’
‘A trip, madame?’
Ashley was nonplussed, but Hélène only laughed. ‘Along the coast road, little one,’ she averred gaily. ‘To Samaka and beyond. You would like that, would you not, Ashley? It will help to blow away those cares that are bringing such unbecoming lines to your forehead.’
They drove to Samaka in a chauffeur-driven convertible, with only one guard, seated beside the chauffeur. Princess Hélène swathed her head and shoulders with silken scarves, but Ashley had made no such preparations, and before long the wind had whipped her hair into wild disarray. But it was so exhilarating, and so invigorating to be outside the confining walls of the palace, that she cared little for the disorder of her hair. It was so good to feel the sun on her skin and the wind in her face, and the salty tang of the sea on her tongue.
The coast road was a little nerve-racking in places, winding through a series of hairpin bends as it approached the refinery at Zarif. But already a motorway building programme was in progress, and the dust raised by half a dozen earth-moving machines mingled with the unmistakable scent of oil.
Beyond the refinery, the road followed the rocky shoreline, dipping down into hollows where the dunes came down almost to the sea’s edge, and rising again to look out over the untrammelled reaches of the desert. Miles and miles of rolling sand stretched before them, and beyond, the purple-shadowed mountains raised their peaks to the sky.
Driving back again, Princess Hélène bade the chauffeur drive through the older part of Khadesh, and she pointed out places of interest to her companion. There were mosques and museums that Ashley would like to have explored, but she contented herself with looking, and listening to Hélène’s comm
entary.
‘It is odd, is it not?’ she remarked, with wry humour, as they drove back to the palace. ‘Murad—or at least the area of which Murad was a part—has one of the oldest civilisations in the world. Men and women lived and worked here thousands of years before Christ was born, and yet in some ways the people have not developed at all.’
Ashley captured an errant strand of hair that had blown across her mouth, and smiled. ‘Do you mean culturally or socially?’
‘I think you know what I mean,’ retorted Alain’s mother dryly. ‘It was a great wrench for me, leaving the freedom of Paris to come and live in seclusion at Kom Shar.’
Ashley frowned. ‘Why did you do it, madame?’ she asked unthinkingly, and then coloured in embarrassment. ‘I mean—please, don’t answer that. It was impertinent of me to ask.’
‘I do not mind.’ Princess Hélène shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘It was a fair question. Why did I do it?’ She sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder myself.’
Ashley hesitated. ‘How did you meet Prince Ahmed?’
‘At a reception given by my father,’ replied the older woman at once. ‘My father was attached to the Embassy in Paris, and Prince Ahmed was a guest of the government.’ She smiled. ‘You can have no idea, looking at him now, how handsome he was thirty years ago. He was tall, like Alain, but much darker, of course, and he had a certain charm that I, as a romantic, responded to immediately.’ She laughed. ‘I suppose I had some fantastic notion of marrying a sheik and living in a tent in the desert.’ She shook her head. ‘The reality proved me wrong.’
‘But you loved him, didn’t you?’ ventured Ashley tentatively, and Princess Hélène nodded.
‘Yes. Yes, I loved him.’ She made a regretful gesture. ‘Unfortunately I was not aware of what loving him portended.’