by Penny Jordan
Only by pretending she hadn't heard him and keeping her back to him was Claire able to cope with the heat she could feel burning against her skin, unaware that she was still holding her breath in apprehension until the door closed behind him and she was safe to breathe out and relax.
'Would you care for a drink?' Claire couldn't help noticing that the air stewardess's smile for her was nowhere near as warm as it had been for Raoul. They were flying over the English Channel en route for Paris, Saud in between them, fast asleep. She had fought against this visit to Paris, but the Sheikh had gently pointed out the necessity of it to her. In their absence, the news of their marriage could be broken and would doubtless be picked up by the Press. Their trip to Paris would give Claire an opportunity to get used to her new role, and although she had protested that no man being forced into a marriage he did not want would take his new bride on a shopping spree in Paris, both Raoul and the Sheikh had overruled her.
'As my wife you will be expected to maintain a certain standard,' Raoul had repeatedly told her, adding sardonically, 'besides, you cannot really expect me to believe that any woman would turn down an opportunity to refurbish her entire wardrobe at a man's expense.'
'That depends on how she has to repay him,' Claire had retorted tartly, and as she relived the scene, she remembered how the Sheikh had smiled, half-secretly to himself as he listened to their quarrel. It was just as well that his plan did not call for her to play the adoring new bride, because that was something she was sure she would not be able to do.
Two hours later, installed in a luxurious suite at the George V, Claire was still trying to come to terms with the luxury of her surroundings. Unashamedly lavish, decorated with Flemish tapestries, sculptures, paintings and ormolu clocks, its magnificence took Claire's breath away. Delicate eighteenth-century French furniture, almost too dainty to use, furnished their suite. Her own bedroom could easily have housed a small apartment and the bathroom off it was a sybarite's dream. A cot had been provided for Saud and Claire's first duty was to feed and change the small boy. She was glad of the activity to take her mind off the fact that she and Raoul were now practically alone, Raoul having told his uncle that he thought it best that they dispensed with any retainers or guards for their trip to Paris.
'If we are to be accepted as a married couple it is necessary that we have a little time to ourselves to get used to the new role,' he had told the Sheikh, and trying to come to terms with her sudden elevation to the world of the unbelievably rich, Claire was glad that the Sheikh had allowed him to have his way. It was bad enough trying to behave as though such luxury was an everyday habit, without trying to cope with the curiosity of Raoul's retainers. Only a very few of the Sheikh's private staff were aware of the deception, mainly those men who had been in the dining-room when the murder attempt took place. It was fortunate that Saud was too young to talk yet, Claire ruminated as she changed him and placed him in the cot, otherwise the small boy might easily have betrayed them.
A member of the hotel staff was summoned to keep watch over the cot; as their child, Saud was in no danger, Raoul had told her, but even so, Claire knew a certain sense of misgiving when she joined Raoul in their sitting-room. For the night he had worn a dark, formal suit, easily at home in European clothing, the white silk shirt drawing attention to the smooth dark texture of his skin. In the melding of East and West, he seemed to have inherited the best physical characteristics of both races, his features reminding Claire sharply of a Leonardo drawing or the purity of a Greek statue. He was almost too physically perfect, and in some ways it was no wonder he held her sex in contempt. He would have been hopelessly spoiled by it from the hour of his birth, even had fortune not favoured him with position and wealth in addition to good looks.
In silence she accompanied him to the lift and down into the foyer. In the taxi, Raoul spoke in fluid French, a sharp reminder of his parentage.
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of activity. If she had ever doubted the power of money, she did so no longer, Claire thought cynically as the staff of exclusive fashion houses fluttered round her like bees to honey, praising her slender figure, and the silver blondeness of her hair as they vied with one another to provide the sort of trousseau her new husband's wealth demanded.
Claire wasn't entirely surprised to learn that wealthy Arab women made up a large proportion of their clientele, but she firmly refused the ornate and lavish gowns that several of the couturiers told her were favourites with Middle Eastern women. Her own choice was for simple, well-cut clothes, and she was surprised to discover that Raoul seemed to share her taste. When she protested that she was hardly likely to wear half of the clothes he had selected, he cut her short, telling her curtly that contrary to her apparent belief they would be invited to many social events and that she would be expected to be dressed accordingly.
'As Finance Minister for our country I often have to entertain foreign dignitaries. As my wife, you will be representing our country on those occasions.' But that did not entirely soothe her conscience, especially when Raoul presented her with jewellery which must have cost a minor fortune. Emeralds and diamonds comprised a suite which would cover every occasion, the deep glow of the gems enhancing the colour of her eyes as they widened in awed disbelief over the glittering stones.
Exhausted long before the afternoon was over, it was only pride that kept Claire from pleading that they finished their shopping another day. Her feet ached and her head buzzed as she tried to assimilate all the differing experiences. It was like trying to digest too much rich food all in one go, and when Raoul took her elbow and escorted her into yet another discreetly expensive boutique, Claire was almost too numb to glance at her surroundings. It was only the sudden realisation that it was underwear that was being displayed for her consideration this time that jolted her out of her exhausted lethargy.
Delicate bras and briefs in finest silk and lace were displayed for his inspection, cool pretty cottons and openly seductive silk-satins in soft misty pastels and rich darker fabrics. The vendeuse barely concerned herself with Claire's opinion. A tall, elegant Frenchwoman in her thirties, all her concentration was centred on Raoul. And why not? Claire thought bitterly, he was the one paying the bills, buying for her the most intimate of clothes with a casual experience that spoke volumes on his knowledge of her sex.
'These, I think,' he ordered, indicating a camisole and matching french knickers in pale aqua silk-satin, lavishly trimmed with blonde lace. 'The colour will suit my wife's pale skin…'
'The fabric may not be suitable for a hot climate,' the vendeuse pointed out, glancing briefly at Claire. 'Cotton…'
In response Raoul picked up the silk-satin he had pointed out, letting the material slide smoothly from his fingers. 'Cotton does not feel like this,' he said coolly, his eyes registering the hot colour stealing over Claire's skin. An inner voice reminded her that for all his Eastern outlook he was a man who was part French; a sensualist, she guessed, no matter how much he might keep that side of his nature sternly controlled. Just for a moment she was tormented by an image of those lean, dark fingers against her skin, stroking it with the same appreciation with which he touched the silk, and then the vision was banished, her body trembling in acute reaction. How would she feel right now if Raoul was in fact her lover, was in fact buying her these clothes because he wanted to enjoy the warmth of her skin beneath its satin covering?
'Raoul, I don't need those…' she began jerkily, trying to dismiss her unruly thoughts, but her protest was ignored, and by the time they left the shop she felt she had enough new clothes to last her the rest of her life. She ought to have hated Raoul buying her such intimate items of clothing, but instead she felt almost excited, a strange, tense sensation invading the pit of her stomach.
What on earth was the matter with her? Raoul despised her. She must never allow herself to forget that fact. Raoul despised her and was simply playing a part.
By the time they returned to their hotel, Cl
aire was so tired that she could only nod her head when Raoul suggested that they dine in their suite. Her meal tasted like sawdust as she envisioned all the lonely months ahead when the silence between them would stretch into what was becoming a familiar tension, or when she would be left completely alone while Raoul pursued his business interests. But what else did she expect? She was doing a job for which she was being paid extremely well and that was all there was to it. It was foolish to feel regret because Raoul evinced no desire for her company, or chagrin because he excused himself as soon as he had finished eating, retiring to his own room where she heard him lift the telephone and then talk into it in harsh Arabic.
Tired though she was, it seemed hours before sleep finally claimed her, her dreams a jumbled mixture of events from which she was glad to wake when the maid brought her a tray of tea and some small, plain biscuits, English and French newspapers on her tray.
Their marriage was mentioned in both; a discreet paragraph in The Times and something similar in its French equivalent. The gossip columns of the English tabloids gave a little more detail, including a mention of Saud. Unwittingly, Claire sighed. It was too late to back out now. For the next months at least she was, to all intents and purposes, Raoul's wife and Saud's mother.
Movements from the cot at her bedside reminded her of Saud's presence and she reached him just as he started to make his protest. His face was faintly flushed, the gums he exposed to Claire in a wide grin betraying the fact that another tooth was on the way. Sitting on the side of her bed with him, Claire rubbed his swollen gum consolingly. She would have to try and buy him a teething ring. It constantly amazed her that such a wealthy and important child should be so lacking in the most basic comforts. If his mother had lived things would have been different, and she told herself that if nothing else, at least her presence would benefit Saud.
She was so engrossed in watching him that she didn't hear her bedroom door open, only becoming aware of Raoul's presence when he was halfway across the floor. Already up and dressed, he made her feel acutely vulnerable in her thin cotton nightdress, her hair still tousled and her face completely free of makeup.
'You've seen the papers?' Claire nodded, still trying to comfort Saud. 'What's the matter? Is something wrong with him?' Raoul asked her, glancing down at the child in her arms. Saud wriggled on her lap, his movements tightening her nightdress until the soft swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath it. Raoul's glance lingered only briefly on her body, but it left Claire's acutely aware of her near-nudity.
'He's teething,' she replied huskily. 'I think perhaps I'd better stay with him today…' She didn't look up at Raoul.
'We'll both stay with him,' he surprised her by saying. 'Or rather we'll take him with us. Don't forget you'll need to equip a nursery for him before we leave Paris, and we've only got a couple more days.'
He bent down, one lean finger touching Saud's hot cheek, his knuckles accidentally grazing her breast. Her response was instant and electrifying, awareness flooding her body. All Raoul's attention focused on her as he studied her flushed cheeks, his eyes slowly dropping to her breasts and lingering there for several seconds. It took a considerable effort of will-power to keep her breathing steady and even; to busy herself with Saud as though she was completely unaware of the way Raoul was looking at her, or her body's immediate physical response to it.
'I'll get Saud dressed. If we're getting short of time we'd better not waste any of it.'
It was amazing that she managed to sound so calm, when her whole world had been jolted off its axis. No man had ever aroused such a reaction within her. If Raoul had leaned forward and stripped the nightdress from her body, she wouldn't have made the slightest move to stop him. And if he had touched the flesh where his glance had lingered… A wave of heat burned through her. What on earth was she thinking? She was glad that Raoul had turned away and had not witnessed that betraying tide of colour. Her reaction must have had something to do with the tenderness she had seen fleetingly in his eyes as he bent to touch Saud. Yes, that must be it! His affection for the little boy had caught her off guard.
Feeling relieved that she had managed to find an explanation for her unusual reaction, Claire waited until the door had closed firmly behind him before moving from the bed. A glimpse of her own reflection in one of the room's many mirrors arrested her, fresh colour storming her cheeks as she realised how transparent the fine cotton actually was, every line of her body revealed through it. What was she worrying about? Raoul was hardly likely to be aroused by the sight of her naked form. Hadn't he already told her how much he despised her? And he was hardly likely to be short of admiring female companionship.
For some reason the thought was a depressing one, but Claire didn't pause to analyse why. She was growing adept at avoiding unpleasant issues, she recognised wryly, as she bathed and dressed Saud, forcing her mind to turn to Raoul's plans for the remainder of the day.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEIR shopping spree finished, the purpose of their presence in Paris achieved, Claire found her thoughts turning again and again to the country which was to be her home for the next twelve to eighteen months. Rather than ask Raoul about his country, she had secretly managed to buy some books about the Middle East from a book store selling books in both French and English and she pored over these, alone in her room after Saud was asleep.
Omarah, it seemed, was one of the most forward-thinking of the Gulf States and reputedly one of the most beautiful, with a long coastline along the Persian Gulf and a wild hinterland behind it where the nomadic life of its desert inhabitants was preserved and protected. Careful forward-thinking had resulted in a diversification of business interests. Omarah was the centre of the Middle Eastern banking world, with a university that prided itself on the number and excellence of its science graduates, and technological progress had been carefully matched by a retention of Muslim values and the tolerance on which all Muslim races prided themselves towards adherents of other religions. Unlike many of the other Gulf States, Omarah possessed a capital that had its roots in antiquity. That Belthar had been a port of renown when Baghdad was still a village was a common boast, or so Claire read, and her senses were stirred by the photographs in her guide book, depicting, as they did, scenes she felt could not be rivalled by Hollywood's most lavish Arabian Nights fantasies.
On the last night of their stay in Paris, Raoul surprised her by announcing they would dine in the hotel's most exclusive restaurant. Claire wanted to refuse, but Raoul coolly overrode her objections.
Among the clothes he had bought for her was a Dior model lavishly designed; a swathe of off-white satin covering her from throat to ankle at the front, but dipping down to her waist at the back. The fabric enhanced her pale colouring, drawing attention to the size and depth of her eyes. With it Claire wore the diamond and emerald earrings Raoul had bought for her, the diamonds throwing out tongues of fire when she studied her reflection in her mirror. The slender sheath of silk made her look taller and somehow fragile, her hair a silver veil curving down on to her shoulders. She was just slipping into high-heeled sandals when she heard the knock on her door. Expecting the maid who was to watch over Saud, she called out 'Come in,' sudden tension infusing her muscles as the door opened and Raoul walked in.
Dressed in formal evening clothes, he projected a devastating image of male beauty; the same sort of beauty possessed by a mountain leopard, Claire thought, shuddering slightly; a beauty that engendered fear and gave birth to a curling sensation of pain cramping through her lower stomach. He studied her without comment, and she had to bite back the childish desire to demand if he was satisfied with what he saw. Everything she was wearing he had paid for, and as he watched her she felt a bitter impulse to tear off the silk dress and the fine underwear she was wearing beneath it and to fling them at his feet, together with the priceless gems adorning her ears, and to tell him she would rather go naked through the streets then wear clothes paid for with his money. But she quel
led the impulse, telling herself she was being stupid. Like herself, he was simply a pawn in a very dangerous and difficult game. There could be no personal relationship between them, they were simply actors, each playing a part.
The feeling that she had somehow strayed into an extravagant play was accentuated when they walked into the restaurant. For a moment, Claire was dazzled by the sophistication of the other diners. Women glittered with expensive jewels, their bodies wrapped in haute couture gowns. Conversation rose and fell in dizzying waves and although she was loath to confess it, Claire was glad of the elegant length of Raoul's body alongside her own. Dangerous and lethal as a black cheetah he might be, engendering fear and awareness in every part of her body, but he was also a protection against the battery of curious eyes studying her, observing their progress across the room.
'Raoul!'
Claire came out of her panic-stricken reverie to register the scrape of a chair being thrust back and the husky, vaguely familiar masculine voice exclaiming Raoul's name as its occupant got to his feet. Only slightly less tall than Raoul, the resemblance between them was so marked that Claire knew without even considering the matter that she was looking at Raoul's father. His companion had also got to her feet. She was young, about her own age, but Claire barely had time to register the avid look of appreciation in curious brown eyes before Raoul's father was reaching out to embrace her, not casually as he might have embraced an acquaintance, but intimately as befitted a true daughter-in-law.
'I read that you were in Paris, and that you were married. If I read the papers aright, you have made me a grandfather.' Speculative grey eyes rested thoughtfully on Claire's flushed face. 'Forgive me if I seem surprised, mon cher, but somehow from what I had read I expected your bride to appear much less… innocent.'