by Penny Jordan
'You are lying,' Raoul interrupted angrily. My mother told me how you used her dowry—in gambling, escorting other women, living the life of a wealthy playboy.'
'No. You are wrong. That is how I made my living.'
There was a tense silence, and Claire wondered if she ought to leave them alone. She had a feeling that what was about to be said in the privacy of this room was something between father and son alone, but even as she made a move to leave Lucien grasped her wrist.
'No, Claire, please stay,' he said gently. 'If what Raoul tells me is true it could well be that you carry my grandchild.' He smiled when she blushed. 'I must confess I suspected all along that you were not the mother of Saud. You looked too innocent… and far too unknowing to have been the lover of a man like my son. I hope you will learn well from my mistakes, Raoul. I should never have let your mother take you, but I was tired of having her wealth thrown in my face. When she left I made a vow that I wouldn't touch a penny of her dowry and I haven't. Shortly after she had gone, I became ill and I lost my position in the Ministry. When I recovered I had to make a living somehow. I had always been lucky as a gambler…'
He shrugged his broad shoulders. 'You know the rest. The chateau still stands, but only just. I have willed it to you, together with your mother's money. Both are, after all, yours by right. Perhaps in time you will bring my son to Paris again, Claire, this time with the true purpose of effecting a reconciliation between us. Never let pride stand in the way of your happiness, my son,' he said quietly to Raoul.
They left the hospital in silence, Claire not daring to look at Raoul. How had he taken his father's revelations? That Lucien had spoken the truth Claire did not doubt, but it would take more than verbal explanations to cure the wounds of the past that still went very deep with Raoul.
They stayed once more at the George V, occupying the same suite they had had before. When Claire asked uncertainly if it was possible to telephone the palace to check up on Saud, Raoul glanced at her curiously. 'One might almost suppose you were genuinely fond of that child…'
'Why shouldn't I be?' Claire responded bitterly. 'Oh, I know you think my affection for him springs from avarice, but you are wrong. I was instrumental in saving his life,' she said almost to herself. 'I feel almost as though he is my child…'
'And yet feeling like that you are prepared to desert your own child, because he is also mine?' he threw at her harshly. 'How you must hate me, Claire. Why? Because I took from you that which you were saving for another? Or is there more to it than that? Is it not simply that I took, but that I gave too, more pleasure than you can ever hope to find in the arms of your cold English lover, who does not even want you enough to storm the citadel of your virginity…'
He had gone before she could think of a fitting enough retort to silence him, and it was well after midnight when Claire heard the door to their suite opening quietly. Where had he been all evening? With someone else? The thought was like a knife thrust in her heart.
Two days later they were back in Omarah, but this time she was in reality Raoul's wife. 'Saud has missed you,' Zenaide told her. 'He will be glad that you are back.' There was a small piece in one of the French papers about Raoul's visit to the bedside of his supposedly sick father, which Raoul pointed out to her one evening after he had returned from the city.
His business responsibilities kept him very fully occupied. Claire learned from Zenaide that it was Raoul and the Sheikh who had been responsible for the intensive reorganisation of the education system, so that girls as well as boys could benefit from the wealth that oil had brought to the small state.
A conference in London necessitated his leaving for that capital at the end of their first week of marriage, and as she watched him leave, Claire couldn't help wondering how he would spend his nights when he was away. She had no illusions. Any number of beautiful women would be only to glad to sleep with Raoul, even without the added allure of his wealth.
As yet there was no evidence that she might be carrying his child, and Claire was glad that she had stipulated that they were not to live as man and wife. Raoul was cynical enough to be perfectly able to make love to her without caring about her, but her frail spirit was already too overburdened to be able to take the strain of a relationship with too much love on one side and none on the other.
After a morning spent on the beach, Claire returned with Saud to the palace for lunch and then a sleep. She had found herself falling into the pattern of sleeping in the afternoon when the sun was at its hottest, and today she felt particularly tired. It was a steep walk down to the beach, and as she walked back up she visualised Raoul's Moorish ancestors carrying their human prizes back up to the palace—young European girls destined for the slave markets of the East, vast amounts of gold and precious jewels from Spanish galleons, fair-haired, fair-skinned girls stolen from the English coast. How would she have felt had she been in their shoes?
She shuddered, putting Saud down as a wave of dizziness made her cling to the solid support of the cliff face. She must have walked up the path too quickly, she chided herself when the world had righted itself and Saud's plaintive cries reminded her of his presence. He beamed when she picked him up, proudly displaying his two new teeth. Poor Saud, who had lost both mother and father, and who for all the wealth he would one day inherit was a pauper indeed when it came to the riches of love.
There had been no more visitors to the palace, and Zenaide had explained that it was normal to leave newly-weds alone for one full month after the marriage ceremony.
'Blessed is the bride who can tell her family at the end of that time that she carries her husband's child.' She blushed rosily, glancing at Saud who lay kicking on the bed, revelling in the freedom from his nappy, and Claire guessed what she was thinking. Zenaide, at least, did not doubt that Saud was her child.
Once again Claire ate alone. She had found her appetite diminishing since their return from Paris. The heat seemed to sap her energy despite the efficiency of the air-conditioning installed in the palace. She was often lethargic and dull. She needed some activity to occupy her mind, she acknowledged. If she had really been Raoul's chosen wife she could have approached him with the problem. There must be many areas in which she could help. He had mentioned entertaining various representatives from other countries and Claire knew from Zenaide that he had an apartment in the city in one wing of the Sheikh's palace. She was not used to inactivity.
She picked up the letter she had received from her godmother, wincing as she read of her pleasure in her marriage. If only she knew the truth! Sighing, Claire folded the thick paper, suddenly remembering Teddy's unanswered letter. Where on earth was it? She must write to him telling him that it would be impossible for him to come out and stay with them. She would do it first thing in the morning, she thought to herself as she prepared for bed.
The night was hot, even the thin silk of her gown uncomfortable against her skin, sleep somehow eluding her as she tossed and turned in the wide bed. Where was Raoul now? Who was he with?
She tensed as she heard Saud cry. He didn't normally wake up during the night, and Claire listened to his cries for several minutes, warning herself that it would be foolish to go into him, but when they persisted she flung back the covers of her bed, pulling on a silk robe and hurrying through into Saud's room.
The panda which was his favourite toy was on the floor and Claire bent to pick it up guessing that it had been the cause of the commotion. Saud had seen her and crawled eagerly to the bars of his cot, grinning at her in the darkness. It was as she kneeled in front of him, the panda in one hand, the other steadying herself, that Claire first heard the noise. No more than a soft slither, it sent such a shudder of dread through her that she couldn't move. Saud chuckled, obviously thinking he was participating in some new game, his chuckles turning to wails of protest when she didn't move.
The room was so dark. If only she had switched on the lamp when she came in, Claire thought feverishly, trying to shush Sa
ud, her ears stretched for that slithering sound which she prayed and hoped had been nothing more than a figment of an overworked imagination. But no… There it was again. Louder this time, closer, relentless. Perspiration broke out all over her body. Dear God, there was a snake somewhere in the room with them. Numbly, she tried to remember what Zenaide had told her about local snakes. There were several varieties, one particularly deadly, but how could she remember which was which? She couldn't even see it and even if she could, she was so panic-stricken that she doubted she could have told the difference between a rattlesnake and a common grass-snake.
Saud was trying to drag himself to his feet using the cot rails, and Claire froze as she heard the sibilant slither again. The thing was in Saud's cot, tangled up somewhere among his covers. A scream clawed at her throat but she suppressed it, her whole body trembling as she straightened slowly, not knowing where the danger lay, expecting with every second to feel sharp fangs biting into her skin—hers or Saud's! He was sleeping dressed only in a nappy because it had been so hot, and Claire felt as chilled as though she had been standing in an Arctic wind as she visualised the thing in the cot with him. Even now as he struggled to stand, beaming at her in the semi-darkness, it could be positioning itself to strike.
The pictures conjured up by her mind were too much for her. Not giving herself time to think, Claire darted towards the cot lifting him out. He whimpered in fright as though sensing her terror and as she clasped him against her, Claire heard another blood-freezing sound from his cot. It was too much. Trembling all over, she opened her mouth and started to scream, weak tears of terror pouring down her cheeks. The bedroom door was flung back on its hinges, the light blinding her as it snapped on.
'Claire…'
Raoul's voice roused her from her panic, her eyes opening and noting the dark trousers he was wearing, and the shirt unbuttoned almost to the waist as though she had interrupted him on the point of undressing. She hadn't realised he was back, but as he took a step towards her, his forehead pleated in a deep frown, she remembered what had happened and called out, 'No, Raoul… don't come too close. I think there's a… a snake in Saud's cot.'
She shuddered as she spoke, closing her eyes as she averted her face from the pretty blue and white cot they had bought in Paris. Never would she be able to look at it in the same way again. 'I heard him crying,' she added huskily, as Raoul continued to stare from her to the cot as though unable to believe what she was saying. 'I came in, and… and I could hear something moving. It seemed to come from the cot.' She was white and shaking with reaction, her frenzied, 'No, Raoul, please don't…' halting him on his way towards her. 'You might get bitten,' she added hoarsely as he looked at her.
'You come here to me then,' he said compellingly, using the same soothing tone he might have used to a terrified child. He didn't believe her, Claire thought sickly, as she took first one and then another step past the cot.
A sudden movement froze her, an angry hiss, and the dark, reed-like body emerged from the sheets, poised, watching, mesmerising her with its dark, glittering eyes. Dimly she heard Raoul curse, and then move, almost knocking her off her feet as he pushed her away, plucking the thing from the soft blue cotton. It squirmed through the air, landing on the floor, and Raoul's shoe crushed down on the back of its neck. Sickened but unable to tear her eyes away, Claire watched its dying writhing, its poison sacs emptying on to the floor, all movement slowly going.
'It's over,' she heard Raoul saying quietly. 'It's over Claire. You're both quite safe now. Come…'
Numbly she walked towards him, letting him take her hand and lead her back into her own room, feeling all the time as though she were sitting on the sidelines outside her body, watching its slow movements.
Her false calm broke when Saud started to cry, fierce tremors seizing her body. She was aware of Raoul taking Saud from her, the little boy finding comfort in the hard pressure of his arms; and then it was her turn, her face was pressed against the hard warmth of his bare chest as he put Saud down and comforted her.
'It's all over now, Claire. You're both quite safe,' he repeated, but Claire didn't feel safe. She felt distinctly vulnerable, her body aching with pain and need, her body treacherously conscious of Raoul's proximity, of the satiny feel of his skin beneath her trembling fingers, the dark hairs crisp against her palm, his heartbeat a reassuring thud against her.
'How could it have got in there?' she begged, her teeth chattering with reaction. 'Raoul, someone must know about Saud. Someone tried to kill him…' Her voice started to rise and she felt Raoul's fingers at her nape, urging her to relax against him.
'Perhaps,' he agreed, 'but maybe not. Whichever the case, it was fortunate that you went in to him.'
'He had thrown his panda on the floor,' Claire told him stupidly, knowing that she was simply talking to hold at bay the terrible fear still stalking her. 'I was just going to give it to him when I heard it. Oh Raoul, he could have died. I could have gone in there in the morning and…'
Her stomach heaved and she shuddered in his calming embrace. 'Shush… you mustn't torture yourself with too-vivid imaginings. It is true that it could have happened, but it is also true that it didn't. Allah must be over Saud.'
He said it half-humorously, but Claire wasn't in the mood to be amused. She glanced fearfully at her own bed, and correctly interpreting her fear, Raoul released her, carefully stripping it and then remaking it. Not until he had searched every inch of the room and assured her that it was safe did he return to her.
'If you would like me to stay with you for tonight… I should prefer what has happened to be kept a secret between us. If it was a deliberate attempt to kill Saud, then whoever made it will try again. I don't want to panic them into going into hiding. If we say nothing it might lull them into a false sense of security. Curiosity to discover how their plan misfired, if nothing else, should draw them out into the open.'
Did she want him to stay with her? If only he knew how much, Claire thought wildly. There was nothing she wanted more right now than the security of his arms round her, his body shielding hers. A slow heat started to burn through her, amazing her that she could so easily feel desire alongside her fear. It wasn't merely for security and protection that she wanted Raoul beside her, she thought bleakly. She wanted the passionate possession of his body as well, his hands and lips against her skin, hers against his. She became acutely conscious of the warmth of his skin, of the thinness of her silk gown and her breasts hardening perceptibly beneath it, aroused by their contact with his body. Trying to disengage herself, Claire said wildly, 'I didn't think you were coming back tonight, I…'
'My business was completed earlier than I expected,' Raoul told her tersely, adding with a cruelty that hurt, 'besides, where else would I want to be other than with my wife; the woman who might bear my child?'
His hand covered her stomach, heating her skin until she felt fluid and boneless, his lips brushed hers lightly until they parted voluntarily.
'Go to sleep, Claire,' Raoul told her harshly, releasing her with an obvious rejection that stung. 'Otherwise I might forget my side of our bargain and take you to my bed.' He saw her expression and laughed sardonically. 'What's the matter? Do you find it offensive when I remind you of my frustration… my physical needs? Do I shock you with my blunt admission that I want you? Go to bed, Claire,' he reiterated, turning towards the door, and it struck her that he looked tired, and more than that, defeated. But there was no reason for him to suffer the demons of sexual frustration, she told herself bitterly. There must be women aplenty who would delight in his lovemaking.
Too exhausted to dwell more deeply on his comments Claire crawled into her bed, but she didn't sleep well. Almost every half-hour she was awake and checking on Saud, who Raoul had insisted she return to his cot, which he assured her was now quite safe. The snake had also been removed, but she couldn't pass the spot where it had lain without shuddering with fear and nausea. If she hadn't heard Saud… If Raoul had not
returned…
Over and over her mind kept playing back to her the sound of the snake's soft movements, her throat gagging with fear, until sleep at last claimed her in a stifling, thick embrace.
CHAPTER EIGHT
NIGHTMARES tormented her uneasy sleep—muddled images of the dining-room at the Dorchester, men with guns which turned into writhing snakes—and Claire woke up, her heart pounding, her body bathed in perspiration, a sudden movement in the shadows by the door making her tense and call out in fear, 'Who's there?'
'Only me.' Raoul detached himself from the shadows. 'I'm sorry if I startled you, but you were crying out in your sleep.'
Shivering, Claire admitted huskily, 'Every time I close my eyes I keep hearing that snake, I keep remembering what happened in London…' She shuddered and then tensed in disbelief as Raoul walked towards her bed, casually pulling back the bedclothes. 'What… what are you doing?'
For the first time she thought she saw a certain grim humour gleaming in the darkness of his eyes as he surveyed her pale features and tense expression.
'Since you cannot sleep properly because of your nightmares, and I cannot sleep for the sound of your fear, we might as well share what is left of the night together.' He was in bed beside her before Claire could protest, and treacherously an inner voice whispered that the warm weight of his body in bed beside her was comforting.
'Come.' When his arms came round her, pulling her against his body, a different kind of fear raced through her veins, but the heat of his body pressed against hers was too compelling to resist. She wanted this, Claire admitted drowsily, she wanted this close union of their bodies, this comfort Raoul gave to her standing between her and her fears. But merely being held in his arms possessed its own form of torture and Claire was relieved when she felt sleep stealing over her, drowning out her desire to touch the taut male flesh against which her head was pillowed, to press soft kisses into the curve of his shoulder and feel his body harden with desire, in the same need she could feel stirring deep inside her.