"I believe you wished to talk to my father about my sister?"
The man moved his head slightly, and his hair caught the light. It was the thickest, shiniest hair she had seen, and it grew well down the nape of his neck and around his ears, ending in longish sideburns. Give him a moustache and put him in a turban, and he could well have sat for a portrait of a Mogul Emperor.
"Well?" he added sharply, and she quickly brought her mind back to the present and saw that although he was leaning indolently back in his chair, his expression was one of impatience.
"I wanted to talk about Nizea's future," she said nervously. "I am very concerned that she—that she should take advantage of her ability."
"We, too, are concerned on this account. She is seventeen and already a woman."
"Yes, well…" Fleur felt her cheeks growing warm. "I wasn't thinking of your sister in quite that way. I mean I'm not concerned with your plans for her marriage or anything like that."
"Naturally not. That is a matter for her family."
He looked so haughty that her nervousness began to be replaced by faint anger. Did he have to look at her in such a supercilious way and make it so obvious she should be impressed because he was sparing her his valuable time?"
"I came here to talk about Nizea's future education," she went on firmly. "I don't know whether you are aware of it, Mr. Khan, but she is a very talented girl and an able writer."
"She has always had a vivid imagination."
He made it sound like an insult, and Flour's anger grew. "She has more than imagination, Mr. Kahn. She has a genuine gift. I think it should be encouraged."
"Encouraged?"
"She should go to the university. I am sure she would have no trouble in passing her entrance examination. She is one of my best pupils."
There was silence. The man half turned his head and appeared to be studying the wall some distance away. It gave him an even more remote look and increased his air of indifference.
"We are delighted that Nizea is showing attention to her studies," he said finally. "Until you came on the scene, she was more anxious to leave school than to remain there. This idea of going to the university—it is something you have put in her mind?"
"Certainly not." Fleur's softly rounded chin looked firmer as she tilted her head. But she found it hard to look into the heavy-lidded eyes that had suddenly turned to look at her, feeling as though she were being impaled by a hawk. "Nizea herself wants to continue her studies. That's why she asked me to… That's why I'm here. To plead her case."
"You are a charming advocate, Miss Peters." The deep voice was more gentle now. "However, my sister's future is already decided. She will leave school at the end of this term and will start to prepare for her wedding. Her future husband has already waited more than a year and does not wish to wait any longer."
"But Nizea doesn't want to get married!"
"I was not aware that the teachers at Madame Nadar's school interfered in the private lives of their pupils."
"Teachers should be able to talk to their pupils about everything that matters to them."
"Not the teachers in our country, Miss Peters. That is what the family is for. We do not abdicate our responsibilities to strangers, the way you so frequently do in the West."
Accepting the futility of arguing this point, she concentrated on the main one. "But Nizea is still a child."
The momentary lifting and lowering of his lids showed he was quick to see the implied criticism, though when he spoke his voice was still gentle. "In the East our women mature at an earlier age."
"But Nizea hasn't. She doesn't want to get married. She wants to go to the university. She wants to go on learning."
"Her husband will teach her."
"I'm talking about education. Not the sort of things that… that a man can teach her."
"Obviously; and that is where we fail to find common ground."
He rose, tall and lithe, towering above her in a way that few Persian men did. Again she was reminded of the Mogul Emperors of the past, the benevolent despots who had once ruled so much of Asia.
"You have a Western woman's appreciation of what the female requires," he went on. "And it is not applicable to the women here."
"I don't agree with you."
She stood up, feeling at a disadvantage because she had to tilt her head back in order to look at him. She judged him to be several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and the long lean hips of a horseman. It was easy to imagine him riding across the desert on a stallion whose gleaming coat was no less black than the hair of its master, and whose rippling flanks were but an echo of the muscles hidden in the chest and thighs of the man who rode him.
Hurriedly she controlled her thoughts, angry at being trapped by the virile strength he exuded. It was as if he were subconsciously telling her that women were only creatures with whom a man dallied for sensual pleasure. For the more serious things in life, one did not bother with them.
"I was under the impression," she said in a trembling voice, "that in modern Iran women were allowed to benefit from education, and that if they had the capabilities they were encouraged to go to the university. Your country is still concerned with illiteracy, and many of your young people spend a period of national service teaching primary education and hygiene in the outlying villages."
"That is true. But my sister will not be doing this form of national service. She will be married instead."
"But she doesn't want to be married! If she did, she wouldn't have asked me to come here and talk to her father."
The man was silent, rubbing at his cheek with one long, supple finger. "My sister is fond of you—and having met you, I can see why. You have culture and intelligence, which one would expect from a woman of your class and country. Because of that, Nizea has tried to be what she knows you would like her to be."
"Your sister isn't pretending with me," Fleur interrupted. "She feels so deeply about it that she has even threatened to kill herself rather than marry a man she doesn't love!"
The features in front of her grew rigid with rage, and the heavy lids lifted to give her the full battery of a hard black stare. "My sister knows better than to blackmail me with threats like that. But she undoubtedly knows the best way of gaining your sympathy. It is unwise to be too tenderhearted with her, or she will take advantage of you."
"Nizea is the one of whom advantage is being taken," Fleur said icily. "Because she is a girl, you believe you can ride roughshod over her feelings."
"We understand Nizea's feelings better than you do, Miss Peters. She is a highly strung, over-imaginative girl."
"She is also highly intelligent. It would be criminal to put her into purdah!"
For the first time he smiled. It was a wide, uninhibited movement of his mouth and disclosed perfectly formed white teeth. It also made him look far younger than she had judged him to be. If he had come in smiling, she would have put him at no more than twenty-eight.
"I hope your knowledge of English literature is better than your knowledge of modern-day Iran," he said in amusement. "It is many years since our women were kept in purdah. I know you think we are trying to curtail Nizea's freedom, but I can assure you it is merely a family's desire to protect its youngest member. My sister is, as you say, intelligent and with some talent, and this makes it all the more necessary for her to be controlled."
"She's a woman—not a horse!" Fleur's eyes sparked with anger, heightening the green in them. "How would you have reacted if you had not been allowed to follow your own choice of career?"
"I cannot answer emotional suppositions. I wanted to be a lawyer, and my father was fully in agreement."
"You are a lawyer?" She could not hide her surprise. "Then you of all people should value a person's rights!"
"I do." He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. The movement showed the muscles on his broad chest, and again he was reminded of a high-bred stallion. "If I were all
owed to make my own decision about my sister's future, I would not be averse to letting her continue her education."
"Then why… ?"
"Because I am only Nizea's brother, and our father has decreed otherwise."
"Have you never disobeyed him?"
"For myself I might consider doing so," he replied, "but I would never encourage anyone else to do the same."
'I am surprised by your attitude, Mr. Khan. I judged you to be a man of conviction." The flash in his eyes told her she had insulted him, and the color in her cheeks deepened. "Forgive me. I… I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"You should guard your tongue with the same care that we like to guard our women," he said coldly. "Then it would be in no danger."
The warmth in her cheeks spread to the rest of her body, and she was glad she was wearing a high necked dress. It was clear there was no point continuing the conversation, and she moved to the door.
"You will take tea."
It was a statement, not a question, and, remembering the wording of the letter, she was embarrassed.
"Your rudeness to me," he went on, "does not absolve me from my duty as a host."
"I thought we had finished our discussion."
"We will talk of other things," he said, and paused as two women servants came in.
One had a silk cloth over her arm and was about to spread it upon a Persian rug on the floor when the man spoke to her in sibilant tones. She immediately set the cloth upon one of the mother-of-pearl-inlaid tables, and the second servant placed several dishes of sweetmeats upon it. As she was doing this, the first one went out and returned carrying a silver tray and a silver-and-gold tea service. While this was being arranged on the table, a small bowl filled with lemon scented water was held in front of Fleur, who knew enough of Persian customs to dip her fingers in it and wipe them on the warm towel held out for her.
As silently as they had come in the two girls glided out They wore white muslin blouses and long tight black trousers with short, blue net overskirts that resembled the tutu of a ballerina. She dragged her eyes away from the fascinating picture they made and found her host regarding her.
"You are intrigued by their costumes?"
"Yes." It was good to get on to an impersonal subject. "They are most unusual."
"They were designed many years ago by one of our rulers. He was a guest of your Queen Victoria and visited the famous Alhambra Theatre. He was intrigued by the costumes he saw there, and when he returned to Persia, he designed something similar."
A servant girl returned and began to pour the tea into fragile gold-and-blue cups. The tea itself was fragrant, and though milk was offered, Fleur declined it. She would have liked to decline the sweetmeats but, knowing it would be impolite to refuse, she took the first one that came to hand. It looked like a meringue but tasted of ground almonds and was so light it melted in her mouth. Another one was immediately offered, but she shook her head and instead sipped her tea.
Karim Khan had seated himself in a chair again. He declined the sweetmeats with an imperious wave of his hand but drank his tea quickly.
"Do you like my country?" he asked unexpectedly.
"I haven't seen very much of it yet," she said politely. "But I like Teheran."
"What brought you to Madame Nadar's school? It is not the sort of place I would have expected to find you."
"I taught at a British boarding school." Her green eyes glinted. "Cold baths and hockey is much more my metier, I suppose."
He refused to be baited. "You answered an advertisement?"
"No, Mr. Khan. A friend of mine works here and, when he heard of the vacancy, he suggested I should apply for it."
"A Persian friend of yours?"
She shook her head. "An Englishman—Rory Baines. He works in the legal department of an oil company."
"Did your parents not object to your living thousands of miles away from home?"
"Why should they? I'm not a chad."
"But you are a woman." He heard her exclamation, and his mouth curved upwards slightly. "It is surely normal for parents to worry more about the safety of their daughters than about their sons?"
"My parents didn't think I was coming to live in the wilderness," she said evenly.
The inclination of his head signified that he took her point. At the same time, he set down his cup with a finality that told her he was anxious to go. Quickly she set down her own cup and rose.
"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Khan. It was kind of you to spare me your time."
"How beautifully you tell your social lie."
His smile came again, but she did not return it. Nor did she hold out her hand, uncertain if it was expected of her. But as she turned to leave she found him beside her, and he walked with her from the room and across the large, cool hall with its high, domed ceiling to the inner courtyard. He paused there and while she was again debating whether to hold out her hand, she found it clasped briefly.
"My servant will see you out, Miss Peters. And please, I beg you not to think too harshly of us. My father wants what is best for Nizea's happiness."
Not even politeness could make Fleur concede this, and she remained rigid, only moving as she felt the servant at her elbow.
"Good-bye, Mr. Khan," she said and walked past the fountain to the smaller, outer courtyard.
Unwilling to walk through the streets, she was on the point of asking for a taxi to be called for her when a black Cadillac came through the outer gates and stopped in front of her. The servant opened the rear door and tentatively she got in. She had not expected to be provided with a car to take her home and would have given much to know if the arrangement had been made before her arrival. It was unlikely that after her sharp exchange with the son of the house he would have thought to do it. He was more likely to have wanted to string her up by her hair!
It was amazing that a man of education and obvious intelligence should have such old-fashioned views regarding his sister. Heaven help his poor wife! She tried to conjure up a picture of the woman but could see only a colorfully dressed serving girl. That would be much more the sort of creature he would have around him: a docile, subjugated female who looked on him as her lord and master.
Three
"It was as I expected," Madame Nadar commented after hearing Fleur's account of her meeting with Karim Khan. "Now perhaps you will be content to let the matter rest and not encourage Nizea in her dream."
"Why should it be a dream? Prejudice is the only thing stopping her from doing what she wants."
"You would be wise to recognize its force and not fight it."
"I can't understand her brother's thinking the way he does. After all, he's an educated man."
"Education has nothing to do with one's emotion. He may have accepted many Western customs, but that doesn't mean he has discarded his own."
Fleur nodded and thought of the lordly way he had let the servants wait on him. "I'm just so sorry for Nizea."
"You must temper your sympathy with tact," Madame Nadar warned. "It would be bad if my school got the reputation of encouraging insurgence. Parents send their daughters here to be educated—not indoctrinated!"
"I'd hardly call it indoctrinating them to teach them some degree of independence."
"Our girls are not encouraged to be independent."
There was a note of warning in Madame's voice that told Fleur she would be unwise to argue further. She had come here on a year's contract, it was true, but Madame could no doubt find a way of terminating it before then if she wished.
"I've no intention of fighting Mr. Khan," Fleur stated. "Red-haired though I am, I'm not quite so foolhardy!"
Madame smiled. "I'm glad to hear it. It is far more intelligent to give in to the inevitable."
Rory Baines echoed this sentiment when he took Fleur to dinner a few nights later on his return from London.
"If I had been here before you wrote that letter, I'd have told you not to waste your time," he said.
"Old man Khan is a real despot"
"So is his son."
"I've never met him. But he's got a formidable reputation as a lawyer. Several big American firms have been angling for him. Some British ones, too."
"I'm sure no money was spared on his education," Fleur said bitterly.
"He's Khan's only son."
"And daughters don't count?"
"Not in the same way." Rory leaned toward her. "You count though, my little firebird. I couldn't get you out of my mind while I was away. Did you miss me when I was in London?"
"I was too busy working to miss you." She saw his smile fade and added quickly, "I put in awfully long hours."
"Don't do more than you're paid for," he said. "Madame Nadar won't have any scruples about using you."
'Women are accustomed to being used," Fleur retorted. "Men have been doing it for centuries!"
Rory laughed, his thin, freckled face creasing into many lines. He was an unassuming looking man with a warm personality that made him attractive to women. Average in height, with fairish hair and soft brown eyes, he used his seeming mediocrity as a cloak to hide a mind that was both quick and subtle. Fleur had known him for a year and, though he had asked her to marry him six months after they met, she had been too unsure of her own feelings to say yes. Shortly afterwards, he had left for Iran and they had corresponded regularly, her liking for him deepening during his absence so that she had half regretted turning him down. When he had written and told her there was a teaching post available for her in Teheran, she had unhesitatingly accepted it, knowing it would give her a chance to reassess her feeling toward him and also see something of the world.
Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert Page 2