Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert

by Roberta Leigh

  "The question is irrelevant. I have a big law firm and am well established in it."

  "But you said you wished you had a smaller company."

  "I was talking for the sake of talking," Karim shrugged. "My father realized that."

  "And I didn't," Fleur said flatly. "Which means he knows you better than I do."

  "Temporarily. Soon you will know me better than anyone."

  She did not respond to this, and her lack of expression made him stop walking so that he could study her carefully.

  "What did my father say to you when you were alone together?"

  "Nothing."

  "You aren't telling me the truth. But I will allow you to keep your secret. Women like to have one. They feel it gives them strength."

  "I'll need strength against you," she murmured. "Otherwise you'll try to dominate me."

  "And be your master," he teased. "That's what you're afraid of. Yet I have no objection to you being my mistress!"

  Despite her unease, she couldn't help smiling and was glad when Karim saw it as a sign of her contentment and took her into his arms. Close to him her doubts were always appeased, and she could think of the future without fear; it was only when they were apart that her anxiety arose. Perhaps it would be better if they were married quickly.

  With this in mind Fleur wrote to Madame Nadar the following morning and, since Karim was returning to Teheran after lunch, he suggested taking the letter with him and having his chauffeur deliver it. He did not ask what she had said in it, though the warmth in her eyes as she looked at him must have given him some clue, for his own eyes darkened with passion, the fire in them telling her all that his lips could not utter.

  As always, Karim's departure left her depressed, and she used work as a palliative, a fact which Nizea noted with grumbling amusement. Of all the Khans she was the one whom Fleur knew to be genuinely delighted by her engagement, and they spent happy hours talking of the future. Nizea saw Fleur's entry into the family as the first opening of a wedge that would eventually lead to her own freedom.

  "Once you're Karim's wife, you'll be able to persuade my father to let me go to the university."

  "I wouldn't bank on it. I've already spoken to Karim, and he says he won't interfere."

  "It will be different when you're married. You will have more influence over him then."

  Fleur recollected Ibrahim Khan's comment. "I might have less."

  "Don't be silly. Once you belong to Karim, he'll dote on you."

  "I won't belong to your brother," Fleur said sharply, "any more than he'll belong to me. Marriage is a partnership, and I wouldn't dream of forcing him to do something against his will. Nor would I use his need of me to get my own way."

  "I bet he'll use your love for him to get what he wants," Nizea said. "Karim's as subtle as a serpent."

  Fleur was disquieted at the picture of marriage as portrayed by Nizea. This was not the way she envisaged her relationship with Karim, and she wondered how many other unknown facets there were in his character. The question lay below the surface of her mind, giving her unpleasant dreams at night and marring the tranquility of the long sunny days.

  Halfway through the week she received a call from Rory. She had not written to tell him of her engagement, reluctant to do so until her parents knew, which wouldn't be until she and Karim flew to England. Because she knew Rory considered her to be free, she assumed he was ringing to ask when she was returning to Teheran and was taken aback to hear him say he was flying up the following day to Babol—one of the more important towns on the Caspian coast—and hoped she would be free to meet him for lunch.

  "I'm going to England at the weekend," he explained. "For good, this time."

  Swallowing this second surprise, she said: "Isn't it rather sudden? I thought you were going to be here for another year."

  "That was the original intention, but I've been offered a junior partnership with Benson & Bates."

  The name rang a bell in her mind, and she remembered Karim telling her he had once worked for the company.

  "They're an excellent firm," Rory continued. "And it's too good an offer for me to turn down. Do say you can meet me," he pleaded. "I'd hate like hell to go back without having another chance to propose."

  "I'll only see you on condition that you don't," she said firmly. "I mean it, Rory."

  There was a short pause.

  "I take the point, Fleur. Let's just meet for old time's sake."

  Wishing she could avoid it, for she was sure nothing would stop him from repeating his proposal, she agreed to meet him in Babol at noon the next day.

  "Let's have an early lunch," she suggested, knowing Karin always returned late in the afternoon for the Friday and Saturday weekend.

  "The earlier the better," Rory said. "Then I'll get to spend more time with you."

  This was not what Fleur had in mind, but she did not argue and replaced the receiver to see Nizea looking at her curiously.

  "That was Rory." Fleur felt it incumbent on her to explain. "He's coming to Babol on business, and I'm having lunch with him."

  "Try and get to Babolsar at the same time. It's a bit further along the coast and has a wonderful palace. In fact, if you went straight to the palace you could arrange to meet your friend there instead of in Babol. There's a fine restaurant close by that serves the best caviar in the world."

  "It would be wasted on me," Fleur said. "I think it's like highly salted cod's roe."

  "You're an infidel," Nizea giggled.

  "I know. But Rory isn't, so I'll take your advice and call him back. I'm sure he won't mind a drive along the coast if there's a good tuck-in at the end of it."

  The next day, watching Rory gustily tackling a mound of glistening black caviar smothered in sour cream, she was glad she had taken Nizea's advice.

  "At least you'll remember this lunch for a long time to come," she smiled at him.

  "I'll remember you even longer. I hate the thought of going back to England and leaving you behind."

  "It's better for you to forget me," she said hastily. "Then you'll have more chance of meeting someone else."

  "Do you think one can fall in and out of love on command?"

  "I think you're too sensible to waste time pining for a girl who doesn't want you," she said firmly and, looking at his freckled face and amiable smile, knew how unlike Karim he was. Of course, Rory would be easier to live with and, though one might never attain the heights with him, neither would one reach the lows that life with Karim might bring. Apart from any difficulties, there was the social aspect too. Although plenty of English people lived in the capital, as the wife of a Persian she would be regarded as the next best thing to a foreigner.

  The urge to tell Rory all that was going through her mind was overwhelming, and she was only forestalled by his suddenly seeing some business friends on the other side of the room and beckoning them to join him for coffee. By the time they left the restaurant her urge to confide had evaporated, and she was in control of herself.

  "Now for some sight-seeing," he said. "We can't come all the way here without looking at the palace."

  It would have been churlish to refuse, and Fleur gave in with grace, finding that, against her will, the beauty of the restored building made her lose all sense of time. She was later leaving Rory than she had intended, for he had insisted on her sending the Khans' car and chauffeur home, saying he would drive her back instead.

  It was well after five when he drew up outside the gates of the villa whose white walls could only be glimpsed through the barrier of trees.

  "I assume it's awkward for you to ask me in," he said drily.

  "Why should it be?" She kept her voice calm, knowing that the moment he entered the house he would learn of her engagement to Karim. She should have told him during lunch, when she had first wanted to do it

  "It's too late for me to call your bluff," he grinned. "I have to get back to Babol for an evening meeting." He caught hold of her hands, whi
ch were resting in her lap. "You will write to me, won't you?"

  "No," she said firmly. "When I come to London, I'll give you a call."

  "You're a very hard-headed girl."

  "And you're a very obstinate man."

  "Will you give me a good-bye kiss?"

  She held up her face, and he caught her in a bearlike hug and kissed her full on the mouth, letting his lips linger there before drawing away. "I always knew yon were too beautiful for me," he said, his eyes extra bright "God, how I envy the man who finally gets you."

  He reached for her again, but she eluded his grip and slipped from the car. She tried to speak but was afraid she would cry; so she just stood there and waved goodbye to him. When Rory left Iran, she would be totally alone in this alien country. It was a frightening thought. She told herself she was ridiculous to feel this way, for she would be with the man who was going to be her husband; but somehow she was not reassured.

  She hurried through the garden and was walking along the cloistered terrace with its beautifully tiled walls and floor, when Karim appeared from behind one of the pillars. His formal clothes, a silk suit in dark blue, told her he had not long arrived from Teheran, and she was put out that she had not managed to get back even a few minutes ahead of him. Irritation rose in her that she should feel this way. Karim was not her jailer. He was the man she loved, and she was not afraid of him. Wishing to prove it, she ran towards him, hands outstretched.

  He made no answering gesture of welcome, and his arms remained motionless at his side, though his hands were clenching and unclenching. She came to a stop a couple of feet away from him, trying not to show she was disturbed by his aloofness.

  "Have you been back long, Karim? I went out to lunch and hoped to get back earlier."

  "No doubt you did—then I needn't have known."

  "It wasn't a secret."

  "Evidently." Though low, his voice was harsh. "You don't care how much you shame me as long as you do what you want."

  "Shame you? How can my going out with Rory shame you?"

  "You dare ask that?"

  He reached out as if to get hold of her, and she backed away, frightened by the raw fury on his face. Part of her was thrilled by his jealousy, but another part of her was disgusted, seeing his attitude as an insult to her integrity.

  "You're making a fuss over nothing, Karim. Rory is going back to England and, as he was coming up to Babol, he asked if he could see me."

  "If he had wanted you to go to Teheran, would you have gone there, too?"

  "Probably. What's so terrible about it? He's a friend of mine."

  "He's in love with you."

  "What's that got to do with it?"

  "Everything! You had no business to see him. You're mine. Mine, do you hear? You should know better than to meet a man who desires you."

  "Am I allowed to meet only men who don't?" She forced herself to give a cool laugh. "Honestly, Karim, you're talking like a fool."

  "How dare you call me a fool?" This time his hand shot out and caught her by the arm, his grip so tight that the pain numbed her. "Do you think my love for you is such a weakness that you can do what you like with me? Well, I'll show you otherwise."

  His head came down swiftly, and his mouth fastened on hers in a kiss of such demanding ferocity that she felt the salt taste of blood on her tongue. There was too much pain in his touch for it to arouse desire, and she tried to pull away from him. Her resistance increased his fury and he intensified the pressure of his mouth. Her breath was stifled, and she beat her palms against his back.

  "You're mine," he said thickly. "I won't have you giving your beauty to anyone else."

  "I'm not your slave," she panted and again tried to pull herself free of him.

  "Be still," he ordered and dragged her hard up against his chest

  She knew it was impossible to escape him and that to try would only increase his anger. Yet it required all her will power to remain motionless and silent, for inside she was seething with anger. How dare he talk to her as if she were his slave? Did he think she had no mind of her own that he could tell her what to do and expect her to obey him unthinkingly?

  "I cannot bear other men to see you," he ground out, winding his fingers around the strands of her hair.

  The feel of its silkiness seemed to affect him, for he began to tremble. Sensing it, her anger died like a flame in water, replaced by the aching knowledge that she could not judge Karim the way she would judge any other man she knew. No longer was he the sophisticated man of education she had agreed to marry but a primitive tyrant whose cruel demands were but an echo of his ancestors.

  "I can't bear any other man to have your smile," he muttered against her lips. "You belong to me and no one else."

  His hands moved down her slender back, pressing her hard against him so that it was impossible not to feel the desire she aroused in him. In normal circumstances she would have been thrilled by it, but now she was sickened. All he was concerned with were his own needs. To him she was a body he wanted to take. She was not allowed to have a mind, and any resistance she offered would be crushed until he had turned her into a shrinking, submissive creature who would obey his every whim. Limply she leaned against him, but her thoughts raced on, and a bitterness she had never suspected within herself directed its corrosiveness toward him.

  For endless moments Karim satiated himself with her body. His lips moved from her mouth to the white throat, rested on the shadow between her breasts and nibbled along the smooth line of her shoulder to the nape of her neck and the curve of her ear.

  "I love you," he groaned. "I can't bear to be away from you. I want you with me wherever I go. Darling… darling…"

  At last he released her, slowly withdrawing his hands and stepping away from her. He was in perfect control of himself again. His features had lost their harshness, and his mouth was a delicate curve, the full, lower lip once more held in. His eyes had lost their dramatic glitter and were almost tender as they rested on her.

  "Forgive me if I have hurt you, my dearest. I hope that from now on you won't try to make me jealous."

  Casually she walked several paces away from him until she reached a chair. She didn't sit in it but went behind it, as if in need of its protection.

  "I didn't try to make you jealous, Karim. I agreed to have lunch with Rory, because it never entered my head that you would object."

  "I don't object to you having lunch with a friend, but this man wishes to be more than that."

  "He's still my friend, and he's accepted the fact that I won't marry him."

  "Is that why he kissed you on the mouth when he said good-bye?"

  Fleur was glad she was a long way from Karim for she saw the fury rising again in him.

  "Were you spying on me?" she flared.

  "I was walking in the garden and waiting for you. I heard the car draw up at the gate and was coming to greet you when I witnessed the loving farewell."

  "It was a farewell between friends."

  "Is that all he was to you? Are you sure he wasn't your lover?"

  Staggered by the accusation, she stared at him blankly.

  "Well," he demanded, "aren't you going to deny it?"

  "Would you believe me if I did? You may enjoy torturing yourself, Karim, but I'm not going to let you torture me."

  "Answer me!" he cried, as if he had not heard her. "I demand to know the truth."

  "About Rory?" Her voice was icy as her eyes. "Of course, he was my lover. That's why I followed him out here. And he wasn't the first man, either. There have been dozens and dozens! Each one better than the last!"

  "Be quiet!" Karim almost shouted the words. "You're lying to me. You're innocent. I've seen it on your face… felt it in your touch." He put a shaking hand to his forehead. "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did. I must have been mad. But you make me so angry that…"

  "I make you angry?" Her voice rose high, and she made no attempt to lower it, not caring that it rang out in
the soft evening air. "It's about time you stopped thinking of yourself and consider how I feel. I'm not one of your servant girls that you can order around. I've taken care of myself for years, and no one has ever dictated to me."

  "I wasn't dictating."

  "How else would you describe it? As bullying? As domineering? As proving you were my lord and master? Well, you're not, and you never will be. Never!"

  She flung the chair forward, and it slithered across the tiles. He tried to side-step it and come to her but, before 1 he could do so, she ran across the hall and up the stairs as if the devil was at her heels—as indeed she felt he was—except that the devil was named Karim, the man she loved and feared.

  Only when she was in the safety of her room, with the I door locked and the balcony window bolted, did her heart steady its wild beating. What sort of future would she | have with a man who could turn from angel to devil in a matter of seconds? It was hopeless to think of it. They didn't see love in the same way. To her it meant trust, understanding, tenderness. To him it meant control, mastering, and the total domination of her will power.

  She sank trembling on to the bed and lowered her flushed face into her hands. She and Karim were too different ever to come to terms with each other. The love which she had thought might bring them together had instead driven them irretrievably apart.

  Twelve

  Loath though she was to arouse Ibrahim Khan's suspicion that things were not well between herself and his son, Fleur found it impossible to go down to dinner that night. The thought of food nauseated her and the prospect of sitting at the onyx table making banal conversation, or having to listen in respectful silence while the two men discussed business affairs, was more than she could tolerate. How unlike her own family's dinnertime conversation, when everyone was allowed to chip in and say what they liked from the youngest member to the eldest.

  I must have been crazy to think of marrying him, she decided. He doesn't want a woman, he wants a dummy. She knew she was having to stoke her anger against him to keep it going full blast; if she didn't, she would remember him in other moods, and the memory would reawaken her love for him.