by Mary Lyons
Smiling shyly up at the man who was regarding her with a calm, friendly expression on his face, Leonie had found herself beginning to relax. It was really very kind of him to take so much trouble on her behalf, and she haltingly told him so.
‘Think nothing of it, my dear Leonie,’ he had grinned, sitting down on a wide sofa near her chair. ‘It is clearly my duty to help a damsel in distress. Now,’ he had added, filling her glass again, ‘tell me all about yourself.’
‘There’s . . . well, there’s really nothing much to tell,’ she had begun, but under his skilful questioning she had soon found herself becoming more loquacious. It had been somehow very easy to talk to this man about just how much she missed her father and how, not knowing what she wanted to do on leaving school, she had been so grateful when an old friend of her father’s, Dimitri Kashan, had offered her a job in his firm training to be an oriental rug broker. Since most of her school holidays had been spent in Iran, where rugmaking was an important part of the national economy, and where she had spent many hours visiting small village workshops watching the weavers at their looms, Leonie had jumped at the chance of working with such beautiful objects.
‘Training to be an oriental rug broker is perhaps an unusual career? Especially for such a beautiful young girl, hmm'?’
Leonie had been able to feel herself blushing, her heart beginning to beat in a hurried, nervous response to the increasing warmth in his voice. ‘I . . . er . . . I’m not sure whether I’ll still have a job after this mix-up with the carpet,’ she had muttered unhappily. ‘What on earth am I going to do?’
‘What you are going to do, is to allow me to drive you home,’ he had said firmly. ‘I know Mr Kashan, and I can assure you that when I have spoken to him, there will be nothing for you to worry about.’
Leonie had spent a sleepless night wondering about what her employer would say, and also disturbed--not to say appalled--by the strange churning in her stomach, the hopeless longing and trembling excitement whenever she thought about Badyr. She had been sure that such a handsome, older man would have been bored by her youth and inexperience, and quite convinced that she would never see him again.
She had, therefore, been astounded when Dimitri Kashan had welcomed her the next morning with a beaming smile, and even more amazed to find that the man in the luxury apartment was a valued client of the firm. Prince Badyr of Dhoman, she learned, was the only son of a wealthy Arab sultan and had been brought up and educated in England. Her head had still been spinning when she returned home from work to find a huge bouquet of red roses awaiting her, together with a note from Badyr asking her to join him for dinner that night.
The next few weeks had been ones of halcyon enjoyment and happiness. A serving officer in the British Army, Badyr’s regiment was based at Chelsea Barracks in London, and he had insisted on seeing her every day, either taking her out to dinner or having a meal prepared by his Arab servants in his penthouse suite overlooking Hyde Park. Leonie had never tired of hearing about the past history of his country, Dhoman. She would sit curled up beside him on the sofa in his apartment as he told her how his country, situated at the foot of the Arabian peninsula overlooking the Arabian Sea, had once been a great sea-trading nation.
‘People imagine that it is only a desert, but the south of the country is a wide, fertile green plain, once known as the Incense Coast because it provided the world with frankincense and other rare spices. Nowadays, our chief export is oil, although my father adamantly refuses to spend the revenues as he should--completely ignoring his people’s dire need and poverty,’ he had added bitterly.
That had been Leonie’s first intimation of the strained relationship betwen father and son. Having sent Badyr to be educated in England, and encouraging him to take up a military career, Sultan Raschid had clearly not realised that such an education might well lead to his son taking a more democratic, liberal view of the responsibilities of a ruler.
‘The days when one can run a country as if it was one’s own private estate are dead and gone!’ Badyr had exploded angrily as they returned to his apartment one evening. He had gone on to say that he had been given permanent leave of absence from his regiment, and he intended to return to Dhoman almost immediately.
‘There has been constant trouble in the western part of my country for the past few years, mainly due to my father’s dislike of all development—such as roads, hospitals and schools,’ he had explained. ‘Now, however, matters are becoming far more serious, and I have been informed by British army intelligence that both Russia and China are pouring arms into the area. I must go back and stand by my father’s side, whether he wishes it or not. He needs me at such a time.’
Leonie had suddenly felt cold as ice, immobile as if she had been turned to stone. Ever since they had first met, Badyr’s handsome image had seemed to haunt both her dreams and every waking moment, causing her to be so absent-minded that her employer, Dimitri Kashan, had been forced to protest: ‘May the Good Lord preserve me from young girls in love!’
Was she in love? She had wondered how anyone knew if they were really in love? Leonie had only been aware that life had seemed to take on a new dimension when she was in Badyr’s company, and without him she was somehow incomplete. However, since he had never attempted to do more than give her a chaste peck on her cheek as he delivered her back to her home each evening, she had had no idea of his feelings towards her.
Now, however, all doubts regarding her own emotions had been swept away. As a shaft of bitter agony pierced her heart, she had realised that she loved Badyr, and that she could not live without him. Gasping with pain, she had buried her face in her hands to hide the tide of desperate misery which racked her slim figure. A moment later she had felt his arms closing about her.
‘Do not weep, my sweet Leonie,’ he had murmured as she sobbed against his shoulder. ‘Tell me what is wrong, hmm?’
‘You are g-going away and . . . and I c-can’t bear it. I love you s-so much . . .’ she had stuttered, a deep blush spreading over her pale cheeks as she had realised just how she was betraying her feelings for him.
‘Ah . . .’ Badyr’s tall frame had shaken as he gave a deep sigh. Lowering his head, his warm breath had fanned her flushed cheek as his lips had gently touched the corner of her trembling mouth in a soft, gentle caress. ‘I too, my darling,’ he had whispered. ‘It is a very serious thing, is it not, for a man of my age to fall so completely in love—and with such a young girl?’
‘Oh, Badyr!' she had exclaimed ecstatically, throwing her arms about his neck. ‘I love you and . . .’ The rest of her words had been lost as he had clasped her tighter, his mouth possessing hers with passionate intensity.
§ She had had no idea how long they stood locked together, but eventually his hold had slackened. ‘I think that we had better sit down before I do something that we would both regret—like immediately taking you to my bed!’ he had said hoarsely as he led her towards a sofa. ‘I can see the headlines now,’ he had grinned. "‘Arab man rapes young girl in Hyde Park apartment"--I somehow don’t think your mother would approve!’
A hectic Hush had swept over Leonie’s cheeks. Although she had been strictly brought up, and had always concurred with the moral principle of chastity before marriage, for the first time in her life she had understood the driving force and power of sexual desire. Badyr had mentioned rape, but she had known that once she was clasped within his arms, she would have no other impulse but complete and total surrender to whatever he might demand of her. Emotionally excited and thrilled beyond words to find that he loved her, she had been so immersed in her own ecstatic thoughts that she had almost missed his next words.
‘. .. as I intended. I had hoped that we could be married and spend many happy years together here in England, before I would be forced to take up my responsibilities in Dohman. But it is not to be. I cannot ask you to wait for me, neither can I expect you to
accompany me to such a medieval, backward country, where life
is so very different from that in England.’
‘Oh, please! Please take me with you, Badyr,’ she had begged. ‘I . . . I’ll die if you go away and leave me, I know I will!’
‘Ah, my darling. When you look at me like that I am sorely tempted,' he had murmured thickly, gathering her slender body into his arms. ‘I, too, cannot bear the idea of life without you by my side. But you will find the life so different, so restrictive, that I hesitate . . .’
‘I love you so much,’ she had told him earnestly. ‘I don’t care what Dhoman’s like, just as long as you and I are together.’
Badyr had sighed heavily. ‘How can I possibly resist such a plea, since I too love you with all my heart? Very well, my darling, it shall be as you say. I will ask your mother for permission to marry you, and then we will leave for Dhoman, together.'
‘Oh, Badyr . . .! I’m . . . I’m so happy!’ she had murmured, tears of joy filling her eyes.
‘I hope and pray that you may always be so,’ he had said quietly. The dark eyes gleaming down at her had become shadowed, a troubled expression flickering across his face for a moment, before he had smiled and bent to kiss her soft lips. ‘Insh'allah, my beloved Leonie. It shall be as God wills, hmm?’
They had been married a week later at the Regent’s Park Mosque, followed by a simple register office wedding and a lavish reception afterwards at the Hyde Park Hotel. Leonie had drifted through the day in a hazy state of bliss, only truly aware of Badyr’s tall handsome figure, and her almost unbelievable joy at being married to a man whom she loved with all her heart.
It had taken a great deal of persuasion, on Badyr’s part, to gain Mrs Elliot’s permission for the wedding to go ahead. She had not been at all happy to learn that her daughter was intent on marrying an Arab, and even more disturbed to learn that the happy couple would be going to live in a far-off and isolated part of Arabia.
‘Not that I’ve got anything against Badyr, himself,' her mother had said. ‘He’s a charming man, and l know that he will always take the greatest care of you—his assurances to me of his love and devotion were genuinely touching and obviously sincere. But, darling, you are so young--only eighteen!' She had frowned anxiously. ‘And who has ever heard of Dhoman? Not only that--I’m told that Arab society is very, very different from anything we know in the West. It will be a totally strange way of life, and learning to live with someone else can be difficult enough, without adding cultural stresses and strains to the relationship.’
But Leonie had been adamant that their love for each other would surmount all obstacles, refusing to listen to any words of caution or the plea that she should wait a year before getting married, so as to be absolutely sure of her decision. And because she loved her daughter very dearly, Mrs Elliot had sighed and said no more.
Almost before she knew it, Leonie had said her emotional farewells, and was boarding the privately chartered aeroplane with her new husband, bound for a week’s honeymoon in Paris before travelling on to Dhoman.
Leonie had never had any doubts about her physical response to Badyr, but his experienced lovemaking had been a revelation, an exquisite fulfilment that surpassed anything she could possibly have imagined. Knowing that she was a virgin, he had slowly and with infinite gentleness led her from one emotional delight to another. Beneath his skilful expertise, as his mouth and hands savoured every inch of her slender, quivering body, she had begun to comprehend the true meaning of emotional ecstasy. Eagerly welcoming both the pain and then the pulsating pleasure of his hungry possession, her conscious self had become submerged in a raging storm of desire as he raised her, emotionally and physically, to the very peak of passionate sensuality.
Day after day and night after night, Badyr had clearly demonstrated his inexhaustible desire for her body. Under his masterly tuition, she had learned to finally discard all her virginal inhibitions, wantonly responding to the piercing sweetness of his lips, wildly and passionately returning his intimate caresses.
But all too soon, it seemed, their idyll was over. Badyr had arranged that they would break their journey at Abu Dhabi, spending a night with his father’s youngest sister, who had married a member of Abu Dhabi’s ruling family.
It had been Leonie’s first real glimpse of Arabia, and she had found it disconcerting. From the modern, futuristic design of the airport building which looked like a giant, psychedelic mushroom, to the shimmering glass—towered office blocks surrounded by shady parks and gardens overfiowing with tropical blooms in riotous colours, it had seemed light-years away from her previous notions of what constituted a desert city.
Later that evening as Leonie had stood on the open balcony of their palatial bedroom, she had felt the first stirrings of apprehension and unease. Badyr’s aunt couldn’t have been kinder to her. A small, bustling woman, she had kissed Leonie enthusiastically on the cheek and seen to the girl’s every comfort. However, it had quickly become apparent to them both that Leonie hadn’t the faintest notion about the traditional customs or what was expected of women in Arabia. She hadn’t known, for instance, that it wasn’t usual for men and women to eat together--even husbands and wives having separate meals with members of their own sex. Nor had she been very successful at disguising her shock at having to wear a black veil covering her face when strange visitors called. She had also been clearly bewildered by the fact that among the guests at the aunt’s female-only dinner-party--all of whom seemed to be clothed in dresses from the top Parisian fashion houses, and wearing magnificent jewellery the like of which she had never seen before--most of the women did not use a fork, but scooped up the food with the fingers of their right hand. Trying to teach Leonie to eat the same way, the women had screamed with laughter both at her awkwardness and the resulting mess on her clothes.
‘I must have a long talk to Badyr as soon as possible!' his aunt had exclaimed in some agitation at the depth of the English girl’s ignorance. ‘How much has he told you about my brother, the Sultan, and the life that you will be expected to live in Dhoman?’
‘Nothing, really,’ Leonie had murmured, feeling tired and exhausted by all the cultural shocks of the day.
‘I see,’ the older woman had frowned. ‘Well, if we have time before you leave tomorrow, I will try to tell you all I can.’
Which was very kind of her, Leonie reflected, unable to repress a shiver even though there was no breeze to disturb the hot night air. She had been so immersed in her thoughts that she had not heard Badyr’s approach, giving a start of surprise as she felt his arms go about her slim waist.
‘I must talk to you,’ she had begun. ‘I didn’t realise . . . I mean, it’s all so very . . .’
‘Come to bed, my beloved,' Badyr had whispered, burying his face in the fragrant cloud of her red-gold hair.
‘Please, Badyr, I’m worried, and . . .’
‘Tomorrow. We will talk about what worries you tomorrow, hmm? Just now, I am far more interested in other matters!’ His eyes gleamed in the darkness as he had turned her to face him, his mouth coming down to possess her lips in a warm, lingering kiss. ‘Ah, my darling, I fear I am insatiably addicted to your delicious body,’ he had breathed huskily, his hands moving slowly and sensually over the full curves of her breasts. As she had gasped and trembled at his touch, he had given a soft, low laugh, sweeping her up in his arms and moving swiftly over to the bed, where his vigorous, erotic lovemaking had quickly banished everything from her mind, save the driving need to ardently respond to the passion that Hared between them.
Waking late the next moming, she had dressed and gone downstairs, drawn to the sound of voices coming from an open door. Standing in the doorway, she had been startled to see the small figure of his aunt, angrily yelling at Badyr who stood rigidly silent, growing pale as the tirade continued. Leonie had thought she heard her name mentioned once or twice, but it was impossible to be sure among the stream of incomprehensible language issuing from the mouth of the small, furious woman.
Badyr had gestured
towards Leonie, and his aunt had fallen silent for a moment. ‘Well,’ she had sighed, speaking in English, ‘I have done what I can. No one can say that you haven’t been warned. But I do beg you to be careful, Badyr, because the situation is now very, very dangerous.’
‘What’s dangerous?’ Leonie had asked, feeling suddenly frightened by the serious note in the older woman’s voice.
‘Nothing that need concern you,’ Badyr had replied curtly. His dismissive words were clearly nonsense, and Leonie could feel her hackles rise at being treated like a .child. However, his aunt was loudly clapping her hands for coffee, and it had proved impossible to pursue the matter any further.
There had been little time before they left Abu Dhabi for Badyr’s aunt to do more than show Leonie how to wear the abaya, the black covering wom by Arab women outside their home. That, and her whispered injunction, when Badyr left the room for a moment, to contact the older woman if there should be trouble of any kind, had left Leonie in a state of apprehensive confusion. Badyr had not chosen to give a sensible answer to any of her questions during the night to Dhoman, and so she had been totally ignorant of what lay ahead as their small plane prepared to land, circling over a mountain range in front of which lay the sandy plain and deep blue sea of her future homeland.