by Jane Arbor
She had not expected the wedding of Rachma’s sister to be any concern of hers, and it was only through Sorab that she learned that Rachma’s family had a problem. They hadn’t enough house room for putting up their guests!
Sorab explained, “Their house is small and Rachma is one of five children. For the wedding, as is usual with us, there are many relatives who will come and expect to stay for the four days of the celebrations
“Four days? ” queried Alice.
“That is quite common for a wedding.” Sorab told her. “Some festivities go on for seven. And though the neighbours will care for the younger children, Rachma says there is still not enough room for them all.”
“Well, couldn’t we help, perhaps?” asked Alice. “I’ll tell Rachma that she can sleep here while the house is full. She will have time off for the wedding, and if she wants to stay late for whatever is going on, Hussein can see her safely back.”
Sorab said, “That will please her.” And it did. In thanking Alice Rachma claimed, “Now my aunt Yasmin from Rabat can come. She and her two children.”
“Three in your place?” smiled Alice.
“Ah, they are very small children. Babies. They can sleep on the floor or in boxes. It is my aunt Yasmin who must have a bed, for she is quite old,” said Rachma.
Deciding that by Rachma’s youthful standards the lady in question might be, perhaps, thirty, Alice did not question the seeming incongruity between a mother who was “quite old” and babies young enough to be bedded down in boxes. Instead she asked Rachma what she would wear for the occasion.
The girl’s face clouded. “Nothing that is new,” she said. “My sister’s gown and her jewels and her dowry and the feasting have cost our father too much. When I marry Hussein, he will do the same for me, but for now I must wear what I have. No one, he says, will notice me; it is my sister Bethuel’s day. Though Hussein will be there, and I should like to be beautiful for him ”
Alice said, “I expect he thinks you beautiful, whatever you wear. But —” she had had an idea — “supposing I lent you my kaftan, the one you liked so much, would you care to wear that to the wedding?” Rachma’s eyes rounded in wonder. “The robe that you showed me after you had been to the city, Miss Alice? That one? For me to wear? But I think you have never yet worn it yourself?”
“I have - once,” said Alice, remembering, and knowing that her willingness to lend it now was an after-taste of her revulsion from it then. She went on to Rachma, “You called it a Moroccan gown, so it would be suitable for you, and it should fit you. So if you would like to borrow it, come to my room before you go home this evening, and you shall try it on.”
Rachma overwhelmed her with awestruck thanks and the dress rehearsal duly took place. They were much of the same height and figure; the kaftan fitted Rachma perfectly and, as at their first meeting, Alice remarked to herself on how fair and light brown-haired the girl was for a Moroccan. Dressed alike, she and Rachma might almost pass for sisters ... So the kaftan was wrapped and entrusted to Rachma’s care, and Alice, pleased, thought, “It will make her happy for a day, at least!”
Rachma moved in to her temporary quarters at the Home in time to make room for her family’s guests, and on the wedding day itself Hussein, also given the day off, called for her, dressed in his best which, oddly enough, was a European suit of brown linen instead of Moroccan garb.
“It is happening with a great many of our young men,” Sorab told Alice. “It is a fashion set by the students in the cities, and now, though they still wear the djellabah to please their parents, they often have Western suits underneath.”
Hussein was only too glad to promise to see Rachma home at the end of the evening’s festivities, and Alice, expecting they would be fairly late, sat up for Rachma. Sorab, who was agog to hear all about the wedding, offered to stay up too, and they were listening to a radio programme when Yves telephoned to ask if he might collect his stethoscope which he had left behind that morning and would need early the next day.
“Of course,” Alice told him, and presently he walked in, as was his habit, after a perfunctory knock. Accepting a cup of coffee, he smiled when he heard they were waiting up for Rachma. “Well, I don’t know how long your vigil is likely to be,” he said. “But I can tell you she and Hussein are on their way. They are down by the gate, under the trees, rather busy, I deduced, with a lingering goodnight.”
“Making the most of their new freedom to be alone together since they got engaged, I suppose,” said Alice. “Did they know you saw them there?”
“They must have seen my car, but they were too absorbed to make any sign, and I was tactful enough to ignore them in the shadows.” Yves stayed a little longer, and shortly before he left Rachma came in, looking flushed, happy and very pretty, and eager to relate how the wedding had gone.
How beautiful her sister had been in her wedding gown of blue and silver and wearing a gauze face-veil for the first time; how the hired musicians had caused consternation by having had a breakdown in their car and being late; how (“quite old”) Aunt Yasmin had stepped into the breach of their absence by performing several solo dances to a tambourine; how none of the assembled children had been sick, and how, though her mother had feared the refreshments might not go round, there had, in fact, been enough, not only for the legitimate guests, but for all the neighbours too.
Starry-eyed, Rachma concluded, “Hussein took good care of me, and would not let me stay too late. When Doctor Renair came in his car, I told Hussein I must come in. But he begged me to stay a little longer, and so I did — after Seiyid Karim had passed by, riding his horse.”
“So Seiyid Karim saw you too?” asked Alice.
Rachma shook her head. “He did not see us. Nor did Doctor Renair. It was dark and we stood very still. Because Hussein” - she blushed charmingly - “Hussein was holding me very close and - we did not want to be seen.” It was a few days later that a bad cold which Sorab had been hoping to ward off finally had its way with her, and Alice, fearing infection for the children, ordered her to bed.
“Stay there in the morning,” Alice told her overnight. “When Doctor Renair comes, I’ll ask him to look at you, and as it’s your day off, you won’t be missed.”
But Sorab had her own views on that. “Tomorrow I have to stay with Madame Paul while Benoit goes down to the city on business for the Caid,” she worried. “What am I to do?”
Alice ruled, “I’m sorry, but you can’t go, Sorab. You have a temperature and, if for no other reason, you mustn’t risk giving a fever to Madame Paul. How long must her son be away?”
“He has to leave at noon and he may not be back until after dark. Ordinarily he is home from his work before sundown.”
“And I know Doctor Renair has to be away tomorrow too,” Alice mused, remembering that she had had to refuse his invitation to drive with him across the mountains to a distant patient, because of Sorab’s free day. “But as you can’t go, why shouldn’t I? You will be here; Miriam and Rachma can manage alone for once. It is Miriam’s late night on duty, so she can stay until I get back, and you must tell me what the old lady will need done for her. How about that?”
Sorab nodded doubtfully. “If you would, Miss Alice. She speaks only French and a little Arabic. But she sleeps a great deal, and you shouldn’t have much trouble. When I go, I do some housework and cooking for Benoit. But all that is needed is for someone to be there, in case he is late.”
Apprised of the plan and confirming that Sorab must stay where she was while she was feverish, Yves offered to call back for Alice at noon and to drop her at the forest ranger’s house before going off on his own appointment.
“If Benoit gets back before I do, wait for me and I’ll drive you home,” he offered on leaving her. But Alice would not promise to wait. “As soon as Monsieur Paul shows up, I shall walk back. It’s no distance at all,” she said..
Benoit Paul helped her to make a light luncheon for his mother before he left and her vigil
at the old lady’s bedside proved not at all onerous. As Sorab had foreseen, she dozed intermittently and Alice, who had brought some of the children’s mending and a book, found the time passing quickly. In the early evening she freshened her patient’s bed, washed her, brushed her hair - the two of them communicating by smiles most of the time - and served her with an omelette for her supper. And Benoit Paul was not back as late as he had expected. The evening light was only fading towards darkness when Alice was free to leave.
Out upon the narrow pathless roadway, she stood back in the shadow of the hedge as she heard a car approaching. It was Karim’s car and he saw him glance her way before he stopped and backed level.
“May I give you a lift, if you are going back to the Home?” he asked.
“Thank you.” He opened the door for her and she got in. After a minute or two he said, “You were coming away from Renair’s quarters. Why isn’t he seeing you home?”
“Because he isn’t there.”
“Not there?” Karim’s brows went up. “A fruitless errand for you, then?”
“Not at all. I have been standing in for Sorab bint Khaled who isn’t well. I have been sitting with Monsieur Paul’s mother while he went down to the city.”
“Not visiting Renair?”
Roused, Alice suddenly saw where the pointed questions were leading. “Of course not,” she said. “I’ve told you - Yves Renair is out on a case. Anyway, I’m not in the habit of-”
“Of visiting him, invited or uninvited ? I’m glad.”
“And I’m surprised you should think I might,” she retorted.
He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I hoped you wouldn’t be so unwise. A doctor needs to be reasonably discreet, even in a village in the High Atlas, and I’d say Renair realised it. But in view of the way your friendship seems to have been developing, I wasn’t to know.”
“To know whether he invites me to assignations in his quarters? Well, I assure you he doesn’t. This is the first time I have been to that house, for quite another purpose. And though we are friends, we’re not on the kind of terms you appear to think.”
“No? Then I must apologise again. I must have misread the evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Of my own eyes. No concern of mine, you will say - and rightly. But perhaps I could be forgiven for concluding from the intimacy of your goodnights that you and he are on rather closer terms than you claim.”
“And supposing I told you we don’t part intimately, at night or at any other time, what then?”
“Then I should say that you were putting my impertinence in its place with, from your point of view, a wholly justified lie.”
“But I don’t need to lie! With your own eyes, you say? That means you think you have seen us closer than we have ever been ... embracing even. But when?”
“A few nights ago. You must have seen me pass, riding. You were outside the Home, in the shadow of the trees and Renair’s car. I recognised your dress - you wore it to the Menoubia when you and I dined. And yes, you were being embraced rather ardently, it seemed.” Alice drew a quick sharp breath. Her thoughts raced in denial. Karim had never ridden past and seen her with Yves at the gate of the Home! Or yes - he had once. But that was weeks ago, and then Yves had been in his car, about to leave. Then how on earth -? She checked, as understanding dawned. “And this was very recently?”she asked, sure now of her ground.
“One night last week.”
“Wednesday, in fact?”
“It could have been.”
“It was.” She paused, savouring triumph. “But in fact, though Yves Renair’s car was there, he had called in to collect his stethoscope and had stayed talking to Sorab and me. We were waiting up for Rachma, who had been to her sister’s wedding, and it was she you mi stook for me. I know you rode past as Hussein, her fiance, was saying goodnight to her, for she told us so when she came in.”
They had reached the gate of the Home, and as Karim pulled up, he turned his head slowly. “Rachma - in your kaftan?” he doubted.
“Yes. I had lent it to her for the wedding. We are about of the same build, and in other things - hair and complexion - we aren’t unlike.” “But though I didn’t see her companion clearly, he was a European.”
Alice shook her head. “Hussein - in his best linen suit. And now,” she added quietly, “don’t you owe me an apology?”
Karim did not answer at once. Then he said obliquely, “On the contrary, you could feel complimented.”
“Really? On what?”
“On, as I mistakenly thought, the evidence of your desirable appeal to totally dissimilar men.”
“My appeal to - men?”
“In the plural. Yves Renair wouldn’t have been the only man in your present circle to fall victim to it. If you recall, on one occasion I wasn’t proof against it myself.”
She gasped. How dared he remind her of his recoil from her which had been undisguised insult! Collecting herself, she said, “I do remember. And your later regrets.”
“Which you shared, I think.”
“Which I shared,” she echoed, though her reasons hadn’t been his. He got out and went round to open the car door on her side. As if she hadn’t spoken, he went on, “And so, at the time, I didn’t question Renair’s likely involvement with you, or yours with him. And so far as one knows of his private life, he hasn’t aspirations elsewhere.”
Alice remembered something she could use to confound him further. Though she now understood that Yves’s earlier hints had referred to herself, she told Karim, “You could be wrong there. Some time ago Yves let me tease him about some girl he said he had in view.”
She shouldn’t have said that! She saw her mistake as Karim looked almost pityingly at her. He said, “You’re either too modest or more of a coquette than I thought you. A man doesn’t invite teasing from one attractive woman on the subject of another he is serious about. You must have known he meant you.”
How could she have been so obtuse as to suppose she could worst this man in any argument? Knowing her blush had betrayed her, she began, “I-”
But he spared her mortification by continuing, “I suppose you know that Renair plans to leave us in the autumn?”
This was indeed news. “No,” she said, “I didn’t. Plans to? Or is the Government replacing him?”
“No, it’s his own decision, I gather. He is going back to France with a view to more scope than T azenir can offer in the way of general practice. With marriage in mind, perhaps. I’m surprised he hasn’t told you?”
“He hasn’t,” said Alice flatly.
‘No doubt he will. He may feel he needs to choose his own time -when the signs are favourable,” said Karim, sounding cryptic, but making his meaning very clear.
Leaving him, and thinking over the exchange later, Alice realised that in defence of her pride she might have allowed him to think she was closer to Yves than she was. If she were the coquette which Karim evidently judged her, she probably would have done - using Yves’s interest in her to intrigue him. But even though he thought she had used them, such tricks were beyond her honesty. And what would she have gained by them? Karim had already decided for himself how matters lay between her and Yves. Had decided - and didn’t care either way. Except that they shouldn’t be “indiscreet”, causing s candal in his beloved Tazenir.
Before she saw Yves again she had an unexpected visitor. She was superintending the girls’ task hour when Binyeh came to say that El Anissa Kent had called to see her.
Elaine Kent? Surprised, Alice told Binyeh to ask El Anissa Kent to join her in the playroom, as she couldn’t leave the children for a while.
Elaine was shown in just as Xenie, who was battling with the intricacies of two-strand knitting, claimed that she needed more blue wool. Alice greeted Elaine, asked her to sit down, and rummaged in the wool box. “Yes, well - there isn’t any more blue here,” she told Xenie. “But there is a parcel of new hanks in the top drawer of the bureau in the hall. Y
ou know where I mean? Yes? Then go and fetch it, will you, and I’ll join in some new blue for you.”
Watching Xenie leave, Elaine said idly, “That’s a pretty child. But do you allow them to wear all that gimmicky jewellery at her age?” Alice smiled. “Only Xenie - that is her name - wants to. She fancies it makes her look ‘fine lady’. And as she was something of a problem when she came, I don’t interfere too much.”
“How ‘problem’?” asked Elaine.
“In various ways. She wouldn’t mix with the others, for one. But we had the bright idea of appealing to her to help them through this
fascination of hers for gaudiness, and she is much better now.”
“You and who else had this idea?”
“It was Seiyida Charles who suggested it, and it worked.”
“Ah, Seiyida Charles,” Elaine nodded, compressing her lips, and in her pause Alice asked what she could do for her.
Elaine smiled, settling herself easily and gracefully in her chair. “No hurry. When you can be alone. It’s rather private,” she said.
Alice glanced at her watch. “Just another quarter of an hour, then.” When she had dismissed the children to the garden she offered tea to Elaine, who refused, saying, “Kind of you, but no, thank yo u. I only want to ask your help in something quite personal to me. You mentioned Seiyida Charles just now.”
“Yes?” puzzled Alice.
“Which leads me in. You know her pretty well? She thinks the world of you.”
Alice laughed. “Oh, I don’t think-”
“She does,” insisted Elaine. “Whenever your name comes up,
I’ve heard her selling you - even to Karim.”
“Even,” Alice echoed, not without irony.
“Yes. Which is why you, if anyone, should be able to persuade her that I’m not the poison berry for Karim which she seems to think I am. Not to mention that he treats me as if I were.”
Alice knitted her brows. “I don’t really know what you mean,” she said. “Nor what you think I could do. I don’t know Seiyida Charles well enough to —”