A Kiss In the Desert

by Barbara Cartland

  Charles knew this to be true.

  He had covered up for his friend at school when he had disobeyed the rules and he had warned him when he was unaware of danger from the prefects and the Masters.

  In the Army there had been moments when Favin would have been in a great deal of trouble if Charles had not lied and saved him.

  “I have an idea,” he began as the Earl waited impatiently, “but I am not at all confident that it will work.”

  “What is it?”

  “It is,” Charles said reluctantly, “that I might persuade – my sister to play – the part of – the Princess.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Vanda Kenwood was riding through the Park. She was thinking as she did so that the grounds needed plenty of attention.

  They were short-handed on the estate and it meant that the men did not find time to tidy up under the old oak trees.

  Some were shedding branches and Vanda had to tread carefully or her horse might trip over one.

  However she was always happy when she was riding in the Park. Not only because it was so old, but it had grown more beautiful year by year.

  The house was very much the same. The old bricks had mellowed with the ages and although the roof was constantly in need of repair, the ancient building portrayed a beautiful symmetry.

  The Kenwoods had lived in Hertfordshire for many generations.

  Although they were not of great social importance, they were respected by their neighbours and their tenants and employees spoke of them with affection.

  Vanda often thought that this was more important than anything else.

  “They love you, Papa,” she would say to her father when he was alive, “and when you are ill or worried the whole village is thinking of you and praying that you will soon be better.”

  Her father had smiled.

  At the same time Vanda knew that this was the compliment he preferred to any other.

  A handsome man, he had been very much in love with his wife when he married her.

  It was not surprising, he often thought, that their daughter was so beautiful, although hers was not the sophisticated beauty which his son and the newspapers told him was so much admired in London.

  The social beauties who attracted the attention of the Prince of Wales had become famous, much more so than had ever happened in the past.

  In fact, as General Kenwood often said, it had been considered vulgar in his day for a lady’s name to appear in the newspapers with the exception of when she was born and when she died.

  Vanda however was not concerned with anything that was happening in London.

  Her beloved father had died three years ago and her brother had left his Regiment and returned home to look after the estate.

  Charles had made plans with her mother that when she was eighteen Vanda should come out as a debutante in London and would be presented at Court, as was expected of ladies who were well born.

  Lady Kenwood however had died the previous winter.

  It had been very cold and her sore throat had eventually turned to pleurisy. Vanda and her brother Charles were stricken by their loss.

  The whole village of Little Medway mourned too and even the smallest child managed to collect a few flowers or berries to place on her grave.

  As Vanda said to her brother at the time,

  “Mama was a mother to them all in the same way as she was to us.”

  “It is just what you will have to be now,” Charles replied.

  Vanda did not contradict him.

  She was friends with everyone in the village in the same way as her father and mother had been. She would call on them if they were ill or celebrating anything as exciting as a wedding or a new baby.

  If they were in trouble they always came to the Manor to ask for advice from either the General or his wife.

  Now Vanda was attempting to take her mother’s place and as Charles had told her more than once, she was doing so very well.

  As the Park came to an end, she was now facing the Manor which she thought looked so lovely in the evening sunshine, but it did need a great deal of attention.

  The window frames should be painted and there was brickwork near to the roof of the house which was in urgent need of restoration.

  ‘I will talk to Charles about it,’ Vanda told herself.

  She rode up to the house and then turned towards the stables.

  They employed three stable boys as well as old Andrew, who had been with the family for more years than anyone could remember. He was as fond of the horses as they were, and was always ready to look after new purchases.

  “Andrew does three men’s work,” Vanda had often said to her mother who agreed with her.

  At the same time Vanda recognised that if Charles brought back another horse or perhaps two from the sales at Tattersall’s, they would need to employ at least one more boy. That meant of course that they would have to economise in some other direction.

  She tried to think what these economies could possibly be.

  She knew even if it was extravagant, that Charles would buy new horses whenever he had the chance, but he had made a good profit from his horse-trading in the past year.

  He had broken in some young horses and sold them for at least four times more than he had paid for them. Equally his horses cost in proportion rather more than anything else on the estate.

  Yet as Vanda had said so often,

  “They are worth every penny we spend on them, even more than we spend on ourselves.”

  Charles knew she was speaking sincerely as it was just what he felt too.

  Their father had been an outstanding rider and both children had ridden from the moment they could walk.

  Charles enjoyed watching his sister. He knew there was no one he had seen on the hunting-field to rival her.

  The beauties of Mayfair trit-trotting in Rotten Row were undoubtedly impressive, yet they would, he thought, be useless at riding over rough ground as he and Vanda would enjoy every day.

  There was always a great deal to be done on the estate, because they could not afford to employ as many men as they really required.

  The crops had been good last year and when Charles had looked carefully at his bank balance to see if he could afford it, he had driven to London to buy a new horse.

  “Make it two,” Vanda pleaded.

  She knew, although he made no promises, that he would not forget her wishes.

  Vanda reached the old stables which had been built many centuries ago on the cobbled yard.

  Andrew came out to meet her.

  “What time be ye expectin’ Master Charles?” he asked.

  Because he had been with the family for so long Andrew still called him ‘Master Charles’ despite the fact that he had been promoted Captain before he left the Army and was now in his twenty-sixth year.

  “He will be here for dinner,” Vanda told Andrew, “and I do hope his journey has been successful.”

  “Oi got the stables ready for ’em,” Andrew replied.

  “I felt sure that you would have done,” Vanda smiled.

  She slipped off the saddle and patted her horse.

  It was the one she loved more than any of the others, but he was growing old and she knew that if she was to continue to ride every day with Charles, she must sooner or later acquire another mount.

  She patted Swallow again and said to him,

  “Whatever Captain Charles brings back, there will never be anyone as wonderful as you, so you must not be jealous!”

  “That be true,” Andrew agreed. “Swallow’s done ye well, Miss Vanda, but it’s only fair as he be gettin’ on he must take things more easy.”

  “And that applies to you as well,” Vanda replied. “My brother has already said we must be looking for another boy to help you if there are to be any more horses in the stables.”

  “Oi be managing all right at the moment, Miss Vanda,” but Oi’ll not say nay to a helpin’ ’and if there be any more ’
orses.”

  “And you know as well as I do, Andrew, that he will want you to handle any new horses that need breaking in.”

  Andrew smiled at her as she walked away.

  ‘We are so lucky,’ she thought, ‘to have these old servants who have been with Mama and Papa. They look after Charles and me as if we were small children.’

  She reached the door of the house.

  The old butler who had been at the Manor for nearly thirty years came into the hall.

  “Have you had a nice ride, Miss Vanda?” he asked.

  “A lovely one, Johnson, and I am hoping Captain Charles will be back soon.”

  “I’ve just said to the Missus,” Johnson replied, ‘Master Charles will be wanting the special soup you makes for him tonight. That be something he can’t get in London as us all knows’.”

  “You are quite right, Johnson, and I too enjoy her wonderful soup.”

  As she walked up the stairs Vanda understood that her words would be relayed back to the kitchen.

  If there were to be any new horses and they were indeed expensive, she must forget that the carpet was almost threadbare. She had already told Charles several times that they needed a new one.

  She walked into her bedroom.

  It was a very attractive room overlooking the garden and the sun was shining through the diamond-paned windows.

  Vanda noticed that the old maid who looked after her had arranged the flowers she had picked that morning in a blue vase on her dressing table.

  Next to her horses, Vanda loved flowers more than anything else. She spent as much time as she could spare helping in the garden.

  She often complained that it was where Charles economised because there was no profit to be made from the garden.

  “It is the money that counts,” he would comment.

  Vanda knew that he was only teasing but she always retorted,

  “Think of the happiness the garden gives us and you cannot put that into pounds, shillings, and pence!”

  The last time she said it Charles had laughed and put his arms around her.

  “You shall have your flowers,” he promised, “but I cannot afford to build you a new greenhouse this year.”

  “The old one is so congested I can hardly move inside it,” Vanda protested. “If you say, ‘next year,’ to me again, I shall try to think up some way that I can make money.”

  Charles had replied scornfully,

  “How do you suggest you can do that? Giving riding lessons to young children or asking men like myself what they will pay for dancing lessons?”

  Vanda had laughed.

  “That is not a bad idea, except that you dance so well already, I do not think I could teach you very much. But of course I might dance on the stage.”

  She twirled round as she spoke.

  She allowed her dress to flare out to reveal her very pretty ankles.

  Watching her, he was struck again that her beauty was being wasted.

  She should be the toast of the young bloods that assembled every night at White’s Club to discuss the latest beauty in London who had appeared in the Social world.

  There was at the moment a great deal of talk about the ‘Pretty Horsebreakers, ’ as they were called and it flashed into Charles’s mind that quite a number of country girls like his sister were amongst them.

  The Pretty Horsebreakers were in fact an endless topic of conversation. They were new and had not appeared on the social scene until very recently.

  It was obvious that the young Ladies of fashion had to ride horses which were well broken in.

  This was essential for the girls who had not had the advantage, as Vanda had, of having a father who was an outstanding rider.

  When they came to London for the Season and to be presented to Her Majesty Queen Victoria, they were reluctant to ride in Rotten Row.

  They knew that they would compare poorly with experienced riders who were mostly older married women who had been outstanding in the hunting fields for many years.

  The Livery stables therefore found there was a great demand for quiet and well-trained horses, so that the young debutantes would have no difficulty in managing them.

  An eager search began around the country for riders who could control a horse however difficult with surprisingly successful results.

  Vicars’ daughters had learned to ride any mount however badly trained and farmers’ daughters had broken in horses for their father and brothers when they were too busy to do so themselves.

  They were all delighted to be paid by the Livery stables to ride horses which were in demand from the Beau Monde and soon, of course, it became the fashion to be ‘a Pretty Horsebreaker.’

  That was not to say that every horse which was paraded in Rotten Row by an extremely attractive young woman was for sale with the rider.

  A few were of course.

  But the ‘Pretty Horsebreakers’ were very clever keeping themselves aloof from what they considered to be low class courtesans.

  If a wealthy gentleman was determined to claim both the horse and the rider, he would expect to pay a very considerable sum for the pair.

  Charles had been interested first in the horses and then like his contemporaries in some of the riders.

  He looked again and again at his sister and the way she rode.

  He knew she would be outstanding if she was fashionably dressed amongst all the Pretty Horsebreakers.

  It was understood that on Sundays they congregated at the Achilles statue at Hyde Park Corner and there were always a great number of gentlemen to ride with them.

  Charles had however learned his lesson very quickly.

  The horses he observed around the Achilles statue were certainly beyond his purse and there was no necessity for him to speculate on the likely price of the rider.

  He did not talk about the Pretty Horsebreakers to Vanda as he knew she was too innocent to understand and would be curious only about the horses.

  He had however discussed them with a number of his acquaintances, especially his good friend Favin, the Earl of Bracken.

  “I will certainly take a look at them when I have time,” the Earl had commented. “But at the moment I am concerned only with Arbas, the stallion I must buy.”

  Charles now recalled this conversation as he sipped his champagne in White’s.

  He remembered of old what Favin was like when he wanted something. He found it impossible to concentrate on anything else until what he desired was safely in his hands.

  Both of the men were aware that there had been an importation of Eastern blood into the bloodstock of England over a long period of time.

  Charles was not at all surprised that, now the Earl could afford it, he required only the best.

  At the same time he had already found that anything concerned with Arab breeding was terrifyingly expensive.

  “As it so happens,” he said to the Earl, “I was reading just the other day that in 1735 the price of what was called a ‘Right-Arabian’ was estimated at anything up to three thousand pounds.”

  The Earl did not reply and Charles had continued,

  “The Sultan of Nassri once paid six thousand pounds each for mares and forty thousand pounds for one celebrated stallion!”

  The Earl laughed.

  “You know as well as I do that I could not pay that sort of money. That is why we must buy the bloodstock from a source which so far has not been tapped.”

  “Do you think your Sheik knows their real market worth?” Charles asked.

  “If he does, I would not be surprised, and it would not particularly concern him. He has set his heart on welcoming a Royal Princess as his guest and that is what we must provide.”

  He sighed before he added,

  “Surely it is easier than doling it out in large amounts of pounds, shillings and pence?”

  This discussion was taking place after Charles had mentioned his sister as a possible candidate and as if he knew it was a delicate subject, the
Earl had not immediately pursued it.

  He had merely impressed on his friend over and over again what was required that somehow they needed to find a young woman who could act the part.

  And then they would leave for Syria.

  “We can travel in my yacht or rather my father’s yacht which is now mine,” the Earl suggested. “That will be much more comfortable than going by steamship or overland.”

  Charles appreciated this point as he had travelled occasionally in troopships which were always overcrowded and extremely uncomfortable.

  Finally Charles realised that Vanda would be waiting for him and she would be worried that if he did not appear that something might be wrong.

  He told the Earl that he must return to the country.

  “I am staying in the family house in Park Lane,” the Earl declared, “and I shall expect you both the day after tomorrow.”

  “Now wait a minute, I have not yet spoken to my sister. She may be horrified at the idea! Also be sensible, Favin, and realise she will need clothes.”

  He paused for a moment.

  “Your Sheik is not going to be impressed if the so-called Princess arrives in rags and tatters or at best something very countrified. I really do think, Favin, that we ought to engage an actress.”

  “Do you know one who is clever enough to behave like a Princess, talk like one and look line one,” the Earl demanded. “If you do, I will agree, but you know as well as I do that most of them have no idea of how to behave like a lady let alone Royalty.”

  Charles had to admit this was true.

  “I have said I will talk to Vanda and if she agrees we will come straight to London tomorrow. As she has very good taste I am sure we will find the sort of clothes a Princess would wear. At the same time quite frankly I cannot afford to pay for them.”

  “I will pay,” the Earl offered. “Whatever it costs I assure you that it will be less than what the Sultan gave for his celebrated stallion.”

  Both men laughed.

  “I should hope so.” Charles said. “And I do not think for a moment that Wellington paid anything abnormal for his chestnut Arab called Copenhagen.”

  “I remember hearing,” the Earl said, “that no one could drive a harder bargain than the Iron Duke.”