Sandstorm

by Anne Mather

  Abby rose. 'We have?'

  'Yes.' He turned back to her solemnly, his dark eyes rapidly losing all expression. 'You have admitted that I can arouse you, that between us there is still some spark of emotion‑'

  'I didn't say that.'

  His eyes glittered. 'Sex, then. Is that crude enough for you? You want me; I want you. And I am prepared to take you on those terms.'

  'Take me?' Abby stared at him. 'Take me where?'

  'To Abarein, of course,' he retorted bleakly. 'We will leave at the end of the week. That should give you plenty of time to sever your association with Daley.'

  'I can't do that.' Abby was obstinate. 'What you're asking is impossible.'

  'Why? Why is it so? I am not asking for more than you can give. I do not expect love, Abby, only respect. Only that you should live with me until after our child is born.'

  'And what then?' Abby could not deny the question, and he moved his shoulders in a dismissing gesture.

  'That is up to you. As my wife, you will be free to live where you wish. But the child will stay in Abarein.'

  Abby's lips moved bitterly. 'That's all you really care about, isn't it, Rachid?' she demanded. 'All this nonsense about wanting me back ... It was a son you wanted all along. And as your wife, I'm expected to provide it. I wondered why I was being accorded so much interest. You don't like the idea of being proved wrong, and divorcing me and marrying someone else would not satisfy you, would it? Someone might suggest you were less than astutein your judgment. Why did you really come to London last month? Is Hussein angling for your position? Did your father threaten to disinherit you if you didn't produce a legitimate heir?'

  She spoke cruelly and angrily, venting all her thwarted emotions in a tirade of accusation and abuse, scarcely aware of his violent reaction. It was only when Rachid made an instinctive movement' towards her that she realised exactly how incensed he was, and she cried out in protest as his upraised hand moved to strike her. But with some immense effort of will-power, he stayed his arm, thrusting his balled fists into the pockets of his jacket and glaring at her with grim intent.

  'I will not endanger my own self-respect by administering the thrashing you deserve for those words!' he grated savagely. 'But in the name of Mohammed, I swear you will pay for that calumny. And you will come to Abarein. You will bear our child there. And afterwards, you can go to hell as far as I am concerned!'

  Abby came to her senses to find herself lying on a sofa, her father's worried face suspended above her.

  'Abby, Abby, my child, are you all right?' he was asking anxiously, and it took her several seconds to comprehend exactly where she was and why he should think otherwise.

  Then, it all came back in appalling-detail. She was still here, in her father's study, and when she nervously twisted her head she could see Rachid's dark-suited legs and the polished toes of his boots. They had been arguing, she remembered, and she had thought he was going to strike her, but instead he had torn her to pieces with the searing lash of his tongue.

  'We've been so worried about you,' Professor Gillespie went on half reprovingly, as she lay there feeling totally devastated. 'Fainting like that. I've told you, you're not eating enough to keep a fly alive!'

  'When she comes to Xanthia, I will see that she has the best of everything.' Rachid's polite tones struck fear into Abby's tenuous consciousness. 'Naturally, she will receive the finest care available, and I myself will superintend her confinement.'

  'No!' Abby pushed her father's fluttering hands aside, and struggled up weakly on to her elbows. 'Dad, don't let Rachid take me away. I don't want to leave England, I don't want to leave you—' she choked, her throat closing up, and then to her ignominy, she burst into tears.

  It was so humiliating. She had never been the type to resort to tears often, and certainly never in the company of other people. But during these last weeks, and most particularly these last days, she had found it almost impossible to control her emotions, and she sank back on the sofa now, feeling hopelessly vulnerable.

  'Abby, my dear!' Her father straightened, but she saw him look at Rachid half apologetically. 'There's no need to upset yourself like this. I'm sure—all of us only want what's best for you. You're not well. You're tired. I told you you shouldn't have gone back to work so soon.'

  'I have suggested we return to Abarein at the end of the week,' stated Rachid, moving closer to the sofa, and Abby avoided his probing gaze. 'There is no reason why my wife should not accompany me. I will have my London office attend to any details concerning her resignation from Markham Associates.'

  Abby closed her eyes. 'I won't leave Brad without working my notice,' she insisted tautly. 'And I won't leave England before Christmas.'

  There was silence for so long that she opened her eyes again, only to find her father exchanging a questioningglance with her husband. Rachid's face was hard and un- „ 1 compromising, deep lines of impatience bracketing his mouth, while her father looked troubled and helpless, no match for the grim determination of the younger man.

  'I won't,' she insisted, brushing her tears away with a careless hand. 'You can't make me, Rachid. I—I want to spend Christmas with my father.'

  'And afterwards?' Rachid demanded harshly. 'Will you then accompany me without argument? Or must I find some other method of—persuading you?'

  Abby trembled. 'Blackmail, Rachid?'

  'Abby!' Her father was shocked. 'Surely it need not come to this—this unpleasantness! You know Rachid has the right‑'

  'Right! Right!' Abby struggled into a sitting position. 'Don't talk to me about rights. What rights do I have, will someone tell me that? Or are women's rights a dirty word?'

  'Abby!' Professor Gillespie turned away from her to appeal to his son-in-law. 'You see how she is. She's—not herself. This has been quite a—shock to all of us. I think perhaps it might be better if you could see your way to letung her stay with me until the new year. You're welcome to stay too, of course‑'

  'No, Daddy!' Abby tried unsuccessfully to control the loosening coil of her hair. Her collapse and her subsequent recovery on the sofa had dislodged the pins, and now it fell loosely about her shoulders. 'I don't want Rachid here. I want us to be alone. I—I'll go to Xanthia in January if I must, but I won't spend Christmas with him!'

  'So be jt.' Rachid said the words almost flatly, and Abby felt the overwhelming relief of knowing she had these few weeks of grace. 'I will come for you the first week in January. But there is one condition.'

  Abby held up her head. 'Yes?'

  Rachid's eyes bored into hers. 'I insist that you resign your job as Daley's secretary immediately.'

  'Why should I?' Abby was indignant.

  'Because that is my condition, and you know I mean what I say.'

  If she had not already been the colour of a magnolia, she would have paled before the menacing threat in his tone. She had no doubt he meant what he said. All trace of emotion had been eliminated, and in its place was cold implacability, an intractable will that would suffer no opposition.

  'Very well.' She submitted painfully, torn with the desire to fight him, and the. knowledge that he held all the cards. Even the child she was carrying was in his control. He had that power. Power corrupts, she thought despairingly, who had said that? It was true. Rachid was enforcing his will upon her, and short of destroying the innocent life inside her, she had no means to thwart him. Even that was no solution. He could wreak some revenge on her, or if not on her, then on the people she loved or cared about. Brad, for instance. Markham Associates might not be immune from the kind of intimidation Rachid could bring to bear, and her own father was too old to face any kind of scandal.

  No, she would have to go through with it. She had known that since the doctor confirmed their diagnosis. Besides, she would not do anything to harm the child, even were she given the opportunity. She would do what was demanded of her. She would produce the heir Rachid so desperately needed. Then she would retire to some remote place where no
t even he could find her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sun was brilliant on the blue mosaic of the tiles that surrounded the fountain. The tiles were made of lapis lazuli, and the pattern was repeated across the width of the courtyard. In the shady oasis of a fig tree Sofia, Rachid's youngest sister, sat reading her lessons, and from an adjoining court came the sound of Hussein's children splashing in the swimming pool.

  From her position on a cushioned lounger set beneath the canopy of the awning, Abby fanned herself with desultory fingers. The peaceful scene should have given her pleasure, but it didn't, and she shifted resdessly as the familiar pangs of dissatisfaction came to plague her.

  What was wrong with her? she asked herself impatiently. Aside from the fact that she was obliged to live here until the baby was born, why was she increasingly discontented with her lot? It should have got easier, but it didn't. It got harder, and no matter how she might wish to do so, she really couldn't blame Rachid for that!

  Since her arrival almost three months ago, he had assiduously avoided' her presence, and apart from a daily enquiry as to the state of her health, he left her almost completely alone. Occasionally they were required to dine with his father and the other members of the family, but mostly Abby was granted the privilege of privacy, and in consequence her time was her own.

  It was not what she had expected, she realised that now. Even after that fight in her father's study when he had come so close to striking her, Abby had expected Rachid to demand his rights as her husband. She had thought that was to be part of her punishment in bringing her here, and in the weeks before leaving England, she had anticipated their reunion with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. Time had erased much of the fear she had felt towards him, and prolonged examination of the things she had said had convinced her she had spoken recklessly. Rachid had wanted her back, even when he assumed she could not bear him children, and she had felt a little ashamed of herself for the way she had behaved.

  Of course, things had happened to relieve her feelings of guilt. Leaving Brad, for example, had left a bitter taste in her mouth, and his reactions had been typically aggressive.

  'Why in God's name did you let him touch you?' he had demanded aggrievedly. 'Oh, Abby, can't you see he's going to destroy you? And you're not doing anything to stop him!'

  She had understood his sense of betrayal. Twice now she had abandoned him for Rachid, and she doubted she would ever be given another chance. Despite his assertion that he would find her a job with Markhams whenever she needed it, she sensed his frustration, and she couldn't blame him for refusing her invitation to join herself and her father on Christmas Day.

  Even Liz exhibited a totally uncharacteristic display of indignation on her behalf. 'I wouldn't have had his baby!' she declared, contradicting her previous championship of Rachid's cause. 'Not when he was threatening to divorce you, I wouldn't. The man's a brute, darling. He doesn't deserve to be given a second chance!' And although Abby had attempted to explain that Rachid had not wanted the divorce, she had, it had all seemed a little futile. Besides, she had had the distinct suspicion that Liz didn't believe her, and as she knew about Abby visiting Rachid at his hotel, she couldn't altogether blame her.

  But it was her husband's behaviour which had left her feeling so isolated and remote. Contrary to her suppositions, he had not once shown any inclination for her company, and on those rare occasions when they were together, even his polite courtesy had an edge of hostility. He had not forgiven her for what she had said, that much was obvious, and his methods of taking his revenge had proved the opposite of what she had expected. A subtle ploy, and one that was typical of him.

  Perhaps it was her condition, she consoled herself, but each time Rachid left her presence with a frosty smile she felt so susceptible to his animosity, so vulnerable to these feelings of loneliness and segregation. Yet what could she expect, living in a country that was alien to her, living with his family, who had not been entirely able to hide their suspicions of her?

  They must have found it strange indeed that she should have become pregnant in England. Perhaps they thought Rachid was not the child's father. All things were possible, and maybe they suspected this was a political manoeuvre, intended to remove all doubts of the succession. Abby wondered how Rachid had explained the situation to his family, but she was not appraised of his personal confidences.

  Perhaps his grandmother would tell her when she returned from visiting her daughter in Egypt. Rachid's aunt Miriam was married to an Egyptian surgeon, and his grandmother had been staying with them since before Abby's arrival. She was expected home soon, though, Sofia had confided, and Abby looked forward to her coming. She had always felt comfortable with the old lady, she could talk to her, and although Nona, as she was affectionately called, had spent more than fifty years in Abarein, she still loved talking about her home in England. Perhaps she would have more compassion for her granddaughter-in-law's problems, thought Abby hopefully, as she shifted to an easier position. Surely she would understand the dilemma Abby was facing.

  Hussein's wife, Yashti, had little sympathy with her sister-in-law. But then she never had. From the beginning she had resented Rachid bringing an English girl to Xanthia, and she had never tried to make a friend of her. She resented Abby, she was jealous of Rachid's infatuation with her, but perhaps it was understandable. Farah was her sister, after all.

  Now Abby pushed herself up off the lounger and walked to the pillars that supported the balcony above her. Her loose smock dress was moulded to her body by her movements, the slight breeze that blew up from the ocean cooling the hot skin of her neck. In the beginning, when she and Rachid were first married, she had enjoyed living here, although she had always wished they could have had a home of their own. Nevertheless, the palace, with its many courts, was big enough to accommodate an army without their intruding on one another, and she and Rachid had had their own apartments. These apartments, actually, the ones she now occupied alone, apart from her personal servants.

  Now, however, the palace had become a prison from which there was no escape. Without Rachid's company she was not allowed to leave her apartments, and the constant insulation was beginning to get on her nerves. She felt so well. She had never felt better physically. In spite of the frustration of the situation, she invariably slept as soon as her head touched the pillows, and her appetite was unaffected by her emotional upheaval. She spent her dayseither resting in the shade or walking in the gardens sur- « rounding her apartments, and in consequence her limbs were soft and rounded, and her skin had acquired the golden glow of good health. She was young and she was beautiful, and without conceit, she knew that pregnancy suited her.

  Supporting herself against the coolness of the pillar, she rested her cheek against her arm. Sofia, noticing her movements, had looked up from her book, and now she smiled encouragingly at her. Of all the members of Rachid's family, Sofia was the only one who had not changed towards her, and Abby was grateful for the girl's devotion. Perhaps the fact that Sofia's mother had died just before Abby first came to Abarein had made her turn to the English girl. Whatever the reason, the twelve-year-old Sofia had been immediately attracted to her elder brother's wife, and Abby had welcomed her undemanding affections. Now, at sixteen, Sofia was approaching the fullness of womanhood, but her affections had not changed, and without her Abby would have been desolate indeed.

  'It is almost time for lunch,' she said now, putting down her book and getting up .from the bench she had been occupying. 'Are you hungry?'

  Abby made a rueful moue with her lips and then smiled, running an exploring hand over the swelling mound of her stomach. 'A little,' she admitted. 'If I'm not careful I'm going to, get as fat as Yasmin.'

  'Not you.' Sofia was indignant. 'Besides, you could do with putting on a little more weight. You were quite thin when you came here.'

  'I'm not thin now,' Abby pointed out dryly, and Sofia gave her a studied look.

  'No, you are not,'
she conceded thoughtfully. 'Having a baby obviously suits you. You are—how do you say it? —blooming!'

  Abby's laughter was soft. 'Thank you. You're very kind.'

  'It is true.' Sofia spoke with feeling. 'If I were Rachid‑'

  'But you're not,' Abby interrupted her firmly. Then: 'Have you finished your book?'

  'Not yet.' Sofia accepted the reproval with good grace. 'What do I need with Homer? I am to marry Kasim. Why must I learn Latin and Greek? So long as I know how to please a man, that is the important thing, is it not?'

  Abby shook her head at Sofia's deliberately outrageous statement. She knew that the girl would not dare make such remarks in either her father's or her brothers' presence, but she felt at ease with Abby, and they shared the same sense of humour.

  'I imagine Kasim will expect his wife to be intelligent as well as beautiful,' Abby responded now. 'You wouldn't want him to think you hadn't a thought in your head outside your home and your children, would you?'

  'Like Yashti, you mean?' Sofia suggested wickedly, coming closer to stroke her fingers down the long silvery braid of hair Abby wore over her shoulder for coolness. 'I sometimes wonder if she has ever opened a book.' She giggled. 'She certainly finds it hard to read the guilty look on Hussein's face, after he has spent a night in the medina!'

  'Sofia!'

  The unexpected harsh tones startled both girls, and Sofia spun round in alarm to face her elder brother. Neither of them had been aware of his entrance, his sandalled feet making little sound on the marble floor, and Abby felt her own nerves tighten as Sofia stammered her apologies.

  'I—I did not know you—you were there, Rachid,' she articulated jerkily, and Abby, taking pity on her, made her own taut contribution.

  'You so seldom honour us with your presence, my lord,' she taunted mockingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Rachid's anger turn from his young sister to herself.

  'Oh, Abby ...' It was Sofia who spoke, aware of the other girl's sacrifice, but Abby only shook her head in silent admonition, and the girl took the hint and said nothing more.