by Anne Mather
'That's nonsense!' Nona was incensed. 'Don't you know Rachid loves you? Why do you persist in hurting him this way?'
'I? Hurt him?' Abby gasped. 'Nona, I can't hurt someone who's only using me!'
'Using you! What rubbish is this? Rachid is not using you‑'
'Ask him,' persisted Abby, unsteadily. 'Ask him to tell you about his other life-—his other woman‑'
'What other woman?' Nona was astounded.
'His woman—his mistress,' Abby choked. 'The woman who had his child! The child that proved most conclusively that Rachid was not to blame for my infertility.'
Abby didn't know how she got back to her own apartments. She felt sick and dizzy, and by the time she collapsed on the sofa in the salon, the brilliance of the sunlight was spinning about her in a kaleidoscope of colours. Her palms were moist, and a cold sweat enveloped her body, so that even in the warmth of the noonday she felt chilled to the bone.
Suni found her there approximately fifteen minutes later. The dark girl threw up her hands in horror when she saw her mistress's pale face and how the sheen of perspiration had cast an unhealthy pallor over her skin. In a whirl of flying skirts she sped for assistance, and presently cool hands assisted Abby to her feet and half walked, half carried her up the marble stairs.
In the bedroom, Suni dismissed the other servants, and herself helped Abby out of her clothes. Then, after slatting the blinds so that the sunlight fell in twilight shadows, she bathed her mistress's sweating body and drew clean cool sheets about her.
'It is the sun,' she insisted, hovering anxiously beside the bed. 'You spend too long in the sun, my lady. See how sickly it has made you feel. It can be a good friend, but a bad enemy.'
Abby forced a faint smile. 'Thank you, Suni. I'll be all right now,' she assured her, in her own language. 'If I rest for a while ...'
'I will call Doctor Kemal,' Suni insisted, taking advantage of the familiarity they had shared. 'Prince Rachid would not forgive me if I did not take good care of you, mistress. We do not want to lose the little one, do we? Not before he has kicked his legs and blinked his eyes at the sun?'
'No, we don't want to do that,' Abby agreed flatly, turning her cheek against the pillow. 'But let me rest for a while, Suni. I—I can't see anyone now.'
In the event, Doctor Kemal arrived without being summoned. In her anticipation of seeing Rachid's grandmother, Abby had forgotten it was the day the doctor had promised to come and see her, and she suffered his exploratory examination without protest. But her pale face and the lacklustre quality of her eyes made him hesitate before pronouncing her fit and well, and after washing his hands, he came back to the bed.
'Suni tells me you fainted this morning,' he said, speaking in English, in deference to her condition.
'Not fainted, no.' Abby moved her head weakly from side to side. 'I—just felt dizzy, that was all. It was probably the heat.'
'But the heat has never bothered you before,' he persisted, studying her strained expression. 'Tell me, Princess, are you happy here?'
'Happy?' Abby could have laughed—but it would have been an hysterical sound. 'I—I have everything I need,' she essayed slowly. 'Plenty of sunshine, good food, pleasant surroundings: why shouldn't I be happy?'
Doctor Kemal frowned. 'You answer with a question.'
He hesitated. 'Do you ever leave the palace? Does your husband ever take you with him when he conducts his business dealings? Do you never go walking or driving? Are you not bored?'
'Bored?' Abby's eyes filled with tears. 'Why are you asking me these questions? What does it matter what I am? Just so long as the baby is all right.'
'Oh, your baby is most healthy, I am sure of it. He is very strong.' He smiled, laying his hand on her stomach over the silk sheet, and she felt the convulsive movement against his fingers. 'He kicks—so? You feel it? There is nothing to worry about there.'
'So what are you saying?' Abby struggled to restrain her emotion. 'The baby is all-important, isn't it?'
Doctor Kemal shook his head. 'Princess‑'
'Oh, please! My name's Abby—Abigail! I'm not a princess. I'm just an ordinary working girl, who happens to be married to a man of importance.' Abby turned miserably aside from him. 'Thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine. I'm just—tired, that's all.'
Doctor Kemal had no choice but to end the interview, and for once Abby was glad of the formalities of Abareinian custom which forbade a doctor arguing with so august a patient. In England, she knew Doctor Frazer would not be so easily intimidated, and the tears she had suppressed rolled down her cheeks as a wave of homesickness swept over her.
Two things happened as a result of that conversation, however. The first was that Nona sent a car to take her driving, and the second was that Rachid arrived home three days later.
Abby was out when her husband returned. For the second time that week Nona had sent a car for her, and accompanied by Sophia, she had enjoyed a journey to Aparthos, a small village on the coast, a few miles from Xanthia.
They had walked on the beach just outside the village, and suffered the curious eyes of the traditionally-swathed peasant women, stitching the fishing nets. Sloe-eyed children stared in silent admiration at the slim blonde figure, who wore European clothes, and did not veil her hair, and Abby's stomach had plunged at the prospect of her own dark-eyed offspring. She had no doubt the baby would resemble Rachid. His was the strongest colouring, and certainly the strongest will.
The sleek limousine deposited her outside her apartments at approximately five o'clock, and bidding farewell to Sophia, Abby entered the building slowly, her eyes still dazzled by the sun. She was still a little unnerved by the emotional reaction she had had to the children, and when a tall dark figure moved into her path she was momentarily thrown into confusion. Her hands went protectively to the swelling mound beneath her camisole dress, and her breath caught in her throat as her visitor swam into focus.
'I—Rachid!' she exclaimed, half apprehensively. 'Wh- what are you doing here? I—I didn't know you were back.'
'I arrived only half an hour ago,' he replied formally, his voice as stiff as ever it had been. 'And where else should I be than here, greeting my wife after a prolonged period of absence? Or perhaps you have not found it so. Perhaps, after what happened, you were glad of an excuse not to see me again.'
'That's not true!' Abby could not let him think so. 'You know I wrote to you before you went away, asking you to come and see me. But you chose to ignore it.'
She brushed past him into the salon, and held her breath until she heard him coming after her. For an awful moment she thought he might take himself off again, and despite their differences she could not deny the thrill of anticipation she felt upon seeing him again.
'So?' There was a sombre note to his voice. 'I am glad to see you have recovered. When I heard you were unwell, naturally I flew home immediately.'
'Oh, I see.' Abby could not keep the bitterness out of her tone. 'Nona let you know, I suppose. Have you come home to protect your—your investment?'
Rachid's mouth tightened. 'I was concerned about you, Abby. I have been concerned about you ever since I left Xanthia.'
'Oh really?' Abby was sceptical. 'So why didn't you answer my letters?'
Rachid drew a deep breath. 'I knew this trip was coming up. I knew I had to go away. I chose not to face your recriminations until my return, until I had had time to think—to plan; to find some way to keep you in Abarein after the child is born!'
'What?' Abby stared at him. 'Why?'
'You know why,' he declared roughly. 'Because you are my wife—and I do not wish to let you go!'
Abby gulped. 'Rachid‑'
'No.' He held up his hand. 'I will not argue with you. I know this is not the time to do so.' He began to massage the muscles at the back of his neck, and then went on heavily: 'However, I have to say I am sorry you chose to confide in Nona, and not me.'
'To confide in Nona?' Abby's tongue circled her dry lips. 'A
bout—about what?'
Rachid sighed. 'Do not pretend you do not know, Abby. Deception was never your strong point.'
'Not like yours,' she retorted hotly, and then, seeing the deep lines which bracketed his mouth at her words, she hastened on: 'If you mean about you and Farah—then I'm sure she knew already. As you're all so fond of telling me, nothing goes on here without everyone knowing about it!'
Rachid's shoulders sagged. 'I have told you, Abby, I will not discuss Farah with you.'
'Then what are you talking about?' Abby's lips trembled, and she caught the lower one between her teeth to hide the betraying tremor. 'We haven't talked about anything else.'
'No?' His mouth drew down at the corners. 'But she has told me that you are unhappy here, that you are apathetic and listless, and would be happier in your own country. With your father.'
Abby's lips parted now. 'I—I didn't say that,' she exclaimed. 'It—it was Doctor Kemal.' She shook her head. 'Oh, I should have known he would report back to somebody. He—he asked me if I was happy, if I ever left the palace. If I was bored!' She made a helpless gesture. 'What was I supposed to say? That I was ecstatically happy? Hardly!'
Rachid pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his navy silk pants. He was wearing a Western suit, dark and vested, his linen as usual throwing his dark colouring into relief. He had never looked more attractive, and Abby's nerves were jumping as he paced restlessly about the salon. Why couldn't she accept him for what he was? she thought. Why couldn't she forget the past, as he wanted, and live only for the present? She had everything now, his admiration, his attention, even his love, if she could forget about Farah. She was expecting his child. Why couldn't she be content with what she had?
'So,' he said at last, coming to a halt in front of her, 'I have come to a decision. I will allow you to go to England, to be with your father, if you will promise me to come back before the child is born. It is the end of April now. I will give you five weeks. Perhaps by then we will both have learned to live with the present.'
'Oh, but‑'
Abby knew an overwhelming urge to object, but Rachid was not listening to her.
'You will leave in a week's time,' he said. 'That should suffice for you to make all the necessary arrangements.'
Abby swallowed her protests. 'And—and you? What will you do?'
'I?' Rachid's expression was weary. 'I will do as I have always done, I suppose. I will attend to my father's business, and when I have some free time I will visit the children at the hospital.' He moved his shoulders dismissingly. 'What would you have me do? Come with you?'
Abby stared at him, and for a moment she knew the blind urge to say: Yes! Yes, come with me! But the urge passed, and with it the opportunity to turn aside the tide that was flowing against her.
The following week was filled with appointments. Appointments with the nurse, with the doctors, with the gynaecologist. She even had an appointment with a physiotherapist, and by the end of the week she was feeling more than a little weary. She felt she would have liked nothing better than to remain where she was, in the seclusion of her apartments, and the idea of returning to London, even at this most attractive time of year, did not fill her with enthusiasm. She told herself it was her condition, that she was becoming maudlin as the days progressed, but she knew it was more than that. The thought of leaving the palace, of putting thousands of miles between herself and Rachid, aroused a feeling close to panic, and she knew if he had shown the slightest desire for her to remain she would have given in eagerly.
But he didn't. He kept out of her way, and it was left, to Suni to keep her informed of his movements.
'I do not think the Prince is well,' the little maid said one afternoon, as she was brushing Abby's hair, prior to the visit of the eminent gynaecologist from the hospital, and Abby turned to her quickly.
'Not well?' she echoed. 'What do you mean—not well?' and Suni went on to explain that she had heard Rachid was not eating or sleeping, and that he spent long hours working in his study.
'I think he does not wish for you to leave Xanthia,' she confided innocently. 'I have heard that when you went away before, he refused to see anyone, even his father, for several days. And it was his brother, Prince Hussein, who eventually persuaded him that he could not remain a recluse for ever.'
'Really?' Abby tried not to reveal how intrigued she was by what Suni was saying. 'But Rachid knew I was leaving. I told him.'
Suni shrugged, and Abby acknowledged that it had not been quite that simple. The arguments they had had before she left, had created a rift between them that could not easily be bridged. And they had begun long before Abby made her final decision. Touchy and sensitive as she had been, the discovery about Farah and her child had seemed the ultimate irony, and their parting had not been amicable.
'It is such a shame,' Suni was saying now, her fingers moving rhythmically over Abby's scalp. 'You and Prince Rachid—you seem so right for one another. Now if it was Prince Hussein—ayi, well, that would be different.'
Abby knew she ought not to gossip, but she had to ask the question: 'If what was Prince Hussein, Suni?'
The Arab girl coloured hotly. 'It is not for me to say, mistress,' she mumbled, turning aside to replace the brush on the dressing table, but Abby would not let her go so easily.
'No, tell me,' she insisted, and with a reluctant gesture, Suni complied.
'I only meant that Prince Hussein is not like his brother, mistress.' She hesitated. 'I do not think he would care too much if the Princess Yashti went away, do you?'
Abby shrugged. 'I hadn't thought about it.'
In truth, she did not know her brother-in-law that well. Their meetings had been confined to family gatherings, and in the early days she and Rachid had shunned too much company. Later, they had joined family dinner parties, but her association with Hussein had been limited by the overt hostility of his wife. Yashti was passionately jealous of her husband's attentions, and that was why Sophia found it so easy to mock her. Perhaps Hussein was a bit of a philanderer, perhaps he did have a mistress in the medina. But at least he was discreet about it, and no words of his illicit liaisons came to his wife's ears.
The subject was dropped, but Abby couldn't forget what Suni had told her. Was Rachid upset that she was leaving? Was that why he was spending long hours in his study? She lay awake at night, pondering her own reactions to his behaviour, and finding it increasingly hard to be unemotional about it. Her own feelings were so uncertain. She no longer knew what she wanted any more. Even the affair with Farah was fading into insignificance beside the persuasive thought that perhaps she had been partly to blame. If she had not believed herself to be incapable of bearing children, she might not have reacted so violently to the knowledge of her husband's infidelity, and surely there should be something in the marriage contract about forgiveness.
Nevertheless, the opportunity to see Rachid, and discover for herself how he really felt, was not presented to her. The day before she was leaving for England, she was told he had left to visit the oil refinery at Abramoud, and was not expected back until nightfall. She suspected he had gone away deliberately, to avoid any confrontation between them before she left, but she spent the day in restless seclusion, aware that somehow she had to see him before she boarded the plane. If only he was coming with her, she thought, nibbling at her nails in nervous anticipation. She needed him, she admitted it now, and if it was at all possible, she had to tell him so.
Suni informed her of Rachid's return, when she came to help her undress that night. It was late, already after eleven o'clock, but Abby had asked her to wait until the sleek limousine passed between the palace gates. If Suni wondered why her mistress wanted to know, she asked no questions, and Abby allowed herself to be disrobed with a tremulous sense of destiny weakening her knees.
The night was very dark. There was no moon, and even the stars seemed muted in their velvet bed. But the scent of jasmine was intoxicating, and Abby's senses were stirred
by its hypnotic perfume.
She waited until Suni had left her, and then, donning a cream silk robe over her high-waisted nightgown, she descended the shallow staircase. Halfway down, she was disturbed by a sudden pain in the small of her back, but guessing it was due to all the exertions she had suffered at the hands of her medical advisers, she paid it little heed. She had had various minor discomforts from time to time that day, but with so much else on her mind, she had little thought for herself.
On the terrace she hesitated, aware that she had never walked through the gardens alone at night, and that although she knew where her husband's rooms were, he could just as easily be in his study. 'Princess!'
The harsh tones of one of the guards brought her round in a whirl of confusion. But his features were gentle as he looked down at her, and she realised he could help her.
'I—I want to speak with Prince Rachid,' she averred, trying to behave as if her silken robes were her normal mode of attire. 'Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him? It is most important, or I would not be here.'
The guard looked doubtful. 'My lord the Prince has retired, my lady,' he replied gravely. 'However, I can give him a message, if you will, and maybe, if it is urgent, he will come to see you.'
'No. No, that's not what I want.' Abby tried not to sound as agitated as she felt. 'Please, I know what I'm doing. If you will escort me to the Court of the Eagles ...'
The guard was not sufficiently familiar with Abby to argue. 'Very well, my lady,' he agreed, with a polite bow. 'If you will come this way ...'
The soft ferns that grew along the path caressed her sandalled feet as she accompanied the guard between the espaliered fruit trees. The cry of a night bird, disturbed by their passage, was wild and eerie, and there were rustlings in the undergrowth, as the night creatures scuttled out of their way. It was late, and the palace was almost completely in darkness, except for the lamps that burned in their sconces and cast a mellow light over burnished copper shades.