A cold grey glance, informed with deliberate and exactly calculated insult, roamed her body, oblivious to Zahra’s shocked protest, and at length he drawled carelessly:
‘Not your colour, I would have thought, Miss Gordon, with that hair.’
‘No.’ She was all smiling sweetness. ‘You surprise me. I should have thought you would consider it exactly right for me, being scarlet.’
The way the heavy-lidded eyes narrowed told her that he had not missed the point, but he did not deign to answer and it was left to Ali to bundle up the rest of the clothes cascading across the floor and carry them from the room.
It was just as well that Raschid’s annoyance with her was occupying the best part of his thoughts, Felicia reflected as she followed a thoroughly shaken Zahra, otherwise he might have realised that the rest of the clothes littering the floor had belonged not to her but to his niece!
It was a very subdued young girl who came into Felicia’s room an hour later, when she was completing the last of her unpacking. The bedroom was as different from the one in Kuwait as chalk from cheese. For a start it was devoid of modern furnishings, apart from the comfortable double bed. The floor was polished wood, scattered with soft Persian rugs, of great age and value. A long low couch stuffed with cushions was set against one wall beneath the arched windows, tempting the languorously inclined to relax and admire the cunning arrangement of trees and plants in the courtyard below. As in all Arab houses of any wealth, the sound of water was never far away, for in days gone by an Arab could measure his wealth in the amount of water he was able to waste.
A small dressing room had been fitted with wardrobes, but it was on the ornamental brassbound chest that Felicia had placed the carefully folded harem outfit.
Zahra pulled a face when she saw it.
‘I’ve never seen Raschid so angry,’ she said in a low voice, her eyes disturbed. ‘Oh, Felicia, I’m so sorry—the way he looked at you—the things he said!’
‘Well, now you know why I didn’t enthuse over them in the first place. But there’s no harm done,’ Felicia assured her lightly.
‘No harm!’ Zahra’s eyes filled with indignant tears. ‘You can’t say that after the way Raschid treated you—and you Faisal’s intended wife!’
Now was her opportunity to tell Zahra the truth, but before she could do so, Zahra continued impulsively, ‘I shall tell Raschid how wrong he was, Felicia. I cannot allow you to take the blame for my folly, and Raschid shall apologise to you for what he said.’
Her lips trembled and Felicia felt moved to pity, guessing how much it had hurt the younger girl to see her adored uncle revealed in his true colours. In that moment she felt immeasurably older than the Felicia who had arrived in Kuwait such a short time ago. She comforted Zahra as best she could, promising that the now despised garments would be suitably disposed of and reminding her that she herself had added insult to injury by deliberately goading Raschid, but Zahra was not convinced. She shook her head sorrowfully.
‘He wanted to shame you before us, Felicia. I could see it in his eyes, but instead he shamed me!’ Her voice thickened on fresh tears. ‘I thank Allah that I witnessed his contempt, for I could not bear it if Saud had looked upon me in the way Raschid did you.’
It saddened Felicia to hear the pain in her voice, but she could offer scant comfort, aside from pointing out that Raschid had his reasons for not liking her.
‘Because he does not want Faisal to marry you? Felicia, promise me you will not let Raschid drive you from us. You have become very precious to me and already I think of you as a sister. Raschid will come round, I know it!’
THE NEXT DAY BROUGHT the noisy arrival of Nadia and her husband with their small son. Several years older than Felicia, she was a smaller, feminine version of Faisal, complete with his white smile and soft brown eyes, and yet the familiarity between brother and sister sparked off no emotion in her, Felicia discovered.
Her little boy, however, captured her heart, and before he had been in the house five minutes, Felicia was completely under his spell, listening delightedly to his important chatter as he followed her to her room. He exhibited none of the shyness of his European contemporaries, his large brown eyes frankly curious as he wandered around her room. He found the tissue-wrapped parcel she had stuffed in a corner of her empty suitcase and forgotten, and insisted on seeing what was inside and was, in fact, engaged on carefully removing the contents when Nadia walked in.
She raised her eyebrows and smiled, dropping carelessly on to the divan in the same cross-legged pose as Umm Faisal. Far more Western in outlook than either her mother or her sister, she had, nevertheless, the aura of a sheltered Eastern woman. She ruffled little Zayad’s dark hair affectionately as he staggered towards her, relieving him of the package.
‘A present?’
‘Something someone gave me in error,’ Felicia heard herself saying stiffly, changing the subject quickly. ‘You must be excited about Zahra’s marriage.’
‘Not as much as I was about my own.’ Nadia chuckled reminiscently. ‘It seems strange to remember that there was ever a time when I didn’t want to marry Achmed.’ She saw Felicia’s look of surprise and nodded her head. ‘Oh yes, I was a rebel when I was younger. Our marriage was arranged before my father’s death, and I plagued Raschid to free me from it. I even threatened to starve myself if he refused.’
‘What happened?’ Felicia enquired, intrigued. She could not imagine any female getting the better of Raschid, but plainly Nadia was perfectly happy in her marriage, and she was curious to know how this had come about.
Nadia smiled ruefully.
‘It was all Raschid’s doing, bless him! You will have heard of the siyasa on which we pride ourselves? Well, when I refused point blank to marry Achmed—and you must bear in mind that this was at the start of the month of Ramadan with the wedding only weeks away, for it was to be celebrated at the same time as the feast of Eid al-Fitr which marks the end of our fast—Raschid did not attempt to argue or reason with me. Instead he told me that he had arranged for Achmed to visit the house and that if I positioned myself in his bedroom and looked out on to the courtyard I would see Achmed arrive. He begged me to wait until then before demanding to be freed of our betrothal.’ She spread her hands, laughingly. ‘What could I do? I agreed.’
‘And?’ pressed Felicia breathlessly.
Nadia laughed again.
‘And when I saw this outstandingly handsome young man walk nervously into the courtyard I knew my protests had been those of a maid who fears the intimacies of marriage, but when I looked into Achmed’s face and saw gentleness and understanding there, I knew there was nothing to fear. Raschid knew me better than I knew myself.’ Her eyes softened into an expression of shining pleasure. ‘I will say only this to you, Felicia. There are those of your race, and mine too, who anticipate their marriage vows, tossing away the kernel of the grain and keeping only the worthless husk, but there is no freedom, no equality that equals the pleasure of sharing the mysteries of one’s body with the husband of one’s heart, and knowing that those mysteries are revealed for him and him alone.’
The soft words almost moved Felicia to tears, expressing as they did sentiments she had always cherished but never been able to utter. In complete understanding they looked at one another, and Felicia knew that whatever Raschid might choose to believe of her, Nadia had guessed the truth.
As