Faisal drove her back to her flat himself in the car he kept parked in the underground car-park provided for the use of the apartment tenants. It was an opulent Mercedes with cream leather upholstery and every refinement known to technological man, from a hidden cocktail cabinet to a GPS system.
Privately Felicia considered that Faisal drove too fast, but on the one occasion she had mentioned this to him he had looked so angry that she had not done so again.
‘As you are a guest of my family, it is only right that we should pay all your expenses,’ he told her when he stopped the car outside the small and rather shabby bedsit that had been her home since she first came to London.
Felicia protested, unwilling for Faisal’s family to think of her as being financially grasping and reminding him that the knowledge that she had not paid for her own ticket would surely influence his uncle against her.
‘He will not know,’ he assured her carelessly, ‘and besides, you will need some new clothes, more suitable for our climate.’
It struck Felicia that perhaps he feared that she would shame him with her small wardrobe, for she was aware of the importance his family placed upon outward show, and so, unwillingly, she allowed him to persuade her to accept the gift of her ticket and save her money for what he termed ‘necessary expenditure’.
The days flew past, with her seeing Faisal every evening. She wanted to learn as much about the country she was going to as she could, and often by the time Faisal took her home her brain was a confused jumble of facts and figures.
Even so, she could not help but admire the tireless energy of the Kuwait Government when she learned just how much had been achieved in such a very short span of time.
Even allowing for the fact that the country’s vast oil revenues had made many types of technological advancement possible, the swift rebuilding after the war left her breathless.
Naturally Faisal was proud of his country’s progress, the more so because his own family had had a large part in it. It was with great sincerity that he told Felicia of their democratic form of government, with the Head of State chosen from amongst the descendants of Sheikh Mubarak al Sabah, who had ruled the country from 1896 to 1915, and was, even now, referred to simply as ‘Al Kebir’—The Great.
Although Faisal deliberately played the relationship down, Felicia was a little dismayed to learn that his family were distantly connected to the ruling house. Faisal assured her that she must not let this overwhelm her, but she was beginning to see why his uncle Raschid might not approve of Faisal’s choice of bride.
Naturally, she was fascinated by this glimpse into another world—albeit a very rich and exotic one; however, whenever she tried to voice her doubts as to her ability to cope with so many changes, Faisal merely laughed, telling her that his family would adore her.
‘Even Raschid will be impressed by your beauty. You have the colouring of his grandmother,’ he told her, eyeing her speculatively. ‘You will surprise him with your innocence and modesty.’
Felicia could only pray that this was indeed so, pressing Faisal to tell her a little more about his own background.
Nothing loath, he described to her the modern town of Kuwait, which had now taken the place of the old mud-brick port. His family had extensive financial interests in the city—their bank had helped finance the erection of a modern hotel in which they held a controlling interest, and there were other buildings, office blocks, apartments, shipping interests; all of which made Felicia uneasily aware of the vast gap that lay between them.
Kuwait had one of the best social service systems in the world, Faisal boasted proudly, with excellent schooling, a hospital system that would have made a Harley Street surgeon pea-green with envy and very much more. Felicia was properly impressed, but Faisal shrugged it all aside. ‘Much is made possible by money,’ he told her. ‘But there is still the huge vastness of the desert, which Uncle Raschid claims will never be tamed. For myself I prefer London or New York, and it is in one of these cities that we shall make our home.’
Felicia was surprised that this should make her faintly sorry.
She noticed also that Faisal was at pains to assure her that although most Kuwaitis were adherents to the Moslem faith, there was no bias against people of other faiths; nor would she be expected to change her own religion when they married.
‘That at least is something Uncle Raschid cannot hold against you,’ he surprised her by saying, ‘for although all of us are of the Moslem faith, because of the great love Raschid’s grandfather bore his English wife, her descendants are of your faith, thus Uncle Raschid himself is a Christian.’
Christian or not, Felicia was not looking forward to making his acquaintance—especially without Faisal’s comforting support. The eventual confrontation loomed unpleasantly on the horizon, but not wanting to burden Faisal with her own worries, she kept her fears to herself, trying to ensure that their last few days together were as carefree as possible.
For Faisal’s sake she would do all she could to make a good impression on his uncle, but her pride would not let her adopt a fawning attitude to an older male relative—no matter how he might disapprove of her independence!
With her seat booked, she handed in her notice at work, and carefully scoured the shops for suitable clothes. Fortunately the early summer fashions were already on display and she had no trouble at all in buying half a dozen pretty cotton dresses and pastel-toned separates.
She hesitated over the purchase of beach clothes, but as Faisal had told her that the beaches off Failaka Island and the surrounding coast were particularly beautiful, she succumbed to the lure of the matching apple-green set of shorts, bikini and jacket. Egged on by the assistant, she added another bikini in swirling blues and greens which complemented her eyes, and a plain black swimsuit for good measure, unaware that its skilful cut emphasised the slender length of her legs and the unexpectedly full curve of her breasts. One evening dress in palest Nile green silk completed her new wardrobe, and although she could barely afford it, Felicia could not deny that the slender slip of fabric was infinitely becoming, tiny diamanté straps supporting the swathed bodice, the skirt falling in folds to whisper seductively round slender legs. Her purchases complete, she allowed herself the luxury of a taxi back to her small bedsit. Faisal was taking her out to dinner and as it would be their last evening together, she wanted to look her best.
As she put away her new clothes, her eyes alighted on the jewellers’ box which contained the emerald he had bought her. Only the previous evening they had quarrelled because she refused to wear it until their engagement had the sanction of his family. He had teased her about being old-fashioned, but she sensed that to flaunt the opulent stone before his uncle would immediately set his back up. She suspected that the older man would hold rigid and old-fashioned views on such subjects, and while she intended in no way to kow-tow to him, she had no wish to deliberately offend against his opinions.
Even so, it was hard not to feel bitter about his obvious contempt of her—contempt he had expressed overtly in his letter to Faisal, and this without knowing the first thing about her! Perhaps it was this bitterness that made her more reckless than usual, choosing to wear a dress which had hung unworn in her wardrobe ever since she had bought it, deeming it too sophisticated and eye-catching.
She had purchased it at the insistence of the colleague with whom she had gone shopping, and afterwards had regretted the impulsive buy, deeming it more suitable for the baby blue eyes and blonde curls of her friend than herself. Not that she had anything against the colour as such. The dress was black, which she knew suited her creamy skin, but it was low-cut, with a pencil-slim skirt, slit up one side to reveal slim thighs, its design emphasising her curves to a degree which made her feel acutely self-conscious. It was just the sort of dress Faisal’s uncle would expect a gold-digging girl to choose, she acknowledged wryly as she zipped it up, and she was in two