‘A family who don’t want anything to do with us as long as Daddy continues to make money for them,’ Danielle protested rebelliously, putting down her brush and turning to face her mother. ‘I can’t do it. I can’t pretend the way I would have to…’
‘Not even for the sake of your father?’ her mother prodded gently. ‘It would be a compromise, Danny. I know Hassan mentioned that Jourdan will lose face over your refusal to marry him, but so will Hassan…’
Her sympathy aroused in spite of her own feelings, Danielle stared reluctantly at the floor, knowing what her mother was asking of her and yet unwilling to commit herself to visiting Qu‘Har.
‘I can understand Daddy,’ she said at last. ‘But you… surely you knew that I would never agree to such a marriage?’
‘I knew, but Hassan was so sure he was doing the right thing, so convinced that he was protecting you that only your own reaction could convince him. Having gained so much surely you can afford a little compromise now, darling?’
A LITTLE compromise took one a long, long way, Danielle thought ruefully, staring out of the window of the powerful jet—one of the twelve owned by Qu‘Har Air. This jet, though, was special. It was the personal property of her stepfather’s family, and a courteous, deferential young man had been conscripted from his normal job in the oil company offices to accompany her to Qu‘Har.
The whine of the high-powered engines changed abruptly, denoting the fact that they were nearing their destination. In spite of her resolution not to be, Danielle felt nervous. She smoothed the skirt of the silk two-piece she was wearing with fingers that trembled slightly. The silk was peacock green, highlighting her hair and flattering the golden tones the summer sun had given her skin. She eyed it ruefully. Never in all her holidays abroad had she ever tanned. When she had complained about it to a beautician the girl had chided her, telling her she ought to be grateful for having such a delicate English complexion and preserve it at all costs. The colour in it now was only as a result of slow and careful exposure over the entire length of a particularly good English summer, and her stepfather had told her that even though the worst of the humidity had passed the temperature in Qu‘Har in August was very high, and would continue to be high throughout the duration of her stay. For this reason she had been careful to include in her packing a good supply of sunscreen, essential if her skin wasn’t to get badly burned. The girl in the chemist had also suggested a new sunburn lotion which she had assured Danielle was extremely effective, and that too had been packed with her other cosmetics just in case.
What would her stepfather’s family think of her? Although she assured herself that she couldn’t care less, for his sake she knew that she hoped they would approve of her. Jourdan, thank goodness, would be in Paris, on business, or so she had been told, and she was grateful to her stepfather who she was sure had been responsible for this diplomatic move. It would have been awkward and embarrassing to have to meet the man who had so callously agreed to marry her, without even seeing her, and she was glad that she would not be called upon to do so.
The jet was descending; she glanced out of the window but could see nothing apart from dazzling blue sky. As she glanced back Danielle saw that her escort was watching her shyly, although he looked hurriedly away when he realised that she had observed his speculative glance. He was about her own age dressed expensively in a Western style suit, his black hair neatly groomed. He was, her stepfather had told her, the son of one of his cousins, in addition to being on the staff of the oil company. In Arab countries nepotism was obviously a virtue rather than a vice, and as the jet came to rest on the tarmac runway Danielle wished that she had had time to study the life style and customs of the people with whom she would be living, a little more thoroughly. What if she transgressed against some unknown rule and disgraced herself? Hassan’s eldest brother’s first wife would take her under his wing, her stepfather had told her, adding that she would like Jamaile, who had already brought up three daughters and had several grandchildren.
More grateful than she was prepared to admit for the presence of the shy young man at her side, Danielle descended the gangway. The staff were lined up at the bottom. The captain asked if she had enjoyed the flight. Although she had been accustomed to the respect people accorded wealth, she had never known the true meaning of the word ‘deference’ until she became a member of the Ahmed family, Danielle acknowledged; realising with a sudden startled shock that she was a member of that family, even if only by marriage.
That thought gave her the courage to walk calmly to the waiting limousine—no other words could describe the sleek black Mercedes parked prominently on the forecourt flying pennants which Danielle decided must reflect the status of her host and hostess. It was only just beginning to dawn on her that she would be staying with Qu‘Har’s Royal Family, and the realisation intimidated her a little.
The drive to the palace was completed in silence—an awed one on Danielle’s part as she observed the number and variety of buildings being erected on either side of the main road. Beyond them stretched the vast emptiness of the desert broken only by the odd clump of palm trees, until suddenly, quite out of the blue, they came to a vast acreage of tunnel greenhouses, which she was told were part of a new scheme to decrease Qu‘Har’s dependence on imports from abroad.
‘This and the new desalination plant just completed on the coast are the result of Sheikh Hassan’s wishes that our people share in the oil wealth of our country,’ Danielle’s escort told her proudly. And it was something to be proud of, Danielle acknowledged, observing the signs of technology all around her.
One particularly light airy building was pointed out to her as a new girls’ school—a very daring innovation and one which had caused considerable tension and high feeling until the country’s religious leaders had given the ambitious scheme their approval. Even so, Danielle caught the hint of disapproval in the voice of her young escort.
‘You don’t approve of education for women?’ she asked him directly.
Colour ran up under his dark skin. Danielle would have had to be blind to be unaware of the admiration in his dark eyes as they rested on her, but apart from being mildly flattered that such a handsome young man should so obviously find her attractive she didn’t give the matter another thought.
‘It is not the way of the East,’ was the only diplomatic response she could get to her question, and sensing that he would prefer not to pursue a subject which obviously embarrassed him, Danielle turned instead to his family and in particular those members of it with whom she would be staying.
‘The Emir is the head of our family and our country,’ Saud confided with a shy smile. ‘I am the son of his second cousin and thus of minor importance within the family. Indeed it was only through the good offices of Sheikh Hassan, my uncle, that I obtained my position with the oil company.’
‘But you have a university degree,’ Danielle persisted, remembering what her stepfather had told her about this personable young man. ‘You could have obtained a job elsewhere…’
‘I should not have wanted to. Qu‘Har is my home and the home of my fathers before me. Sheikh Hassan paid for my education, as he has done for many of us, and it is only fitting that I repay him by using my skills for the benefit of my country.’
It was said so simply, so without pretension and priggishness, that Danielle felt tears prick her eyes. This was the other side of the fierce desert warrior, this almost childlike simplicity and determined loyalty.
‘Sheikh