like to believe that we are the weaker sex, but we of course know that it is we who are the strong ones!’
‘You have great strength, I can see that! You will miss the child when you eventually have to hand her back to her mother,’ she added shrewdly.
The speed of her conversation, along with the speed of her perceptiveness, was leaving Mariella feeling slightly dizzy.
‘I see that you have chosen not to occupy my late sister’s room. Extremely wise of you if I may say so… I could never understand why she insisted on attempting to recreate our parents’ Avenue Foche apartment here! But then that was Sophia for you! As an eldest child she was extremely strong-willed, whilst I…’ she paused to dimple a rueful smile at Mariella ‘… am the youngest, and, according to her at least, was extremely spoiled!
‘You would not have liked her,’ she pronounced, shocking Mariella a little with her outspokenness. ‘She would have taken one look at you and immediately started to make plans to make you Xavier’s wife. You do not believe me? I assure you that it is true. She would have seen immediately how perfect you would be for him!’
Her, perfect for Xavier? Fiercely squashing the treacherous little sensation tingling through her, Mariella told her quickly, ‘I have no intention of ever getting married.’
‘You see? Already it is clear just how much you and Xavier have in common! However, I am not my sister. I do not interfere in other people’s lives or try to arrange them for them! Non! But tell me why is it that you have made up your mind not to marry? In Xavier’s case it is plain that it is because of the fear instilled in him by my sister that he will not find a woman to love who will share his dedication to his commitment to preserve the traditional way of life of the tribe. Such nonsense! But Sophia herself is very much to blame. When he was a young and impressionable young man she sent Xavier to France in the hope that he would find a bride amongst the daughters of our own circle. But these girls cannot breathe any air other than that of Paris. The very thought of them doing as Xavier has done every year of his life and travelling through the desert with those members of the tribe who had chosen to adhere to the old way of life would be intolerable to them!
‘Xavier needs a wife who will embrace and love the ways of his people with the same passion with which he does himself. A woman who will embrace and love him with even more passion, for, as I am sure you will already know, Xavier is an extremely passionate man.’
Mariella gave her a wary look. What was his great-aunt trying to imply? However, when she looked at her face her expression was rosily innocent and open.
Madame Flavel’s comments were, though, arousing both her interest and her curiosity.
Hesitantly she told her, ‘You have mentioned the tribe and Xavier’s commitment to it, but I do not really know just what…’
‘Non? It is quite simple really. The tribe into which Xavier’s ancestor originally married is unique in its way of life, and it was the life’s work of Xavier’s grandfather, and would have been of his father had he not died, to preserve the tribe’s traditional nomadic existence, but at the same time encourage those members of it who wished to do so to integrate into modern society. To that end, every child born into the tribe has the right to receive a proper education and to follow the career path of their choice, but at the same time each and every member of the tribe must spend some small part of every year travelling the traditional nomadic routes in the traditional way. Some members of the tribe elect to live permanently in such a fashion, and they are highly revered by every other member of the tribe, even those who, as many have, have reached the very peak of their chosen career elsewhere in the world. Within the tribe recognition and admiration are won, not through material or professional attainment, but through preservation of the old ways and traditions.
‘Xavier’s role as head of the tribe means, though, that he has a dual role to fulfil. He must ensure that he has the business expertise to see that the money left by his grandfather generates sufficient future income to provide financially for the tribe, and yet at the same time he must be able to hold the respect of the tribe by leading it in its ancient traditional ways. Xavier has known all his life that he must fulfil both those roles and he does so willingly, I know, but nevertheless it will be a very lonely path he has chosen to follow unless he does find a woman who can understand and share his life with him.’
Mariella had fallen silent as she listened. There was a poignancy about what she was hearing that was touching very deep emotional chords within. The Xavier his great-aunt was describing to her was a man of deep and profound feelings and beliefs, a man who, in other circumstances, she herself could respect and admire.
‘Madame, I assure you there is really no need for you to remain here with me,’ Mariella told her chaperone firmly as she studied the long corridor that was to be her canvas.
Fleur was lying in her pram playing with her toes and Mariella had pinned up in front of her, on the easel she had brought with her, the photographs she had taken of the prince’s horses.
‘It is for this purpose that Xavier has summoned me to his home,’ Madame Flavel reminded her.
‘You will be bored sitting here watching me work,’ Mariella protested.
‘I am never bored. I have my tapestry and my newspaper, and in due course Ali will return to drive us back to the villa for a small repast and an afternoon nap.’
There was no way she intended to indulge in afternoon naps, Mariella decided silently as she picked up her charcoals and started to work.
In her mind she already had a picture of how she wanted the frieze to look, and within minutes she was totally engrossed in what she was doing.
The background for the horses, she had now decided, would not be the racecourse itself, but something that she hoped would prove far more compelling to those who viewed it. The background of a rolling ocean of waves from which the horses were emerging would surely prove irresistible to a people to whom water was so very, very important. Mariella hoped so. His Highness had certainly liked the idea.
It wasn’t until her fingers began to ache a little with cramp that she realised how long she had been working. Madame Flavel had fallen asleep in the comfortable chair with its special footstool that Ali had brought for her, her gentle snores keeping Fleur entranced.
Smiling at her niece, Mariella opened the bottle of water she had brought with her and took a drink. Where was Tanya? Why hadn’t she got in touch with her?
The door to the corridor opened to admit Hera and Ali.
‘Goodness, is it lunchtime already?’ Madame Flavel demanded, immediately waking up.
Reluctantly Mariella started to pack up her things. She would much rather have continued with her work than return to the villa, but she was very conscious of Madame Flavel’s age and the unfairness of expecting her to remain with her for hours on end.
CHAPTER NINE
BY THE end of the week Mariella was beginning to find her enforced breaks from her work increasingly frustrating.
‘It disturbs me that you are so determined not to marry, chérie,’ Madame Flavel was saying to her as she worked. ‘It is perhaps because of an unhappy love affair?’
‘You could say that,’ Mariella agreed wryly.
‘He broke your heart, but you are young, and broken
