a couple of lithe strides, bending to finger disdainfully the crimson chiffon billowing against the starkness of his robes.
Zahra trembled, casting Felicia a look of agonised appeal, and instantly she rose to the occasion. It didn’t matter that Raschid’s fingers were flicking the chiffon away with arrogant contempt, nor that his eyes were narrowing thoughtfully on her flushed face, his mouth curving downwards in contempt.
‘Mine, I believe,’ Felicia said bravely, with saccharine sweetness as she made a dive for the chiffon. Raschid was holding the fabric more firmly than she had realised and as she tugged effectually at it, the harem pants were revealed in their full glory. Almost she would have laughed at his distasteful expression as he relinquished the sequinned waistband after one look of incredulous contempt.
‘I bought them in the souk the other day. I thought they might start a new fashion at home.’ Some devil of mischief, too long submerged, suddenly reasserted itself prompting her to add flippantly, ‘I hope Faisal likes them.’ Demurely she let her eyelashes drop to veil her cheeks in mock modesty, even risking a coy giggle. ‘They aren’t the thing for shopping in Sainsbury’s, of course, but for a quiet evening at home….’ She deliberately let her voice trail away, raising limpid eyes to the concentrated acidity in Raschid’s and allowing just the merest hint of suggestiveness to peep through her assumed modesty. Watching his impassive features, she admitted that she was playing with fire, but shrugged the thought aside—in for a penny, in for a pound! When long seconds ticked by with Zahra frozen like a sphinx and Raschid’s expression remotely unreadable she wondered if she had gone too far.
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
