typhoid injection and tucked away in her handbag were the salt tablets Faisal had warned her that she would need as the temperature started to climb into the eighties and nineties.
Everyone apart from herself seemed to know exactly where they were going and what to do. An incomprehensible flood of Arabic washed all round her, punctuated here and there by heavily accented English from the taxi drivers and porters.
Felicia looked round in despair. Faisal had told her that she would be met at the airport, but by whom? Could one of these immaculately uniformed chauffeurs be waiting for her?
She was just debating the wisdom of making enquiries at the Tourist Information Desk, when a tall figure strode towards her, effortlessly parting the milling crowds.
‘Miss Gordon?’
He was tall; taller than Faisal by several inches, and his voice held the certainty of a man who makes a statement rather than asks a question. She probably did stand out like a sore thumb, Felicia acknowledged wryly, but need he make her feel like an unwanted package he had come to collect?
She gave him a faltering smile, instantly quenched as she felt his cool scrutiny. Now, when it was too late, she wished that she had found time to put her hair up. It would have given her some badly needed sophistication. She darted her companion a surreptitious glance. Was he a relative of Faisal’s, or just an employee sent to collect her?
‘My luggage,’ she murmured hesitantly, noticing the impatient manner in which he shot back the cuff of an immaculate pale grey silk suit to glance at the heavy gold Rolex watch strapped to his wrist. The gesture, so completely and arrogantly male, disturbed her, although she could not have said why.
‘Ali is collecting your luggage,’ she was told. ‘Come.’
He took her arm, propelling her through the crowd. Even Felicia, inexperienced in these matters, was aware of his aura of command. His clothes looked expensive, his manner cool and decisive, and she decided that whoever he was, he was obviously a man of some importance, used to giving orders rather than taking them.
Dazzled by the colour and light, she hurried wearily after him to a waiting Mercedes, humiliatingly forced to drop behind him when his pace increased.
There was nothing welcoming in his manner. In fact he seemed to derive considerable mocking amusement from her hot and bothered state.
In the sunshine his hair had the blue-black gleam of a raven’s wing, thick, and long enough to cover the collar of his suit. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and Felicia was surprised to see that his eyes were grey and not brown, a cold, hard grey like the North Sea in winter. She shivered suddenly, and a chill ran over her despite the heat.
When she hesitated by the car he raised his eyebrows in silent mockery.
‘A plane leaves for England in three hours, if you have changed your mind,’ he told her.
Changed her mind? Felicia shot him a suspicious glance. Was that what he had been expecting? Was that why he had been so offhand with her? Obviously Faisal’s uncle had confided in him, and her soft lips tightened at the thought of the two of them discussing her disparagingly. No doubt for all his outward Westernised appearance this man was as much a traditionalist as Faisal’s uncle. He had looked her over and found her wanting. She tilted her chin and looked up at him bravely, quelling her fear. Already the sun was dropping over the horizon with a speed that surprised her, used as she was to the more leisurely sunsets of more northerly climes.
‘I am not going back,’ she told him firmly.
In the silence that prickled between them she could almost feel his antagonism and then he was holding open the car door, his expression unfathomable.
‘Please get in, Miss Gordon,’ he requested curtly. ‘It is an hour’s drive to the villa.’
Did he have to make her feel like a stupid child? she asked herself crossly, as she got into the Mercedes. After all, despite his air of authority he could scarcely be much more than thirty-two or -three—a little more than ten years older than she was herself.
The chauffeur—who she guessed must be ‘Ali’—appeared with her luggage, which was stowed away in the trunk, and then they were driving out of the airport and down a wide tarmac road in the direction of Kuwait itself.
Felicia stole a glance at her companion’s impassive face. He must know how strange and nervous she felt, and yet he made no attempt to put her at her ease—very well, she decided mutinously, she was not going to be the one to end the smothering silence. He moved slightly, thick black lashes veiling his eyes as he turned his head suddenly to look at her. Colour flooded her cheeks. Now he would think she had been staring at him! Hateful man!
‘No doubt Faisal has prepared you for the kind of life we live here in Kuwait,’ he drawled coolly in perfect accentless English, which Felicia suspected was the product of an exclusive public school.
‘He has spoken to me of his family, yes,’ she replied equally disdainfully. She paused deliberately, then added, as though it were an afterthought, ‘And of his uncle, of course. You know him?’
‘To judge from the exceedingly challenging note in your voice, you have already come to your own conclusions,’ her companion replied very dryly. ‘But I shall answer your question anyway. Yes, I know him.’
‘And you know that he does not approve of our engagement as well, I suppose?’ Felicia said bitterly.
‘Engagement?’
Did she imagine the faint hardening of those cruel lips as they looked down at her ringless hand?
‘Faisal wanted us to be engaged,’ she flashed back, thoroughly enraged, ‘but I prefer to wait until we can have the sanction of his family.’
‘How very wise!’ he mocked sardonically. ‘But then of course any marriage without Raschid’s approval would result in a discontinuation of Faisal’s extremely generous allowance, as I am sure you already know.’
His words shocked Felicia into momentary silence, and then colour stormed her pale face as she contemplated their significance. Her fingers clenched into small, impotent fists. How dared he insinuate that she had deliberately and calculatedly persuaded Faisal to wait because she was motivated by greed? If Faisal’s uncle thought like this man she would have no hope of persuading him to accept her. The thought made her reckless.
‘I would have married Faisal without his uncle’s sanction,’ she stormed, ‘but he didn’t want to cause a rift in his family. His money means nothing to me. It’s him that I love!’
‘And that is why he has sent you to persuade Raschid? You with your red-gold hair and sea-green eyes? Did he tell you that you bear an unmistakable resemblance to Raschid’s grandmother?’
Felicia’s colour betrayed her, and he surveyed her in silent contempt, his eyes cold.
‘You have come on a fool’s errand, Miss Gordon. Faisal knows that Raschid will not give his consent to any betrothal. Indeed I suspect this is merely another of his attempts to persuade Raschid to release to him the control of his inheritance. How much is he paying you to come here and….’
‘It’s not like that!’ Felicia stormed. ‘I love Faisal and he loves me….’
‘How
