it was useless to dwell on this. Naturally Faisal would want to take his rightful place in the family business, which meant that they would probably not be able to marry until he was twenty-five—aeons away to someone with such a volatile nature as Raschid claimed Faisal possessed. There was no doubt at all in her own mind that Raschid hoped that during their enforced separation Faisal would find himself someone else, and helpless with impotent anger, she stared bleakly out into the darkness, wishing she had never been foolish enough to accept Raschid’s invitation.
They were travelling through empty countryside, with the sea on one side of them, and what Felicia took to be the open desert on the other. Even though Faisal had prepared her for Kuwait’s modern outlook, her first glimpse of the family villa still caught her off guard. She did not know quite what she had expected, but it was not this large, two-storey building, with its painted shutters and white walls, vaguely reminiscent of the Moorish houses of Andalucia; not at least until she remembered the origins of those same Moors.
Without checking, the Mercedes slid through an arched gateway and across a flagged courtyard, decorated with urns of tumbling flowers. Lights shone from several windows illuminating the courtyard and others beyond it, where she could just see the outline of trees, and hear the musical tinkle of fountains.
Raschid opened the car door for her, and she drew in a shaky breath of fresh air spiced with unfamiliar scents.
‘This way, Miss Gordon.’
It was a command, and she responded unthinkingly, wondering at his ability to cloak his dislike of her in such formal politeness.
Her earlier attack of nerves was nothing to what she was experiencing now. What was she going to do if the rest of Faisal’s family were as hostile towards her as his uncle? She tried not to dwell on the thought as the wooden door was flung open and she stood in a rectangle of light.
‘Fatima, this is Miss Gordon,’ Raschid said to the small, plump woman who stood there. ‘Miss Gordon—my sister, Faisal’s mother.’
Felicia’s sharp ears caught the warning beneath the coolly drawled words, as she extended her hand slowly to the woman watching her.
It was taken between two soft, beringed hands, while Faisal’s mother beamed at her, chattering incomprehensibly to the tall man at her side.
‘In English, Fatima,’ Raschid told her. ‘Miss Gordon does not have any Arabic.’
Another black mark against her, Felicia reflected bitterly, but Raschid was wrong. She did know how to say ‘good evening’, thanks to Faisal, although it was difficult to get her tongue round the unfamiliar Arabic words.
‘Massa’a al-Khayr,’ Faisal’s mother responded delightedly, darting a mischievous look at her brother.
‘There you are, Raschid!’ she exclaimed in heavily accented English. ‘She does speak Arabic.’
‘Only a few phrases,’ Felicia protested apologetically. ‘And Faisal laughs at my pronunciation.’
‘Poor Miss Gordon!’ another female voice chimed in prettily. ‘Let her get into the house before you start cross-questioning her about Faisal, Mother.’
‘Zahra, what will Miss Gordon think of you?’ her mother chided. ‘Young people today have no manners.’ She turned to Felicia. ‘Please ignore this foolish child. She teases me because I am anxious about Faisal, but when she has a son of her own, then she will feel differently…’
So this was Faisal’s younger sister, Zahra. Felicia studied her covertly. She was small, plump like her mother, with sparkling dark eyes, and a warm smile that held none of Raschid’s cold reserve. Faisal had neglected to tell her how pretty his sister was, Felicia reflected, relieved to see that Zahra at least seemed to harbour no dislike for her.
‘You will sleep in the room next to mine,’ Zahra explained as she led her upstairs. ‘Mother would stick to the old ways of keeping to the women’s quarters, if she could, but although we use our own sitting room whenever Faisal or Uncle Raschid entertain business colleagues, Raschid does not believe in women being strictly segregated.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Mother is dreadfully old-fashioned. She hated it when I first started at university, but Uncle Raschid was insistent, thank goodness. I hope you are hungry? Mother has had a feast prepared for you, although I warned her that you might not be hungry, having travelled so far.’
Mentally blessing Zahra for her tactful warning of what to expect, Felicia shook her head. In point of fact she felt exhausted and longed only for a hot bath and a comfortable bed, but it would be bad manners to show anything less than immense pleasure in her hostess’s preparations—she knew enough about Arab protocol to be aware of that!
‘Faisal has written to me about you,’ Zahra confided, eyeing Felicia speculatively. ‘You are to become betrothed…’
‘Perhaps,’ Felicia tempered, remembering Raschid’s warning. ‘Provided your uncle approves of me.’
Her room overlooked the gardens and was quite Western in concept, with a comfortable single bed and modern fitted bedroom furniture along one wall, with hanging space for far more clothes than Felicia had brought. There was a bathroom off it, tiled in deep pink to match the sanitary fittings which all boasted gold taps and wastes, and were quite obviously all of the very most luxurious quality.
‘I hope you weren’t expecting sunken baths with marble pillars,’ Zahra giggled. ‘Uncle Raschid swore you would expect us to live like something out of the Thousand and One Nights.’
‘Well, I did wonder how you managed those flimsy trousers and curly-toed shoes,’ Felicia agreed lightly, earning an approving grin from Zahra.
‘I knew that you would have a sense of humour, despite what Uncle Raschid said!’
And what exactly had that been? Felicia wondered grimly. Plainly Zahra knew about their plans, although she suspected that Raschid had also warned the younger girl not to mention them to her mother.
‘If you do have a hankering to see the old Kuwait, you must ask Uncle Raschid to take you to his villa at the oasis,’ Zahra surprised her by saying. ‘It was built by his grandfather, although he rarely used it. He preferred to travel with his people and live in their black tents. He built it for his English wife. Leave your unpacking,’ she instructed, changing the subject. ‘One of the maids will do that for you. Are you ready to eat?’
Guessing that she had already delayed the family meal long beyond its normal hour, Felicia assured her that she was quite ready.
As they went downstairs, Zahra explained to her that the house was built around the enclosed gardens she had noticed on her arrival, and that it comprised the traditional women’s quarters, with two separate wings; one of which was used by Raschid and the other being set aside for Faisal’s use when he was at home.
‘Not that Raschid sticks rigidly to his quarters,’ Zahra explained. ‘He normally eats with us unless business prevents him. In my father’s time the women never ate with the men, but things are different now, and Uncle Raschid encouraged both Nadia and myself to take advantage of a modern education.’
‘How kind of him,’ Felicia murmured sarcastically. She was surprised to discover that Zahra evidently held her uncle in great affection, but wished she had not given vent to her own feelings for him when Zahra paused to eye her enquiringly.
‘Don’t
