chose to play the harem dancer for her undoubtedly appreciative bridegroom? She folded the outfit briskly.
‘It won’t go in this box, it’s full,’ Zahra complained.
‘Never mind, give it to me. I’ve plenty of room in my case.’ Felicia looked rather quizzically at Zahra. ‘Why do you want to take it? You won’t be wearing it until you are married, I trust?’
‘I daren’t leave it here in case one of the maids sees it,’ Zahra confessed. ‘Mother wouldn’t understand.’
‘I can see why,’ Felicia agreed, thinking of the transparent chiffon. It was obvious that Zahra was very much in love with her Saud, and Felicia wondered a little enviously what it was like to prepare for marriage basking in the warm approval of one’s family. Had she ever anticipated Faisal’s caresses with the enthusiasm with which Zahra looked forward to Saud’s?—and not for the first time she questioned her ability to respond to a man’s lovemaking. Had her uncle’s cold rejection of her as a child destroyed her ability to give and receive love? And yet she had responded to Raschid. But she did not love him. She hated him. He was determined to destroy her, she thought bitterly, gathering up the small pile of garments which would not fit into Zahra’s boxes and putting them in her own case. And he did not care what means he had to use to do so. She straightened up and her breast throbbed pulsatingly as it had done when he had touched her. Her face flaming, she squashed the impulse to place her own hand against her quickening flesh in an effort to eradicate the tingling memory.
IT WAS NOT a great distance to the oasis when measured in mere miles, but the journey would take them through empty desert and careful preparations had to be made, checked and re-checked by Ali, who had been left in charge of their safety. Water bottles had to be filled, tires checked, and spare gasoline cans placed in the trunks of cars. They were to travel in convoy, the Mercedes carrying Umm Faisal, Zahra and Felicia, going first, three other cars with the staff and the luggage following on behind.
Felicia tended to be amused by the flurry of preparation, until Zahra pointed out the fate of other, less careful travellers. To die of thirst under a burning sun was no pleasant death, and could happen even to the most experienced desert traveller if a sandstorm blew up, obliterating the road, or a sharp stone pierced a gas tank, leaving them without transport.
It was just over a hundred miles to the oasis, but Felicia was ready to agree feelingly that it might have been a thousand, long before the green fringe of the palm trees warned her that journey’s end was in sight. Even with the air-conditioning on full the heat inside the car was stifling, the sun dazzling as it bounced off the immaculate black hood of the Mercedes. The tires hissed wetly along the soft tarmac until they turned off on to a sandy track, throwing up clouds of fine dust to clog the throats and eyes of those driving behind.
‘Now you see why we go first,’ Zahra explained. ‘The last vehicle is the most at risk. Even an expert driver can lose his way when the windscreen is covered in sand.’
Felicia repressed a small shudder at the thought of being lost in this vast wasteland. And yet for all its terrible emptiness the desert held a beauty all of its own. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but mile upon mile of never-ending sand, burning golden-red against the cobalt blue sky. The intensity of it hurt the eyes, and Felicia wondered anew at the tenacity of a people who had carved out their lives from this unyielding wilderness.
‘Nearly there,’ Zahra said cheerfully, as the fringe of palm trees on the horizon grew tantalisingly larger. ‘You will love the oasis, Felicia. I believe Raschid considers it is our true home, although Faisal does not care for it in the same way, but in you I sense a sympathy for our ways. You do like our country, don’t you?’ she asked anxiously.
Felicia acknowledged that she had fallen under its spell, surprised to realise how true this was. Had circumstances been different, she would have been content to make her life in this magnificent, timeless land.
‘Only one more day until Nadia arrives,’ Zahra added. ‘I’m longing to see her!’
Felicia hoped that Faisal’s elder sister was as easy to get along with as his younger. Since the arrival of Faisal’s letter she was conscious of being something of an impostor, in her own mind at least, and having Raschid as her enemy was more than enough to cope with.
It was dusk when they drove into the oasis, so Felicia could see very little of her surroundings apart from the clustering tops of palm trees, swaying lightly in the evening breeze, and the silky shine of moonlight on water as they drove past the silent oasis.
‘Once the Badu camped here,’ Zahra said softly, ‘but now the tribesmen have retreated into the interior of the desert to pursue their chosen way of life unhindered.’
The house bore no resemblance to the villa outside Kuwait. Built of white stone, its narrow Moorish windows presented a blank face to the world. They drove through a fretted archway into a courtyard slightly similar to the one belonging to the villa, but whereas that was of modern construction combining the best of East and West, this one bore mute evidence of age. Behind them enormous iron-studded oak doors slammed shut, a reminder that once visitors to the oasis might not have been friendly. The soft-footed Moslem servants added to the sensation of having stepped back in time, and Felicia would not have been surprised to see a couple of Zahra’s harem dancers wandering in the garden, the bracelets on their ankles tinkling in time to their sinuous movements.
Instead, Ali ushered them into a large hallway, and then Felicia did gasp with amazed delight. Huge pillars of malachite supported an intricately patterned ceiling, painted in jewel-bright colours. She could hear the sound of water somewhere in the distance and the timeless enchantment of the East engulfed her.
Zahra laughed at her open-mouthed wonder.
‘I knew you would like it!’
Ali and the other servants were bringing in their luggage, stacking it on the cool marble floor. Selina hurried away, promising that soon they would have a cup of coffee, and as the double doors at the other end of the hall opened, Felicia saw Raschid framed there, his flowing white robe in stark contrast to the rich bronze of his skin and the jewelled silks of the furnishings.
‘Zahra will take you to the women’s quarters, Miss Gordon. They overlook an inner courtyard. In the desert a wise man kept his rarest treasures under lock and key, and in my grandfather’s day the women of the harem were never allowed outside the confines of this house. For my grandmother’s pleasure he had a garden constructed inside the protective walls of his home so that she might enjoy the cool breeze that blows over the desert when dusk falls. She used to say that it reminded her of England.’
‘You will love it, Felicia,’ Zahra said softly, ‘and the harem quarters. They are ridiculously exotic. Believe it or not, there is even a marble bath large enough to swim in.’
She laughed delightedly when Felicia flushed, exclaiming suddenly, ‘Uncle Raschid, Felicia’s eyes are exactly the same colour as these pillars!’
‘The colour of malachite,’ Raschid agreed, looking down at Felicia, and running his lean fingers caressingly down the pillar nearest to him. ‘But I don’t suppose Miss Gordon will be complimented to have her eyes compared with the cold hardness of marble—mm?’
As always his tone when he spoke to Zahra was teasingly indulgent, and Felicia was struck by the difference from when he addressed her.
Ali staggered in with more boxes, which he dropped by Felicia’s cases. The top one fell on its side, bursting open to spill its contents in gay profusion across the floor. Felicia had
