heard her mother’s small protest above the sharpness in her stepfather’s voice and regained enough of her normal calm independence to say sardonically,
‘Fortunately, no.’ She turned to her mother with a bleak smile. ‘How lucky you’ve been, darling. Two men have loved you—if all the men I meet are going to turn out like Philippe and Jourdan, I doubt if I’ll ever find one to love me.’
‘Jourdan? Why do you mention him?’ her stepfather demanded, while Danielle was still trying to come to terms with her own admission to herself. She did want someone to love her, and to love them in return. She was obviously not as independent as she thought, and not for the first time she wished that her parents’ care of her had not been quite so protective. She might feel just the same as other girls her age, but in many ways she was not, and she was forced to admit that her view of love had probably been too coloured by her stepfather’s obvious adoration of her mother. She knew that he was probably unique among his own race, but she was now beginning to wonder if he was not also unique among men in general.
She gathered her thoughts hurriedly, aware that her stepfather was still awaiting her reply. Something about the look in his eyes made her lift her head proudly and say, ‘Isn’t it true that he’s betrothed to some poor girl who has to accept him in marriage whether she wants to or not; some girl who’s most probably kept in ignorance of her fate, and the manner in which her prospective husband conducts himself?’
‘You would condemn a man purely on the conviction of one other, who is known to be envious of him?’ her stepfather asked mildly. ‘I had thought better of you, Danielle.’
‘It wasn’t just Philippe,’ she retorted, resenting her stepfather’s knack of making her feel guilty, especially when she had nothing to feel guilty for.
‘Some friends of mine happened to mention him—quite by chance, they had no idea that I knew him. They were telling me about a girl he’d been involved with in Paris.’
Her stepfather made an abrupt disdainful gesture. ‘A putain; a woman of the world who gives her body in return for gain…’
‘It doesn’t matter what she was,’ Danielle protested hotly, ‘she was still a person, a human being with feelings. If men were not prepared to buy then women wouldn’t sell…’
It was plain that her stepfather did not agree with her.
‘A man has needs,’ he said frankly, ‘and when he can slake them nowhere else he will queue in the market-place and buy water. Of course, it will not have the fresh sweetness of water from his own private oasis; it will taste brackish and perhaps not refresh, but it is still water. I had thought you more generous, Danielle, than to condemn a man purely because he indulges a perfectly natural appetite…’
Danielle turned away, suddenly close to tears. For all their love for one another she and her stepfather were miles apart. She sensed that were she to say to him, ‘What of women’s needs; is their “thirst” to be slaked in the same fashion?’ he would have been honestly shocked and distressed. It was the old double standard, she told herself bitterly, but her sex wasn’t merely enchained by what men expected of it, it was also enchained by its own emotions, for whereas a man could take merely out of need, a woman could rarely give without emotion, without giving something of herself. It isn’t fair, she wanted to protest rebelliously, but instead she summoned all her powers of reasoning and logic and said calmly,
‘Naturally any man could be forgiven one lapse, but from what I hear your nephew, far from restraining his “thirst” having slaked it once, encourages it to grow stronger. As I said before, I sincerely pity the poor girl who is destined to be his wife. Or one of his wives, I should say.’
‘Then you would be wrong.’ Her stepfather said coolly. Danielle thought she discerned a mixture of pain and admiration in his eyes, but overriding both emotions was a determination which sent prickles of primitive awareness running along her body until the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck and along her arms rose as defensively as the prickles of a hedgehog.
‘Jourdan can only take one wife. I assume you already know the story of his birth from Philippe, but what you obviously do not know is the promise I had to give his mother before I was allowed to take him from her—namely that he was to be brought up in the Christian religion. Even though she died several days after his birth, I adhered to that promise, and despite his prominence in Qu‘Har my nephew is as Christian as you yourself, Danielle.’
Then all the more shame to him, Danielle wanted to cry, but for some reason her tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of her mouth. A curious sense of unreality enveloped her, a feeling of foreboding, intensified by the anxious look in her mother’s eyes whenever they rested upon her.
‘As my adopted daughter, you will one day be extremely wealthy,’ Sheikh Hassan continued, completely changing the subject. ‘We have never talked of this before because the subject has not arisen. As you know, I am an extremely rich man, but I also own and control much family property which can only be passed down from father to son, from brother to brother, or uncle to nephew. There is no female right of inheritance. Were I to die my own private fortune would be divided between your mother and yourself, but my controlling interest in the oil company would go to either my older or my younger brother, since I have no sons of my own. The balance of power in Qu‘Har is poised delicately between my brothers, both are intensely jealous of each other, and it sometimes takes the wisdom of Solomon to make them see reason, but were I to die and my share of the oil company not be willed away from them, civil war would surely break out in our small country, and thus would follow the destruction of everything my father, and myself after him, have striven for.
‘In addition to this I must make provision for your own safety. On my death you will be very, very wealthy; you have had a sheltered upbringing, and know little of men; it is my great fear that you might fall into the hands of one who will mistreat or abuse you, Danielle, purely through greed.’
He made her sound like an over-ripe fruit, Danielle thought half hysterically. Could he really believe she was so incapable of managing her own affairs?
‘If you believe that, it might be kinder not to leave me anything at all,’ she pointed out logically with a smile. ‘In some ways I would rather you didn’t. I should like to succeed on my own merits…’
Her stepfather’s expression softened at the youthful words and earnest expression on the mobile face before him. She was too beautiful for her own good, this adopted daughter of his, with skin like milk and eyes as green as precious stones.
‘You are a wise child, Danielle, who already sees the burdens of great wealth and will never abuse its privileges, but you have no need to worry, I have already made provision both for the protection of my controlling share of the oil company and you and the fortune you will one day own…’ He looked at his wife, and a look seemed to pass between them; seeking on his part, and accepting on hers, but totally excluding Danielle. Tension tightened her stomach muscles and a dread she could not understand washed over her like icy cold water.
‘How?’
The word was a husky plea, mirrored, although she did not know it, by the expression in her eyes.
Her stepfather came to her and took both her hands in his, his eyes kind.
‘There is nothing to fear, little dove. Jourdan knows what a pearl beyond price he is getting in the greatest treasure I own, and he will treat you accordingly… When you are his wife all this…’
Danielle reeled, hearing nothing more than those
