by Lucy Gordon
In saying this Ali was not conscious of uttering a falsehood. Respect had always been a part of his feelings for Fran, and it was when she had lain in his arms in the throes of passion that his respect for her had been deepest.
‘Well, naturally,’ Howard said, with an awkward laugh. ‘I never imagined anything else.’
Then you should have done. If such a beautiful woman were mine-as I once dreamed she was-I would suffer torments at the thought of her under the eyes of men.
Aloud Ali said, ‘Then all is well. I look forward to hearing of your marriage. I return to Kamar tonight, and you will be hearing from me soon.’
He inclined his head and left the room. Howard stared at the door for a moment, puzzled. At last he muttered, ‘Funny fellow!’
Fran’s flat was tiny by the side of her palatial apartment in Kamar, but now it felt like a refuge, and she loved it. It was on the ground floor, with French windows that opened onto a garden. On summer evenings she could sit with them open, looking out at the garden and listening to soft music.
That was what she was doing when Howard phoned her. But as she listened to what he had to say her relaxed mood was shattered.
‘He actually came to see you?’ she asked, dazed.
‘You should see the business he’s putting my way. Every bank in the world is after Kamari money and this should just about clinch it for me getting the job.’
He droned on about the job for a few minutes. Fran listened on automatic, trying to take in this astonishing new development.
‘You seem to have made a big impression on him,’ Howard said. ‘I didn’t follow everything but I gather this has something to do with you.’
‘I helped to show that he was being defrauded,’ Fran said, through stiff lips.
‘That’s it. When he talked about us handling some of his affairs, he almost made it sound like he was giving you a dowry.’
‘A-dowry?’
‘Yes, he said he hoped we’d be happy and all that. He seemed to think your reputation had been compromised, and he wanted to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. Good of him, wasn’t it?’
‘Very good,’ Fran whispered.
‘So, all that remains now is to set the date. Why don’t we have lunch tomorrow?’
She answered mechanically and hung up as soon as she could.
It was over, and now she knew the truth. Ali had acted out of possessiveness, not love, and he was probably glad to be rid of her. He was certainly acting like a man who wanted to draw a line under the whole business. She had been right to leave him.
But the ache of regret in her heart, for what might have been, couldn’t be stilled.
It was getting late, and the light in the garden was beginning to fade. Fran switched on a small lamp and went to close the curtains. Then she started back with a gasp.
‘I came to say goodbye,’ Ali said.
‘You-’
‘Forgive me for not coming to the front door. I preferred to be discreet, having already caused you so much trouble. I also wanted to return these.’
He held out the files she’d left behind when she’d fled his house.
‘Thank you,’ she said blankly.
An awkward silence fell. This was the last time she would ever see him, and she didn’t know what to say.
‘Howard called me,’ she said at last.
‘Good. So now all is well.’
‘Is it?’
‘I finally understood what you’d been trying to tell me all this time. I thought I could give you everything, but all you wanted was to be free of me, and I wouldn’t see it. I can love you best by letting you go. So let this be the end.’
‘The end?’ she whispered.
‘I shall never trouble you again; you have my word on that. That’s why I had to seek this last meeting, and tell you what was in my heart. From you I have learned many things: that love is more than passion, and the freedom of the heart is beyond price. It is over, Scheherazade. And you have won.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ she cried, her eyes stinging with tears. She turned away so that he shouldn’t see.
‘It is how I shall always think of you, what I shall always call you in my heart. My Scheherazade, who set all my power at nothing, and outwitted me in the end. You have defeated me. Go in peace. Remember me kindly if you can. Forget me if you will. You, I shall never forget.’
She drew a deep shuddering breath at a strange note she heard in his voice, something that had never been there before. She forced herself to turn and face him.
But there was nobody there, only the curtains waving gently in the breeze.
On the flight home to Kamar, the prince sat in heavy silence, and nobody dared to approach him. When they landed he got into the back of the car without speaking, and was conveyed quickly to the palace.
‘You did right, my son,’ Elise said when she heard the whole story. ‘Doubtless this is the best thing for her.’
‘Will she be happy, Mother?’
‘How can I tell? Was she happy with you?’
‘I thought so-sometimes. But I was deluding myself. I saw what I wanted to see. I thought because I wanted her she must want me. I am wiser now.’
He spoke with a calm simplicity that might have fooled a casual onlooker. But Elise was not fooled. She saw the wretchedness in his eyes, heard the despair in his voice, and knew that this was a man whose life had ended.
‘I am feeling a little tired,’ she said with a sigh.
Instantly he was beside her. ‘Have you seen the doctor?’
‘Goodness, no. I’m not ill, merely tired.’
‘You must take care of yourself, Mother.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘You are all I have now.’
‘And it’s time that was changed. You have gone too long without an heir, and we should be thinking of your marriage.’
He started back. ‘How can you-when you know-?’
‘I spoke of marriage, not of love. Your heart concerns only yourself. Your marriage concerns your country.’
‘You are right. Select a bride for me, and present her to me on our wedding day. Since I can’t marry the one my heart chooses, what does it matter who it is?’
He dropped on one knee beside her chair. ‘Pity the woman who marries me, Mother. She will get a wretched bargain-a hollow man with no heart to give.’
‘Time may change your feelings,’ she said, stroking his face.
But Ali shook his head. ‘Time will not change me. But I shall try to do my duty.’
‘Well, do another duty for your mother. Take me to Wadi Sita. It’s a while since I was there, and I should like to remember the old days, when you were a little boy, and we went there with your father.’
‘I remember those days too. They were very happy. Life was simpler then. When do you wish to go?’
‘Tomorrow, I think.’
Next day they boarded the helicopter and set out for Wadi Sita, landing in the darkness of early evening. Elise went to her tent and Ali joined her for supper an hour later. She had personally overseen the arrangements, and everything was laid out to please him. All his favourite foods were offered, and he smiled and thanked her. Yet the servants who moved silently in and out noticed that His Highness was abstracted, and ate without knowing.
A young man appeared, bearing a lyre. He bowed low, sat cross-legged on the carpet and began to sing.
‘My heart rides with the wild wind…’
Ali tensed as he heard the bittersweet notes of the song that he’d once listened to with his beloved. But then he realised that Elise could not have known that, and it would be an insult to her to silence the singer. He sat with his head bent, trying not to hear the words that brought back so many tormenting memories.
‘My steed is fast,
My love rides by my side.’
She had ridden by his side in reality, as she still rode through his dreams, her hair tossed by the breeze, her eyes alight with something he had once dreamed was love.
But then she had ridden away from him, into the arms of a dullard. She had failed in courage at the last, but for that Ali blamed himself. It was he, with his selfishness, who had frightened her away. Everything might have been different, if only he had been different. That was the greatest pain of all.
The singer had reached the climax of the song. He had a powerful yet poignant voice, and he made it full of emotion.
‘The wind is eternal,
The sand is eternal.
Our love is eternal.
She is gone from me,
But in my heart,
We shall ride
In the moonlight,
For ever .’
Ali bent his head so that nobody might see his suffering. He had forced himself to make the sacrifice, but he had not yet taught himself to endure the thought of life without the one woman who gave life meaning.
As the song ended he muttered, ‘Forgive me,’ to his mother, and strode out of the tent as if pursued by furies.
His feet seemed to find their own way to the place where they had stood together beneath the palm tress, looking out over the desert. As ill luck would have it there was a full moon tonight, as brilliant and beautiful as before. But now she was gone, and he saw only the moon’s coldness.
After a moment Elise came to stand beside him.
‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ he said. ‘It was a mistake for me to come here, where she was.’
‘Perhaps you were wrong to give her up so easily,’ Elise suggested. ‘You could still return to England, overwhelm her.’
He shook his head. ‘No, that isn’t the way.’
‘Do you doubt your ability to make her say yes?’
‘I doubt my will to do so. I could never again want to make her do anything. She must come to me willingly, or not at all. And now that can never be.’
He didn’t see his mother’s smile of satisfaction. She said, ‘Then what will you do now?’
‘Live as befits the man who loves her, and who has learned from her. It will not have been in vain. She taught me things that will always be part of me, and others will benefit.’
‘Good, my son. That is how it should be. Let us now retire to bed. In your tent you will find a gift from me.’
‘A gift?’ He smiled. ‘Your gifts were always the best. You thought of things that nobody else would think of. What is it?’
‘Go and see. But remember, it is a very special gift.’
Frowning and puzzled, Ali turned and strode off to his tent. He went straight in, too preoccupied to notice that two white doves had come to rest immediately over the entrance.
The light was dim, only one small lamp burned, and at first he was unsure where to look. But then he discerned the tall, elegant figure of a woman, and his heart sank. How could his mother have done this? Did she think him so fickle that he could forget the love of his life in the arms of a stranger?
The young woman turned at his entrance and inclined her head gracefully towards him. She was heavily veiled. Ali stopped a few feet away from her.
‘My lord,’ she murmured.
He was too troubled in his mind to wonder that she spoke in English, but he automatically replied in the same language.
‘Did my mother send you here?’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the figure murmured.
‘That was kind of her,’ he said with difficulty, ‘but she did not understand. It is not my wish-’ He stopped. ‘That is-’ He pulled himself together. ‘You are kind and gracious, and I am sure you are very beautiful. Some man will be fortunate, but it cannot be me.’
The figure bent her head and raised her hands to cover her face.
‘I beg you not to distress yourself,’ Ali said gently. ‘I must refuse this, because it would be a betrayal of the woman I love. That is something I can never do. Even on my wedding day, I shall not betray her in my heart. She’ll never know that, nor will she care. But it will remain true, all my life.’
The figure lowered her hands from her face and held them clasped. Her head remained lowered, but her breast rose and fell as if from some violent emotion.
‘Why do I tell you this?’ Ali mused. ‘Perhaps it’s because you are a stranger and I cannot see your face that I can open my heart to you. I loved her, and I failed her-yes, truly, I did…’ For the woman had shaken her head. ‘When she was with me, there were many things I did not understand. Now it is too late.
‘And so she left me, and I shall-’ a shudder went through him ‘-shall never see her again. But she will live in my heart until my last breath. She is with me still, in every breeze that whispers. In the night her voice sings to me, in the morning her kiss awakens me. Her shadow will always be beside me.’
His voice had the quietness of heartbreak. The listening figure was very still, but in the flickering light from the lamp Ali saw a tear glistening on her cheek.
‘Why do you weep?’ he asked, taking a step towards her. ‘Not for her. She is free of a man she couldn’t love. Not for me, for I shall always have the joy of loving her.’
‘Always?’ the figure asked softly.
‘Always, until I lie in my grave and she lies in hers, and the wind blows the sand to infinity, and there is no trace of our lives. Perhaps somewhere there is a garden where we shall meet again, without pain or misunderstanding. So you see, you must leave me, for I have nothing to offer.’
At last she raised her head.
‘But I have not come to take,’ she whispered. ‘Only to give.’
Her veil fell. Ali stared in thunderstruck silence, then a glad cry broke from him.
‘You!’ he said. ‘You!’
The next moment Fran was in his arms, crushed by a kiss that felt like the first he had ever given her.
‘You!’ he said again. ‘You all the time. You came back to me. But how-?’
This time Fran silenced him with lips that never spoke a word, yet told him all he wanted to know.
‘How could I leave you?’ she said at last. ‘I thought I wanted to, but then you released me to marry Howard and I knew you loved me.’
‘I have always loved you,’ he said humbly. ‘But I never learned how to ask, only to take. If not for you, I might have gone through life without knowing that the greatest prizes can only be won, not seized. But for your wisdom, my sweet life, we might have married and yet lost each other on our wedding day.
‘Now we shall never lose each other, and our wedding day will be a time of joy and triumph. At least-’ he checked himself ‘-I beg you to marry me…’
She smiled. ‘Your mother is already arranging our wedding.’
‘My mother-?’
‘I telephoned her when you left me that day in England. She told me to fly out here, and arranged everything.’
‘Then-you love me?’ He said the words softly, as though he hardly dared to believe them. ‘After everything I’ve done-how can you love me?’
‘It’s only now that I know how much I love you. Now that I can be myself, I can give myself. A prisoner has nothing to give. And I want to give only to you. But you must tell me something. You spoke of a woman you loved, but you didn’t say her name. Tell me who you love.’
‘Frances,’ he said. ‘It is Frances that I love. The others-’ he gave a rueful smile ‘-perhaps they’ll return sometimes, for you are a woman of variety, and will always have a new self to bemuse me. But it is Frances that I love, and always will.
‘Be your true self. Come to me in freedom, and leave also in freedom, for I know-’ his face darkened, as though it was hard for him to say this ‘-you will wish to return sometimes to your own country. As long as you always come back to me.’
‘Always,’ she said. ‘Always. My darling, let us too build an Enchanted Garden.’
Looking into her eyes, he divined her true meaning.
‘One that we shall carry with us all our lives,’ he said, ‘until the time comes for us to wander in the Enchanted Garden for ever.’
Lucy Gordon
Lucy Gordon cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Sir Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness, and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.
You can visit her website at www. lucy-gordon. com and look out for The Italian’s Passionate Revenge which will be available in May!
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