Castles of Sand

by Anne Mather

  Ashley didn’t like to ask what the Princess meant by this, but as if defining her interest, Hélène went on: ‘You see, I knew I was not his first wife. He had explained that to me, and the somewhat unpalatable news, I confess, that he had no intention of divorcing Izmay.’ She sighed again. ‘What I did not appreciate was that Ahmed should turn to her again while I was expecting our son Alain.’

  Ashley’s stomach contracted. ‘Hasssan?’ she queried, and Hélène nodded.

  ‘Yes, Hassan was born only a few months after Alain. And Melina and Zeffira some years later.’

  Ashley frowned. ‘But you—you had no other children?’

  ‘No.’ Hélène was very firm about that. ‘I gave Ahmed his eldest son, and that is all. Foolishly, I refused to have any more children.’

  ‘Foolishly?’ Ashley frowned.

  ‘Yes.’ Hélène expelled her breath wearily. ‘Now, I realise it was a foolish thing to do. Izmay has her second son and several daughters. I have only Alain. And as he does not show any intention of getting married, I shall never have the grandchildren I crave.’

  It was late in the afternoon, and the shadows were already lengthening towards evening when the gates of the Askar Palace swung open to admit them. Ashley was not sorry the journey was over. She had welcomed Alain’s mother’s confidences, but her remarks concerning her son had struck too close to home, and Ashley needed time to reconcile her troubled emotions.

  Nuzab was not waiting when the sleek car discharged, its occupants into the paved courtyard before the palace, but after Princess Hélène had bade her au revoir, a dark-skinned manservant escorted her to her quarters. Ashley was tired, not least because this was the first afternoon she had not taken a rest since arriving in Murad, but also because the journey had been unexpectedly exhausting. She was looking forward to Nuzab’s ministrations for once, and welcoming the prospect of a relaxing bath. She realised she must look much different from the demure governess the guards were used to seeing, and judging by the occasional glances her escort kept casting her way, he evidently found the sight of so much honey-fair hair quite fascinating. Her efforts to restore it to some semblance of order had not been successful, and its weight about her shoulders was another burden tonight.

  The guard left her at the entrance to her apartments, and she entered the reception room with a decidedly dejected air. The things Princess Hélène had told her earlier were now returning to disturb her, and she sighed as the doors closed behind her. Leaning back against them for a moment, she raised her hand to run it wearily over her hair to her nape, then began unfastening the buttons of her dress. It was a button-through tunic-style dress, with a square neckline and elbow-length sleeves, and underneath she was wearing nothing but cotton bikini pants. Even so, her clothes had stuck to her skin in the heat of the day, and hearing a sound from the salon, she pushed herself away from the door to go in search of her bath.

  ‘Nuzab?’ she called. ‘Nuzab, is that you?’ and then halted in silent horror, one hand pressed to her mouth, when a man appeared in the open doorway leading to the inner room. He was wearing Arab dress, the long djellaba that fell straight from his broad shoulders, and standing in the shadow as he was, she did not immediately define his identity. But when she did, her hand fell from her mouth and she gazed at him half angrily, as she sought to gather her composure.

  ‘Alain!’ she breathed, and she was frustratedly aware that she was trembling. ‘Oh, Alain, you startled me! What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York. Your mother said she spoke to you there only yesterday.’

  ‘She did,’ retorted Alain harshly, but the inflection of his words bore little association to their meaning. ‘In the name of Allah,’ he exclaimed, his face flushed with a dark anger, ‘cover yourself!’ and she realised with sudden sobriety that she was half naked before him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “YOU shouldn’t be here,’ she exclaimed resentfully, gathering the two sides of her dress together and wrapping her arms about herself almost protectively. ‘Wh-where’s Nuzab? I want to take a bath. If—if you have something to say to me, couldn’t it wait until later?’

  Alain moved into the room, and as he did so the light from above illuminated the hard lines of his face beneath the kaffiyeh. The marks her nails had made were only faintly visible now, and could easily have been excused as the results of using too sharp a razor, but the remembrance of their last interview could not be so easily erased.

  ‘No,’ he said heavily now, ‘it cannot wait, Ashley. I am dining with my father this evening, and I came here at this time to speak with you before the demands of business supersede all else. I shall not have time to speak with you later.’

  ‘Then speak to me tomorrow,’ she retorted, moving her shoulders dismissingly. ‘I’m hot and I’m tired, Alain, and quite honestly, I can think of nothing we have to say to one another that couldn’t wait—’

  ‘Can you not?’ he grated, stepping into her path when she would have brushed past him, and gripping her arm with an iron hold. ‘But then you do not call the tune here, Ashley—I do, and it is I who shall decide when we have speech, do you understand?’

  Ashley refused to be intimidated, even though his fingers were digging into her flesh. It was not all that difficult when she had so many other sensations to combat, not least her awareness of his brooding magnetism, accentuated by the nearness of his body. She could imagine so well the brown-skinned limbs beneath his loose robe, the sinewed hardness of his chest, the flatness of his stomach, the muscled length of his legs. She could remember those legs covering hers, his body pressing hers down into the softness of a mattress, and the pulsing thrust of his possession…

  Her breathing quickened, but her expression never changed. He should not see that he was hurting her, she determined, forcing all other thoughts away, and waited mutely for him to continue.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he enquired, with controlled emphasis, and she managed to answer him with equal self-possession.

  ‘Your mother invited me to go driving with her,’ she replied, holding up her head, and his expression hardened at the challenge in her eyes.

  ‘I meant—where did she take you?’ he persisted, making no move to release her, and the encroaching numbness of her arm caused Ashley to speak more recklessly.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ she exclaimed. ‘Didn’t Muhammed tell you? I’m sure he could have done. He seems to know everything around here.’

  ‘I am asking you,’ declared Alain coldly, and Ashley’s control snapped.

  ‘Is this why you’re here?’ she demanded. ‘To find out what I’ve been doing in your absence? Are these the important questions that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?’

  ‘Ashley!’

  ‘Well—’ She paid no heed to his warning admonition. ‘Why have you come here? To taunt me with the news of your new position in New York? To tell me how easily you’ve managed to outwit me? To explain to me how difficult it will be for me to remain here after you’ve gone—’

  ‘What in God’s name are you talking about?’ he snapped violently, releasing her to press his balled fist into his palm. ‘What has my mother been telling you? What manner of greeting is this? When I come here merely to discuss my nephew’s progress, and meet only anger and hostility!’

  Ashley was not listening to him, however. Realising she was free, she had brushed past him into the salon, and when he caught up with her, she was on the point of slamming her bedroom door in his face. But his booted foot prevented her dramatic departure, and he grasped her wrist angrily, swinging her round to face him. The sudden restraint caught Ashley unawares, and in trying to save herself she let go of her dress. Immediately the two sides parted to reveal the rose-tipped fullness of her breasts, the peaks hardened by her agitation and swollen by her emotions.

  Alain’s expression changed, and his fingers encircling her wrist slackened almost perceptibly. Ashley could have got away from him then, easily, but she didn’t, she remained whe
re she was, making no move to cover herself. She was paralysed by the darkening of emotion in his eyes, by the sallow cast of his features, and the impassioned sensuality of his mouth. She felt that if she moved, or made any attempt at withdrawal, his control might slip, and the latent strength in the fingers around her wrist could assume crushing proportions. Despite the slightly glazed expression he wore, he still had the power to overwhelm her puny efforts, and she waited, scarcely breathing, for him to make the next move.

  ‘No,’ he muttered at last, when Ashley was feeling almost faint with reaction, ‘I should never have allowed you to come here.’ With a savage gesture he released her arm, and his mouth compressed in bitter lines. ‘By Allah,” he choked, ‘I will not let you do this to me!’ and with a groan, half of contempt, he turned abruptly away from her.

  He was halfway across the salon when he halted, and by this time Ashley had drawn her dress about her, and was watching him apprehensively. ‘Your lessons with Hussein,’ he stated, in a detached clipped tone, eloquent of the strain this was putting on him. ‘They go well?’

  Ashley could not speak. She was too shocked to make any immediate response to him, but as he waited she forced herself to respond. ‘Very well,’ she got out at last, and breathing heavily, he nodded.

  ‘Good. There is no problem, then?’

  ‘No.’

  Ashley’s voice was scarcely audible as she endeavoured to equal his constraint. She could hardly believe this conversation was taking place after the emotional events of the last few minutes, but she knew that to sustain her antagonism would gain nothing.

  ‘I am relieved.’ Alain’s deeper tones were flat and expressionless. ‘I will speak with Hussein myself as soon as I have an opportunity. You may tell him that, if you will. Tonight I discuss my journey with my father, and tomorrow I must give my report to the government. I do not know how long that will take, but you may assure Hussein I shall not neglect him unnecessarily.’ He sighed, and there was a weariness in the way he flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘That is all I came for. I will go now. Masa-l khair, Ashley. Good night.’

  Ashley took a step forward. ‘Alain—’

  ‘Mademoiselle!’ he retorted, with a click of his heels, and without giving her a chance to say anything more, he strode swiftly out of the room.

  * * *

  Ashley found it hard to sleep that night. She tossed and turned for hours, trying to find the secret of oblivion, but unable to escape the turmoil of her own thoughts. No matter how she tried, she could not put Alain’s image out of her mind, or prevent the memories of the past from swamping her weakened consciousness.

  The remembrance of her wedding day stood out in stark detail. She remembered how she had felt, the hopelessness she had endured, and the bitterness with which she had embarked upon that disastrous course. Would she have married Hassan if he had not had money, if he had not been Alain’s brother? She had asked herself that a hundred times, and always she came up with the same answer, which was no answer at all. She didn’t know. She didn’t honestly know. All she really understood was that she had been hurt, terribly hurt, and desperate, and Hassan had not been the kind of man one could refuse. He had wanted her. He had seen her, and he had wanted her. Whether or not he had loved her she doubted very much. She had been Alain’s girl-friend, and Hassan had always coveted everything that was Alain’s. Oh, he had hidden it well, even from Alain himself. But she had known, she had proof. Only no one, least of all Alain, would believe her.

  She rolled on to her stomach, pummelling her pillow with weary fists. What the use of bringing all this up now? she asked herself despairingly. It was over. Alain had said it was over. It was not something one could resurrect at will. It didn’t matter now, none of it mattered. Hassan was dead. He had paid for his sins, and Alain would never speak ill of the dead.

  But it was so unfair, she thought, burying her hot face in the soft pillow and feeling the dampness of tears against her cheek. They had been so happy, she and Alain. She had loved him so much, and she had believed him when he said he loved her. They had been so good together. Until Hassan arrived on the scene…

  Sniffing, she rubbed her eyes with the flat of her hands, and as she did so she remembered how she had met Alain for the first time. She and Lucy Armstrong had been staying at the Foresters’ apartment. Deborah Forester was a girl they had met at university, and she had invited them for the weekend. Her parents were in the Diplomatic Service or something similar, and they were giving a party and needed some extra girls. She remembered both she and Lucy had been a little apprehensive about the arrangements, but in the event it had all proved rather dull and boring. The men were all middle-aged or elderly, and the only interesting man present, a young Arab from Murad, had not paid them the slightest bit of attention.

  It was quite late in the evening, when Ashley was returning from the bathroom, that she was accosted by a rather persistent gentleman, with a distinct paunch and red mottled features. He had succeeded in backing her into a corner, and short of creating the kind of scene she knew the Foresters would detest, Ashley had not known what to do. But when the man tried to press his flabby body against hers, and began fumbling with the bootlace straps of her cocktail dress, she had started to struggle, and their panting exchange attracted the attention of the young Arab, on his way to collect his overcoat.

  It had all been over without a great deal of effort. Alain was taller and stronger, and infinitely younger, and the florid-faced gentleman went on his way, mopping his sweating features with his handkerchief. Ashley was left to stammer her thanks and her apologies, hoping the young man would not imagine she had invited the assault, and Alain had smilingly assured her that he had enjoyed it.

  ‘I saw him watching you earlier,’ he remarked, pulling a leather jacket on over his dark suit. ‘And I saw him follow you into the hall. I suspected what he had in mind, so it was no coincidence that I happened along.’

  ‘Well—thank you, anyway,’ Ashley stammered. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Think nothing of it,’ Alain told her, and took his departure before she could think of any way to detain him.

  She had thought that would be the last she saw of him, but it wasn’t. A week later he turned up at the college where she was studying, and invited her to have lunch with him, and although Lucy was rather doubtful about his Arab background, she had to admit he was attractive.

  Looking back now, Ashley could see how gullible she had been. She had been such an easy target, she realised, and Alain’s approach had been so practised, it made the fat man’s at the party look like that of an amateur. From the beginning, he must have known how she felt about him, and how her skin tingled every time he took her hand. She had never realised she had such a sensuous nature, until Alain began to play with her emotions, and once it was ignited, she had no way of controlling it.

  It took him a week to get her into his bed, and possibly half that time for her to be so madly in love with him that she could think of nothing else. She, who had always scorned other girls for their promiscuity, no longer had control of her own life. She ached when she was away from him, with a physical hunger that no one else could assuage. She yearned for the warm possession of his mouth, she craved the urgent demands of his body, and she died a little every time something happened to prevent their meeting. She would have done anything for him—left her friends, her career, anything—just to be with him. Time had no meaning when they were apart, and she had really believed he felt the same. Certainly she had had no doubts that she could arouse him as no other woman had been capable of doing. Why else did he neglect his work to be with her, taking her to his apartment high above Regent’s Park, and teaching her all there was to know about the relationship between a man and a woman? He had seemed incapable of staying away from her, and if his work at the Gauthier building had suffered in consequence, it had not troubled him then.

  It was perhaps two months into their affair when Hassan came on the scene. Hassan, who had
been sent by his father to work in the London office, and who lost no time in destroying all the trust they had in one another. His was a destructive influence, carrying with it the seeds of devastation, and Ashley could still feel the desolation that his arrival precipitated. Would things have been different if he had not interfered in their lives? Would Alain have asked her to marry him, as she had anticipated? Or had Alain used Hassan’s infatuation to his own ends, because their association was beginning to pall?

  It was too late now to speculate on something that was so nebulous. Alain had not asked her to marry him. He had believed Hassan’s story in spite of her pleas. And when Ashley found that she was pregnant, marrying Hassan had seemed like the logical thing to do. But only logical so long as she sustained her hatred towards Alain, she admitted now, and that had not lasted long after her reckless decision.

  In the morning, Ashley felt dull and heavy-eyed, and Nuzab viewed her pale face with some misgivings.

  ‘Lady not feel, well?’ she asked, when she brought Ashley’s breakfast tray, and it was easier to admit to a headache, than explain about her restless night.

  After her shower she felt a little better, and by the time Nuzab escorted her to Hussein’s apartments she had succeeded in disguising her weariness to all but the most observant eye. The last thing she wanted was for Muhammed to notice her distracted air and report its presence to his master.

  Hussein was waiting eagerly for her, and after the usual greetings were over, he skipped about the patio with evident animation.

  ‘Uncle Alain is back,’ he carolled, announcing his news with dancing eyes. ‘Is that not exciting, mademoiselle? Uncle Alain is home, and perhaps this morning he will come and take me riding!’

  Ashley glanced with some trepidation at Muhammed, standing silently by the fountain, then addressed herself to her son. ‘Darling, it is exciting that your—uncle is home, but don’t build your hopes too high. Uncle Alain may have other matters to attend to.’