"Please forgive me for not having met you earlier," Ibrahim Khan said, "but I too have been indisposed."
"So I understand," Fleur murmured. "Lumbago can be most unpleasant."
"It attacks without regard for age or rank." His smile gave a fierce charm to his face. "I wish to thank you for your kindness and patience with my daughter. She can be a great trial."
"Oh, Papa," Nizea pouted. "What an unfair thing to say."
"The truth is never unfair," came the admonition. "You rail against Fate, and you consider obedience an ugly word."
"Most teenagers are the same," Fleur put in hastily. "Nizea is much better than some other pupils I've had. Nor has she let her accident prevent her from working hard on her studies."
"All of which is unnecessary," the man stated firmly. "A year from now, and her examinations will mean nothing to her."
"That's not true!" his daughter cried angrily.
"It will become true. I have better judgment than you on this matter."
"But it's my life you're talking about!"
"I know what is best for you." The sharp black eyes moved to Fleur. "When I was young I would never have dared speak to my father the way I allow this child to 6peak to me."
"Times change," Fleur said gently.
"But certain things remain the same. Man has a great need to respect and look up to someone. He welcomes authority—be it from his father, his religion, or both. Give a man too much freedom and he will abuse it. He will destroy others and eventually end by destroying himself."
Fleur kept her eyes downcast. She was sure Ibrahim Khan was giving her a warning. Yet if he had had any doubts about her, surely he would not have allowed her to come here and teach his daughter?
"I appreciate your viewpoint, Mr. Khan, although it doesn't happen to be mine." She raised her head and looked at him, glad she could do so without fear. "Authority is good only as long as one doesn't become so dependent on it that one forgets how to use one's own mind."
The luxuriant beard moved slightly, as if the man was pressing his lips tightly together; then he moved closer to the bed and spoke to his daughter.
"I came in to tell you that Dr. Dubois has already left Paris and will be here to examine you first thing in the morning. It is likely he will operate later in the day. Dr. Mazda wished to take you into hospital tonight, but I thought you would be happier to remain at home for as long as possible."
"I would," Nizea said firmly.
"But no eating tomorrow, eh? And nothing this evening after midnight." He glanced over his shoulder at Fleur as he went to the door. "I bid you good-bye, Miss Peters, and thank you once again for your patience and kindness with my household."
Fleur acknowledged the words with a slight movement of her head, seeing them as a dismissal of her services. But she said nothing of this to Nizea when she was left alone with the girl, knowing that to do so would cause a storm of protest.
"Don't let's do any other lessons today," Nizea said. "Tell me about your British boarding school instead."
"I've already told you about it."
"Then tell me about your home. You sound as if you had a wonderful childhood."
Fleur almost said it had been idyllic compared with Nizea's, but knew that if the remark got back to Mr. Khan he was ruthless enough to use it to get her dismissed from Madame's school.
"Why don't you entertain me for a change?" she ventured. "Tell me about the Persian way of life—I find your customs and history far more fascinating than mine."
"No, they're not," Nizea grumbled.
"Yes, they are," Fleur insisted. "Your ancestors had a system of weights and measures and a detailed knowledge of astronomy when my ancestors were still painting themselves with woad!"
"You don't need me to tell you anything about Persian history," the girl giggled, her humor restored. "You know more about it than I do."
"I read a lot of books about it before I came here."
"Would you like to live here permanently?"
"Oh, no!" The words were said without thought, and Fleur colored. "The differences in our culture would make it difficult for me to put down my roots."
"What would happen if you fell in love with a Persian? Our men are very good-looking. Not like your pale, thin Englishmen!"
"They're not all pale and thin," Fleur protested. "Anyway, I think I'd find Persian men too overwhelming."
"They are also very demanding." It was a knowing remark, and made Nizea seem older than her age.
But Fleur was reluctant to let the conversation develop in case it gave the girl an opportunity to show her dissatisfaction with the life her father was planning for her.
"What d'you want to know about my childhood?" she asked quickly.
"Nothing until you answer the question I asked you. If you fell in love with a Persian, would you be able to let him be your master?"
"Providing he let me be his mistress," Fleur retorted, and then looked discomfited. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
"I should hope not!" Nizea giggled.
"What I mean is that I'd only be happy in a marriage where neither partner considered themselves to be in control of the other. A man and a woman should both have the same freedom to do what they think is right."
"You are talking of Western marriage."
"I'd prefer not to talk about marriage at all," Fleur said, "and it's naughty of you to try and force me to do so. You know very well your father is suspicious of my influence over you."
"He has no need to be. You are so careful what you say that I sometimes think you're more frightened of my father than I am!" The black eyes gleamed. "What d'you think of my brother? I bet he scares the wits out of you!"
"That will be quite enough, Nizea." Fleur remembered she was the teacher and drew herself up to her full height. "You are becoming overexcited, and it might be better if I left."
"Please don't go." The soft voice trembled. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that when we're away from school I can't think of you as my teacher. You're like one of my friends."
It was hard to resist such a compliment, though Fleur tried her best. "If you want me to stay with you, we must do some work."
"I wrote a story last night," Nizea said cautiously. "My leg was hurting me, and I couldn't sleep."
She drew a notebook from under her pillow, and Fleur took it to a chair by the window and began to read. By any standard it was an excellent story but, bearing in mind the youth and restricted life of the author, it showed an astonishing depth of perception. The main character depicted was that of an old man who, paralyzed by a stroke, was still determined to rule his family. He could not come to terms with the fact that he was unable to speak, nor would he accept that as far as the outside world was concerned, he was regarded as senile.
"You certainly have a vivid imagination," Fleur said, matter-of-factly when she came to the end. "Where did you get the idea for this story?"
"I was thinking of my father and how he would feel if he found he couldn't move or speak." The dark eyes were full of mischief. "I quite enjoyed thinking of Papa like that. I felt as if I was putting him in his place!"
"That's a dreadful thing to say." Fleur was genuinely shocked. "Your father wants what is best for you and…"
"What he believes to be best. That isn't the same thing. If you knew how unhappy I am…"
"I do know," Fleur cut in, "but I can't talk to you about it. I'm here to teach you, and I don't want to get involved in family matters."
Resolutely she refused to be sidetracked from the lessons they were supposed to be doing and, even when they relaxed during dinner, she was careful to let nothing personal creep into their conversation. If she had felt less deeply about her pupil's predicament, she might have been able to talk about it, but because she considered Mr. Khan almost criminal in his disregard of his daughter's talent—which this short story had further illustrated—she knew the only way she could maintain her neutrality was to ignore the subject e
ntirely. It was a coward's way out but, as she wished to remain in Teheran for the length of her contract, she had no option.
At nine o'clock Nizea's nurse came in to settle her charge for the night, and Fleur felt free to go.
"Don't forget to come and see me in the hospital," Nizea reminded her.
"I'll come as soon as you're allowed visitors."
"I want you to be my first one. I wish I had a sister like you, Miss Peters."
Fleur smiled and thought of the problems she might have had with a sister as tempestuous as this one. Yet much of Nizea's unrest came from the stifling of her talent and would never have arisen had she been born into a Western family. It would be interesting to know where the girl's writing ability came from. She was so intrigued by this that she found herself in the main hall before she realized she was there. At night it was softly lit by colored glass lamps that stood on pedestals in the archways. The evening air was so still that the fountain in the inner courtyard could be heard playing as she slipped on her coat—for the nights were cool—and walked across to the lapis lazuli basin. In the moonlight it looked midnight blue. She raised her head and stared at the stars, thinking how clear they looked.
"You stayed too late with my sister."
With a violent start she turned round, wondering irritably whether the Khan men made a habit of appearing when they were least expected.
"Forgive me if I frightened you."
Karim Khan stepped forward from the shadows. He was in a dinner jacket, and a wide, deep blue cummerbund encircled his waist. It was an exotic touch that went well with his appearance.
"You should walk more loudly," she said. "Then you wouldn't take people by surprise."
"To walk with quietness has been bred in us," he replied. "But next time I approach you, I will cough." He came to stand by the edge of the fountain basin, a few feet away from her.
"Why didn't you leave earlier?" he asked.
"Nizea likes me to stay and keep her company."
"My mother would be happy to do that."
"I have no wish to usurp her place," Fleur said hastily.
"You could never do that."
She was glad the moonlight hid the color that rushed into her face, though her indrawn breath must have told him she hadn't liked his comment.
"It was a statement, Miss Peters, not a criticism. My mother cannot give Nizea what you give her—the stimulation of intellectual conversation."
"I'm surprised you think women need it!"
The flash of his teeth told her his lips had parted, though she was not sure whether in a smile or in annoyance. However, when he spoke there was irony in his soft voice.
"You seem determined to quarrel with my views about women."
"You are your father's son."
"And a dutiful one. That makes it hard for me to disobey him."
"Even if you considered he were wrong?"
"If you are referring to his attitude towards my sister's education, then I am by no means sure he is wrong. I only know that if I were in his place I would not do the same."
It was a fine distinction which she was quick to follow. "You mean you'd be willing to let her go to the university?"
"Yes. But that doesn't mean I would be right. My father thinks Nizea will benefit from an early marriage and a strong husband to control her."
Control, there was that word again; as if a woman were an animal.
"I can see I have annoyed you," he went on smoothly. "Like most educated women of the West, you make the mistake of thinking that in a matter of decades you can change patterns that have evolved over thousands of years."
"You still see a woman as a creature that a man can drag into his cave by her hair!"
"You are putting it too starkly. I merely wish to love and cherish the women in my life. I see it as my duty to provide for them and to protect them."
"You wish to treat them like dolls who will walk and talk and smile only at your command."
"You misjudge me," he said softly and kept pace with her as she started to walk towards the intricately carved gates that led to the outer courtyard where the Khans' limousine always waited to take her back to school.
"I believe a woman is as capable of learning as a man," he continued, "but I also believe her biological make-up is different and that this difference must be satisfied before anything else."
"If you only see women as childbearers…"
"It isn't the way I see them that matters," he interrupted. "It is the way they see themselves. Even those who renounce motherhood have to do so with vehemence—as if they are talking against their basic needs. The future of the human race lies with the woman, and if she abdicates her role we will cease to exist."
"Not all women wish to abdicate." Fleur quickened her pace. "I'm sure there are many who are happy to lead the same lives as their mothers. All I'm saying is that those who don't, shouldn't be made to feel guilty."
"Most of them make their own guilt," he stated, "because they know they're going against their natural desires."
"If you believe that," she said irritably, "our discussion is over."
"I believe that women—being women—want the best of both worlds!" His voice was heavy with irony. "Those who wish to lead a life of the mind also wish to lead a life of the body. They want to walk side by side with their man, but when it suits them they want to be carried!"
"And what about men?" Fleur said furiously. "One minute they're conquerors and the next they're little boys running back to their women to be cosseted."
"At least man doesn't deny the dual nature of his personality."
"Women don't want to deny it, either," she cried. "All they want is the chance to develop. But it's men like you who prevent them."
They reached the outer courtyard, and she neared the car.
"It's as well that we part here," she added, "otherwise we should quarrel."
"We're already quarreling," he smiled, "and I'm enjoying it. I am on my way out, and I will take you home."
"There's no need." She indicated the car.
Ignoring her reply, he spoke to the chauffeur who immediately switched on the engine and purred away, leaving Karim to cross to a low-slung, cream-colored roadster, its soft leather top up against the night air. He held open the passenger door, and Fleur slid in, tensing as he took his place next to her. The inside of the car was large yet he dominated it with his size and seemed to tower above her, his proud head almost touching the roof. Give him a beard and he would be even more fierce-looking than his father. She forced her gaze away from his hawklike profile and stared ahead.
Expecting him to drive as though he owned the road, she was agreeably surprised by his care and, glancing at him, saw he was totally relaxed in his seat.
"You know my sister is having another operation?" he said suddenly.
"Yes, your father told me."
"So you have finally met my father. I will not ask what you thought of him."
"I don't make quick judgments on anyone."
"Only on me."
Her fingers clenched around her handbag. "You're a—you are rather different, Mr. Khan. You seem to enjoy going out of your way to—to provoke people."
"To provoke you," he corrected calmly. "I think it's the best way of puncturing your guard."
"If you employ that method in your work, I'm not surprised you're so successful."
"So you know how successful I am, eh?" His glance at her was swift but all-embracing. "Are you guessing or have you been told?"
"Rory—Mr. Baines—mentioned it."
"Your English friend?"
"Yes."
"Did he also mention that I did part of my legal training in England?"
She heard the teasing in his voice and reacted to it. "I find it amusing that you can have had the benefit of a Western education without Western ideas rubbing off on you."
"Why is it considered such a good thing for Western ideas to rub off on those who aren't Western? Personally
, I think it would be far better if some of our Eastern ideas rubbed off the other way!"
She knew he was waiting for her to disagree, and an impish surge of mischief made her deliberately overreact in the opposite way.
"You're absolutely right, Mr. Khan. The West can learn a great deal from the East. Your way of taking care of your elderly; your devotion to your parents; your ability to do things slowly without rushing and spoiling them. All these are characteristics we would do well to acquire."
There was silence for a hundred yards or more before he spoke.
"You disarm me with your honesty, Miss Peters. I hope you mean what you say and aren't merely dissembling?"
"You're far too astute to be fooled by a woman!"
He chuckled. "The more astute a man believes himself to be, the more easily he can be undone!"
"That sounds like a wise Persian saying!"
"I'll see that it becomes one!" He leaned forward to peer through the windscreen, and she quickly gave him directions.
"I'm sure I've taken you out of your way."
"No matter. I wished to take you. I wanted an opportunity to thank you for your kindness to my sister. You've been with her every night and have had no life of your own for weeks."
"I enjoy her company, and I've had some wonderful dinners."
He stopped the car outside the school gate and turned to let his eyes roam over her slender figure. "I don't get the impression that food is all that important to you," he said drily. "You look as fragile as a leaf on a winter bough."
It was a lovely smile, and she made a note of it, hoping that if she kept the logical part of her mind working, the foolish, emotional part would not start her quivering at his nearness. She could not remember meeting a man who managed to be so gentle and yet so aggressively male at one and the same time.
Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert Page 4
