Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert

by Roberta Leigh

  "You!" she gasped.

  "Disappointed?" he questioned icily.

  "Yes," she said irritably, "I am."

  She went over to a table by the window and placed her two parcels on it.

  "I didn't think you and your father would be arriving until tomorrow," she went on. "I was planning to meet the helicopter in the afternoon and go back with the pilot."

  "So you do intend to come back?" he said harshly. "I wondered whether it was your intention to remain here and ask us to send on your clothes."

  It was an idea that had not occurred to her and, momentarily, she wished it had.

  "I find I have to come back to Teheran earlier than I had anticipated," she said carefully. "But I wouldn't… I would remain with Nizea until it was convenient for me to leave."

  "And what about my convenience?"

  Her head rose sharply and with it her temper. "I don't see that your convenience enters into it."

  "Don't you?" he asked and muttered something in his own language.

  She knew little Persian but his tone made it clear that, If his words had color, the air around him would have been decidedly blue.

  "Are you willfully playing dumb?" he demanded. "Or do you wish me to believe you don't love me? How dare you say I shouldn't be concerned with whether you go or slay in my parents' home? Didn't I make it clear to you the other night that I want you to be mine? Didn't you lie in my arms and return my kisses?"

  "Hardly," she said shakily. "As far as I remember, you held me by force."

  "Only because I knew you were afraid and wanted to run from me. But once I overcame your fears…" He took a step toward her, stopping as he saw the way she tensed. "You did return my kisses," he said huskily, "and you do love me. I saw it in your eyes then, and I see it in your eyes now. The way you can see it in mine if only you will look into them."

  This was the last thing she wanted to do, and she swung round to the window, giving him a view of her slender back and the heavy fall of red-gold hair.

  "I don't know what you're hoping to prove by all this," she said. "But even if I… I did kiss you back, it was only because you're an… an attractive man. Anyway, a kiss doesn't mean much these days."

  "Ours did."

  "No," she said sharply. "It won't work. I'm not going to have a love affair with you. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for both of us."

  His step was quick across the tiled floor as he came to stand directly behind her. Then his hands were heavy on her shoulders as he pulled her roughly round to face him. "Is that what you think I want?"

  Since she could not avoid looking at him, she faced him directly. "I don't blame you for it. You're handsome and intelligent and obviously used to having a lot of affairs. But I'm not. It's old-fashioned of me, I know, but…"

  "I don't need you to tell me that you're a virgin."

  She lowered her eyelids. He gave the word such a tender quality that it immediately conjured up erotic images in her mind. She tried to dismiss them but while he was holding her it was impossible.

  "If you… if you know that," she whispered, "then you can understand why I don't want…"

  "I'm not asking you to have .an affair with me. I thought you'd know that without my telling you." His hand dropped away from her, and his eyes had the sharpness of a bird of prey. "Do you think I'm the sort of man who would debase the woman I love by suggesting such a relationship? I know how lightly sex is regarded in the West but here, when a man loves a woman the way I love you, he thinks only of sharing his whole life with her; of giving her his name; of having her bear his children. I'm talking of marriage, Fleur. I want you to be my wife."

  She swayed against the table. "No. It's impossible."

  "Because I don't have the pale face and blond hair of your English boy friend?"

  "It's got nothing to do with that!"

  "What then?"

  "We're different—in other ways. You can't want to marry me. It's only physical attraction."

  "Is that all you feel for me?"

  He reached out for her and pulled her close. Heat emanated from him and the pale gray linen suit he wore was faintly damp. There was a sheen across his forehead and upper lip, but she knew it was not caused by the stultifying atmosphere so much as the tense emotion rising within him.

  "Answer me, Fleur," he grated. "When I hold you like this, do you feel only desire? Does your heart tell you nothing else?"

  "It doesn't matter how I feel," she cried. "It wouldn't work. You saw me in your home. You must know that for yourself."

  "I know only that you fit into my arms as if you were made for them and that I will hold no other woman."

  She tried to resist what he was saying, but her head felt light as thistledown, blown hither and thither by the intensity of his words.

  "I know all your doubts," he rasped. "Mine were equally strong, but I was able to overcome them. When a man loves a woman the way I love you, differences of race and religion cease to matter. We are two people who have found each other, and we cannot part."

  Putting his hands on either side of her head he rested his mouth upon hers. It was not the passionate kiss of two nights ago but one of gentleness. His lips were soft and warm and the tip of his tongue came out and gently ran along the side of her mouth and across her cheek. Only then did he give a muffled exclamation and bury his face in the fragrant cloud of her hair. Twining his fingers in it, he pushed the strands aside to find the shell-like ear lobe.

  "I love you," he whispered. "We will be so happy together, heart of my heart."

  "No, Karim." She tried to push him away, but his strength was too much for her. "It won't work," she repeated. "What you're saying is impossible."

  "It's impossible for me to live without you," he replied. "Why are you fighting me so?"

  Still holding her tightly, he turned her face until their eyes met. She had never been so near to them, and she saw they were not black, as she had imagined, but rich brown in a milky blue sea and framed by amazingly long lashes. Then his eyes came nearer still, going out of focus as his mouth claimed hers again. This time there was desire in his kiss and in the hands that caressed her. Her own desire rose, and her lips parted to allow him entry. She could no more have denied him than the sky could have refused passage to the sun, and she gave him back kiss for kiss, caress for caress, savoring each moment as if it were her last. She was spent when he finally lifted his head and he, too, looked dazed.

  "You see what we do to each other?" he said hoarsely. "How can you say you don't love me?" His fingertips traced her eyebrows and moved along her temple. "Tell me you love me, Fleur. I have waited so long to hear it."

  "Not all that long," she protested, still terribly unwilling to make this final confession. "We haven't been alone together more than three or four times. We hardly know each other. You don't know the way I feel… only the way I look."

  "1 know that when you speak my name with your soft, precise voice, I feel as if you are dancing on my spine!"

  "Be serious," she protested. "You know what I'm trying to say."

  "And I am trying to tell you that you're worrying over nothing. Of course there's much I don't know about you. Equally, there are many things you don't know about me. But that's the way it should be between a man and a woman until they are married." His breath was warm on her cheek as his head came low again. "Once you are mine, there'll be no secrets between us."

  Fleur did not know whether to laugh or cry. She was deliriously happy to hear that Karim wanted to marry her, that he did not wish to hide his love for her, yet she was afraid that their happiness could not last. She did not share his belief that marriage would nullify their differences. He had too many ties, too many other loyalties that would pull him apart from her. Tears poured down her cheeks and, as he felt them on his skin, he lifted her up into his arms and carried her across to a settee. He sat down and held her on his lap. He was so big that she felt like a child, though the stirring of his body told he
r he did not regard her that way. Pink-cheeked, she hid her face in his chest, her hands moving inside his jacket to come around his back. It was frightening the way her need of this man could supersede her coolness of mind and make her a stranger to herself. She might say she could never love Karim without marriage but, if he wanted to take possession of her, she knew she didn't have the strength to resist him. More than that—she wanted to encourage him. With a half cry she pulled away from him and stared up into his face.

  "We can't get married, Karim. It wouldn't work. Be logical about it."

  "I have used my logic for nights without number. I have walked my room from dusk till dawn and counted the cost of what I plan to do. But all along I knew I was fighting a hopeless battle. I am nothing without you, Fleur. You are my happiness and my life."

  The poetry of his words thrilled her. But at the same time it illustrated his foreignness and made her see him as an alien with whom she would never feel at home.

  "You… you think that now," she said hesitatingly, "but you might change your mind in the future."

  "Only when the stars fall from the sky," he said whimsically and, rising from the settee and still holding her, deposited her in a chair a few yards away. Then he went back to the settee and sat down. "Now we can talk with the logic you demand. When I am close to you I can think of nothing except how much I want you."

  He crossed one long leg over the other and then remained still. It made her realize he was not a man given to nervous gestures. Everything he did was precise and carefully thought out, as befitted a man of law. She clutched at the thought. Karim was a lawyer with a Western education that would at least give them a meeting point. But no, she mustn't think in this way, for then she would stop seeing him as an alien and have no need to fight him.

  "I know you think I'm old-fashioned in many ways," he said, "but much that I do is done out of respect for my father who is an old man. Were I alone and free to do as

  I wish, many things would be different." He paused for an Instant. "My sister, for example. I would not prevent her from going to the university."

  "You could at least have said so."

  "To what avail? I am not prepared to fight my father over it, and to cause discord for nothing…"

  "But are you prepared to fight him over me? Or does he approve of your wanting to marry me?"

  The beautifully molded face of the man took on a shuttered look. The eyes became opaque, closing off all their expression, and the features tautened, making it impossible to know what was going on in the quick mind behind the smooth, high forehead.

  "Your father is a man of the old school," Fleur continued, knowing here was her only chance of making Karim see reason. "He'll never be happy for you to have a Western wife. He wants you to marry someone like Ferada Sadeh."

  "That's true," Karim agreed, his face still a mask that denied all expression. "But there comes a time when a man—even a devoted son like myself—must be his own master. When my father realizes the way I feel about you, he will accept you."

  Fleur did not agree with him but knew it was pointless to say so. Only by believing in what he was saying could Karim continue to beg her to be his wife.

  "Darling, don't look so distressed." He uncrossed his legs and placed his hands on them as he leaned towards her. "In the beginning it won't be easy—I grant you that—but when my parents see how happy I am with you, they will love you as if they had chosen you themselves."

  Fleur knew it would be nice to believe this and nicer still to be as sure that she could make Karim happy. But she was uncertain of her ability to meet the needs of this demanding man. Uncertain and also unwilling. Did she really want a life where her every action had to be premeditated lest it go against custom and raise a few eyebrows? Did she want a husband who, from his earliest youth, had been brought up to believe that women were inferior beings put on earth to serve their masters? Fear caught at her throat as if it had hands, and she gasped.

  "What is it?" he demanded and came swiftly to her side. He knelt on the floor and brought his face level with hers.

  "I'm afraid," she whispered. "Our lives have been so different. We have no common meeting ground. We may love each other but every time we're alone we quarrel."

  "Because we're uncertain of each other." His voice was firm with assurance, though a faint smile quirked one side of his mouth. "Anyway, you are the one who does the quarreling—not I." He put his fingers against her lips to stop her speaking. "Once you are my wife, you won't feel the need to express yourself in the same way."

  "I could never be subservient," she said, pushing away his hand. "You can't turn me into a puppet in a yashmak!"

  Astonished, he looked at her, then he broke into a chuckle. Suddenly he became much younger and less frightening. "Nor do I wish to turn you into a doll in a wimple!"

  "Wimples went out of fashion centuries ago."

  "So did the harem and the yashmak. Not centuries, perhaps, but far enough back for you not to worry about it." His grin became wicked. "Besides, I wouldn't fancy yon if you were docile. It's your sharp tongue and quick mind that I love, not just the fragile body and full breasts."

  Instantly her hands came up to cover them, and he rose to his feet. "You won't always be shy of me, my lovely English flower. Soon you will unfold the inner sweetness to me."

  Her hands fluttered more urgently, wanting to remain where they were and also wanting to hide her burning cheeks. Because she could not do both she gave an embarrassed laugh. "I do find your compliments unnerving. I… I'm not used to them."

  "I'm glad to hear it. I wouldn't like to think other men have the right to say such things to you! Which reminds me—did you see Rory Baines last night?"

  "Yes." She paused. "He asked me to marry him."

  Karim's expletive, though foreign, made his meaning dear, and she was thrilled by his jealousy.

  "You refused him, of course?"

  For a reason she could not understand, Fleur was reluctant to be completely honest and, a long time later, was to remember this with gratitude. "No. I… er… didn't. I told him I wasn't sure how I felt."

  "Weren't sure how you felt?" Karim spat out the words ns if they were poison. "Don't you know that you love me? That I'm the man you want to marry?" He pulled her so roughly to her feet that her arms were nearly jerked from their sockets. "You're mine, do you hear? I'll never let you belong to anyone else. Never. I'll kill you first!"

  His expression—more than his words—told her he was not joking. But instead of dismaying her, she reveled in it, realizing that beneath her veneer of emancipation there lurked the primitive urge to be mastered. It made her feel a traitor to the cause of liberation for which she had fought all her life, and she knew that when she was away from this man she would hate herself for being so weak. But during their moments of togetherness, when they retreated from the world and were wholly absorbed in one another, she could not help herself.

  Tentatively her hands came out and touched his hair, then moved down to the nape of his neck. "I do love you," she said huskily. "But I can't marry you."

  "You can," he said confidently and, catching hold of her hands, kissed each one of her fingers. "I daren't touch your lips again, or I'll never be able to let you go, and the helicopter's waiting to take us out of this dreadful heat." He ran his free hand round the inside edge of his collar. "Is there no air conditioning here?"

  "Madame Nadar doesn't have it on when she's away."

  He muttered something unflattering, and Fleur smiled. "I'll be a couple of minutes packing."

  "I'm tempted to come up with you," he said, opening the door for her. "But I won't," he added as he saw her quick look of alarm. "The heat has sapped away my strength, and I wouldn't be able to keep my distance from you."

  "You make it sound as if you're fighting a battle."

  "I am," he said gravely. "But it will lead to a very sweet victory."

  Ten

  Neither of the Khans made any reference to Fle
ur's return with their son and, when she spoke to Karim alone later that night in the garden, he admitted that he had told his father he had had to go to Teheran on business and had collected her at the same time.

  "My father didn't believe me," he said. "I'm sure he knew I flew down in order to bring you back."

  Fleur was equally sure Ibrahim Khan also believed that his son only wanted to have an affair with her, but she was too wise to say it. Karim was obstinate and could well become intransigent in the face of opposition. This in turn could lead him into marrying her, even against his own better judgment.

  "What stick are you beating yourself with now?" he asked whimsically. "I can see the pain in your eyes."

  "I was wondering if you'd have noticed me if I'd been polite to you the first time we met," she lied, "or if it was only because I answered you back."

  "If you'd had your tongue cut out I would have noticed you," he teased. "Don't you know how beautiful you are?"

  "I try not to think about it, and I wish other people wouldn't."

  "Why not?" His perfectly arched eyebrows drew together above his nose. "If one sees a magnificent painting, does one wish it was less magnificent? Or when you hear a wonderful symphony, do you want it to be played out of tune?"

  "Symphonies and paintings don't change with time— the way looks do."

  "Ah!" he said, understanding her. "You believe that since I love your beauty, my love for you will fade when you grow old."

  "Won't it?"

  He was silent for so long that she miserably concluded he could not find a diplomatic answer. She searched for something to say and her lips had parted when he suddenly spoke.

  "A few hours ago you said there must have been many women who loved me because I was eligible and handsome. But have you ever wondered if their need for me would fade when my strength decreased and my hair grew gray?"

  "It isn't the same for a man," she protested.

  "You say that? You who want me to believe that men and women are equal? How do you know how a man feels when he flexes his muscles and only sees the movement of crepey skin? When he draws in his stomach and still it hangs down? Believe me, Fleur, men have as many fears as woman. Though I must admit that when I thought of my future with you, it never entered my mind to wonder if you would love me less at sixty-four than at thirty- two."