The idea of being with Karim so long seemed to dim her fears and make the future shine with a little more clarity. But it was still not clear enough for her to give the answer she knew he was waiting to hear. Her doubts were still strong and the differences between them too many.
The following day Karim and his father returned to Teheran, and Fleur made Nizea follow a more serious regime of study in the hope that it would take her own mind off her problems. But during every waking moment she kept thinking of Karim and, each time a servant came towards her, she wondered if it was to bring her a message from him. She had begged him not to telephone her, knowing they would be unable to talk without some servant overhearing and telling his mother, who would immediately inform her husband.
It was the thought of Ibrahim Khan that was making Fleur's decision more difficult. Indeed had it not been for him, she might have accepted Karim's proposal and the consequences be damned. But Ibrahim Khan was a man whose opinion she respected even though she did not always agree with it, for she knew him to be a man of sagacity who was frequently called upon to advise in a dispute. What advice would he give to her? She had little need to speculate. "Go back to your own country," he would say, "and marry your own kind."
On Thursday afternoon Fleur was in her room when she heard Karim arrive. She knew from Nizea that father and son had spent a couple of days in Paris negotiating an important sale of antiques.
"It is only a hobby for my father," the girl had said. "Most of our fortune comes from financing imports and exports. And we have a great deal of property, too."
Fleur pretended an interest in some of the perfume bottles on Nizea's dressing-table. "I'm surprised your father didn't want your brother to join the family firm."
"My father was delighted when Karim elected to study law. He is a great believer in education—though only for men," the girl added bitterly.
"Well, your brother's certainly well-educated," Fleur said quickly, unwilling to have Nizea sink into self-pity again. "He went to Harvard as well as Oxford, didn't he?"
"Karim's brilliant," Nizea said matter-of-factly. "I'm not surprised all the girls are crazy about him." She stood up and walked gingerly to the door. The heavy cast on her leg had been replaced by a much lighter one, and she was still unused to the feel of it. "Don't you think I'm making good progress, Fleur?"
"Excellent," Fleur agreed and came forward to give Nizea her arm. "Hold on to me while we go downstairs. I'm not happy about your walking on these marble floors."
"I'm used to them. When I was a little girl Karim would hold me in his arms and pretend to skate on them. It was an advantage having a much older brother. He was like a very loving father."
But not sufficiently loving to defy his father in order to help you, Fleur thought but refrained from saying so.
Nizea's education was a subject she dared not discuss any more. It was depressing how much had to be held back if one wanted to keep the peace. She frowned at the knowledge, wondering what sort of future one could have if one was afraid to talk openly. Tonight she would tell this to Karim and see what he said. No doubt he would make light of it. If only he could succeed in helping her to make light of it too…
Unfortunately, she had no chance to talk with him alone that evening, for he came into the salon with his father only a few moments before dinner was served. Fleur still found it an ordeal to dine with the Khans. With Karim sitting opposite her it was difficult to prevent her need of him from shining out of her eyes, and she knew that her avoidance of him, either in making conversation or meeting his eyes, was almost as noticeable as if she had sat and gazed at him with admiration.
The conversation centered on their Paris trip. Nizea and her mother listened in silence and, on the couple of occasions when the older woman made a comment, it was only to agree with what her husband had said. Fleur had discovered her to be a woman completely dominated by her husband, a not really surprising fact since she was docile and he was aggressive. She had learned that the woman had married when she was sixteen and that Karim had been born a year later, which explained her youthful appearance.
"You are very quiet, Miss Peters." Ibrahim Khan interrupted her thoughts by signaling to one of the servants to offer her a selection of petits fours which he had brought back form Paris. "I hope you aren't homesick for England? Though it would be understandable if you were."
"I do miss my family," she acknowledged.
"Yet you voluntarily left them! I understand that Western women think it important to travel the world before they settle down and marry."
"Not all women think that marriage means settling down," Fleur smiled.
"Then why bother to get married? If you accept your husband's name, you accept the duty of looking after him and caring for his home."
In the face of such a statement Fleur could not hold her tongue. "I believe that a husband and wife agree to look after each other. Marriage is a partnership—not subservience for the woman."
"I had not realized you would regard taking care of your husband as being subservient to him."
Knowing the man was deliberately misunderstanding her—could it be his way of showing his son how wrong she was for him?—Fleur forced a guard upon her tongue and pretended to be absorbed in choosing another petit four.
"I presume you would also wish to continue with your career if you were married?" Ibrahim Khan persisted.
"I haven't given it any thought."
"But there's no reason why you shouldn't work. Luckily your compatriots hold the same views as you do. It is only here—in the Middle East—where the old traditions concerning women still exist."
"More's the pity," Nizea muttered. "Why shouldn't a woman have the same rights as a man?"
"Having rights—as you put it—does not necessarily make a woman happy."
"You think only a man can do that."
"A husband," her father corrected. "The right husband, of course."
"Chosen by her parents."
"Naturally." The wide lipped mouth, faintly seen beneath the thick beard, moved in a smile. "Look how happy your mother has been with her life."
"I'm not my mother."
"I think your father was generalizing," Fleur put in hastily.
Nizea was not to be placated and gave an angry toss of her head. But before she could say anything further, Karim took a small package from his breast pocket and tossed it across the table in her direction.
With a happy exclamation Nizea opened it to find three exquisite charms, each one set with a different jewel. There was a house with tiny emerald windows, a camel with sapphire eyes, and a ballerina with a ruby dotted skirt.
"Don't say I never think of you," Karim said. "It took me the best part of a morning to find those."
"During which time he kept me waiting an hour," Ibrahim Khan grumbled.
"You should be glad I went with you to Paris," Karim rejoined. "My partners are already complaining I spend more time on your affairs than I do on our company."
"It is your duty to look after your clients," his father pointed out.
"Even when that client refuses to pay his bill?" Karim was openly smiling. "What do you think of that, Mama?" he asked, turning his silky dark head in his mother's direction.
"I think you are a naughty boy to tease your father, but I will make sure he pays his bills immediately!"
Fleur enjoyed the unexpected banter, which lessened the tension she always experienced when dining with the family. But her edginess returned when they left the dining room for the salon. Mr. Khan settled himself in a beautifully carved chair that resembled a throne, while his wife sank gracefully onto a pile of cushions and picked up some embroidery on which she was working. Fleur looked at Nizea, hoping the girl would decide to go to her room, but instead she settled beside her mother.
"Come and sit next to me, Fleur," Karim called.
Fleur saw Ibrahim Khan's head turn sharply in her direction. "I—I'm fine here," she stammered and promptly took
the nearest chair.
"We will be happy to excuse you if you wish to go to your room," Ibrahim Khan said majestically.
"As a matter of fact I do have some letters to write," Fleur said gratefully and went to rise.
"Stay where you are," Karim interrupted. "I don't wish you to leave us."
"Karim!" his father said sternly. "Miss Peters is a guest in our home. If she wishes to go to her room…"
"But she doesn't. She's only going there because she wants to run away."
"Don't you think you're being presumptuous in deciding what Miss Peters wishes to do?" his mother protested gently, pausing in her embroidery.
"I know exactly what Fleur wants to do—and why."
"I'm going to my room," Fleur said desperately and turned to the door.
As she moved she found her way barred by Karim whose right hand shot out and caught hold of her wrist "1 think it's time we stopped pretending."
"Karim… please… let me go."
"How can I let go of something I've never had?" he asked with unexpected asperity.
"What's the matter with you, Karim?" his father demanded, his hands resting on the arms of his chair as if he were preparing to rise.
"Forgive me, Father." Karim still kept his grip on Fleur's hands. "But I'm tired of all this pretense. I think it's time you knew that I have asked Fleur to be my wife."
Fleur opened her mouth to protest but no sound came from her throat. The same appeared to be happening to the other occupants of the room, though the expressions on their faces were all totally different: elation from Nizea, astonishment from her mother, and disbelief mixed with anger from Ibrahim Khan.
"You would not joke about such a thing," he said, finding his voice at last. "So I can only conclude you mean it seriously."
"Yes, Father, I do. I mean it with all my heart. I love Fleur, and I will marry no other woman."
"Karim, don't," Fleur pleaded. "I haven't said I'll marry you. You mustn't say I… you've no right…"
Swiftly he turned upon her, keeping his voice low. "I will talk to you later. But from now on I refuse to hide what I feel." Still gripping her hand he took a few paces in his father's direction. "I won't pretend that it's been an easy decision for me. The more so since I know that your own wishes in the matter would not be the same as mine."
"At least you are honest enough to admit that," his father said angrily. "You hardly know Miss Peters. How can you stand there and talk about love?"
The muscles twitched in Karim's throat but his voice was still calm. "One doesn't need time to fall in love with a woman. One needs times to understand her."
"And what sort of love can there be without understanding? Surely that should come first? Only then can you say you truly love a woman enough to want her as your wife."
Karim made a disclaiming gesture with his free hand, and his father rose from his chair. "You do not realize the implication of what you are saying, my son. It will be best if we talk about it alone."
"I won't change my mind. I love Fleur."
"Does she love you?" The question was directed at her and, though she longed to deny it, she could not do so.
"Yes, I do," she said shakily. "But I haven't agreed to… No matter what Karim's just said, I haven't agreed to marry him. I still have to think about it."
Karim's hold momentarily loosened, and she took her chance and pulled free of him. "I haven't said yes! You know I'm speaking the truth. It isn't fair of you to rush me. I need more time."
Before he could reply to her, she ran out of the room and across the hall. She heard her name called but ignored it, knowing that if she stopped, she would be lost.
Only when she was in her bedroom with the door closed and locked behind her, did her agitation subside and anger replace it. How dare Karim put her in such an invidious position? Didn't he know that by telling his parents how he felt about her, he had made it impossible for her to stay here any longer? He might have hoped that by disclosing his feelings to them he would rush her into a decision, but instead his autocratic behavior and disregard lor her feelings had only served to increase the doubts she already had about being happy with him
Like a caged animal she paced the floor. She would return to the capital tomorrow and stay there for a couple of days. She sank into the stool before the dressing-table and stared at her reflection. Her face was flushed, her green eyes bright with tears barely held in check. She still had several weeks of vacation left, and it would give her an opportunity to fly home and talk things over with her parents. They wouldn't tell her what to do, but seeing them might help her to clarify things in her own mind. She should have done that straightaway instead of allowing Karim to bring her back here, where it was impossible for her to think clearly. When she was near him, his physical attraction was so strong that her heart overruled her head; yet when it came to her future, it was her head that she must rely on.
"Fleur, open the door!"
Karim's voice outside her door made her jump nervously to her feet. Agitatedly she backed against the wall, hoping that if she did not answer him he would go away. But it was not to be.
"Open the door," he said again. "I want to talk to you, and I don't intend to go away."
Knowing he was not the sort of man to bluff, she went across and turned the key. The door opened and she saw him in the corridor. The wall sconces were lit behind him, and his shadow loomed large across the marble floor. The black lighting gave his face an unusual harshness and turned his eyes into piercing black beams of almost laser intensity. She moved to step into the corridor, but before she could do so he strode into the room. She jumped back nervously, embarrassed by the sheets drawn back on her bed and the flimsy nightdress that lay across it.
"Wouldn't it be better if we talked downstairs?"
His glance followed hers, and a tight smile flitted over his face. "If we talk up here, you won't be able to run away from me; and you've done enough running to last us both a lifetime."
"If you don't want me to run," she said bluntly, "you shouldn't make me afraid."
"Do you always turn tail when you're afraid? I thought you were the type to stand up and fight."
"Only when I believe in what I'm fighting for."
"Don't you believe in our love?" he asked abruptly. "Are you still so fainthearted about it that you doubt me? Or do you doubt yourself? Perhaps you don't love me after all. Perhaps you were carried away by a black-haired foreigner on a white horse?"
"Don't!" she said wretchedly. "You know how I feel."
"I only know that you don't see me as an ordinary man. If you did, you wouldn't be afraid to admit that you love me."
"I'm not afraid." _
"Then say it!"
"What good will it do? It still won't help me to know if I should marry you."
"At least let me hear you say it," he demanded and pulled her into his arms.
Staring into his face and feeling the warmth that emanated from him, her resistance weakened. She had put up her hands to ward him off but instead found herself placing them upon his chest. Through the thinness of his jacket, she could feel the heavy thudding of his heart; rapid beats that made her painfully conscious of his vulnerability. No longer was Karim invincible, the conqueror who had the power to destroy her, but a man of flesh and blood whose life would end if that wild heart should stop beating.
"I do love you," she gasped. "So much that I can't think logically."
"Then let me do the thinking. I knew I was right to tell my parents. If I had gone on waiting for you to make up your mind, I would have had to wait forever."
Fleur shivered, remembering the furious look Ibrahim I Khan had flung at her. "Your father isn't happy about it. You shouldn't have told him the way you did. It was a shock to him."
"I know." He sighed heavily. "But I knew that the more time I gave you, the more unsure you'd become. I had to make the decision for you."
Another sigh escaped him, and he rested his cheek against hers. His
skin was smooth and there was only the faintest trace of stubble. Involuntarily she put her hand up to it, and he caught her fingers and held them there.
"What is it?" he whispered. "Is my skin too rough for you?"
"It isn't rough at all. It's incredibly soft. Dark men usually have much stronger beards."
"At least you know I won't rasp your skin when I make love to you in the morning!" His hold on her tightened. "Now I have finally made you say you love me, when can I make you say you'll marry me?"
"I don't know. Loving you hasn't made me blind to all the reasons why our marriage won't work. You saw how your father reacted tonight; that's the way all your friends will react."
"My friends will envy me," he contradicted. "They will be furious they didn't set eyes on you first."
"Your friends might fancy me," she said with candor, "but that doesn't mean they'd want me for a wife."
"Which is a good thing because I wouldn't allow you to commit bigamy!"
"Be serious, Karim. You heard the way your father spoke at dinner. I'm sure he said what he did because he already suspected the way we felt about each other. That's why he tried to warn us."
"Warn us?" Karim was perplexed. "I don't remember him warning us about anything."
"He was talking about women giving up their careers when they got married," Fleur persisted. "He was trying to make you see that if you married someone like me, you'd have to accept different standards."
"The only standards I'm concerned with are love and loyalty and honesty and trust. Whether or not you go on working once you're my wife is immaterial to our happiness."
"But it wouldn't be. You would want me to remain at home. To put you first and my career second. You are your father's son, Karim, and…"
"I have my own mind," he cut in, "and I don't expect you to live the same life as my mother—or even as Nizea."
Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert Page 12
