Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert

by Roberta Leigh

  She pulled at the tasseled wall bell and a moment later heard the shuffle of steps outside her door. Swiftly she unlocked it and asked the servant girl to tell Madame Khan she was remaining in her room for the rest of the evening. Then she relocked the door and went into the bathroom to shower. The warm water soothed her bruised lips, though it could not wash away the actual bruises that Karim's fingers had made on top of her arms, and she was conscious of them as she dried herself and slipped into a primrose nightdress. It was short and full skirted and, with a slip underneath, could easily have been worn during the day. She picked up a brush and ran it through her hair. At last the tension was leaving her, and she felt unexpectedly tired, worn out by the emotion of Karim's fury.

  Kicking off her mules, she went over to the bed. She plumped the pillows high and then slipped between the sheets. She would read and relax and try not to think of the future until tomorrow. But the present would not let itself be denied as she thought of the family sitting in the dining room and wondered if Mr. or Mrs. Khan or Nizea had commented on her absence and what Karim had said about it—if anything.

  From the garden below her window came soft night sounds, and she pushed aside one of the silk sheets covering her and allowed the cool air to blow upon her skin. There was a gentle knock at the door. Her mouth went dry and before she could ask who it was, the soft voice of a servant told her she had brought her some food.

  Fleur slipped across to unlock the door and then returned to bed. The tray was placed on her lap. It had four small legs and served as a table, keeping the weight of the dishes away from her. In hesitant English the maid asked if there was anything else she required, and Fleur, after a quick glance at the dishes set before her, shook her head. The bowls of savory rice were not as acceptable as a bacon sandwich would have been at this precise moment, but it was a great deal better than nothing, and she tackled them hungrily, surprised she should have regained her appetite.

  Now she was able to think more logically of her scene with Karim, though this did not diminish her fears for the future. A big question mark still hung over her, and she wished there was someone to whom she could turn for advice. Yet in the end it all rested on her love for Karim and whether or not it was strong enough to enable her way of life to fit in with his. For the first time she saw how foreign his way would be and had severe doubts about her ability to come to terms with it. Even if she did, how long would this willingness remain, and wasn't there the risk that one day she would begin to find it unacceptable?

  That was exactly what Ibrahim Khan had said. What a wily old bird he was! He had made few critical comments to her since Karim's disclosure that he wished to marry her, but those few had been telling ones and—as she did now—she found herself remembering them. Was it true that once Karim had made her his wife his love for her would diminish and, with it, his tolerance of their differences? Did this mean his jealousy would decrease? Or would it increase because he would then see her as someone over whom he had control?

  The arrival of the maid with some coffee was a welcome interruption and, when she was alone again, she resolutely tried to put Karim from her mind. Night was never a good time to try to work out a solution to one's problems; it heightened one's sensitivity and made one react like an overcharged battery. But would she be any nearer a solution in the brightness of the day?

  Again her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Her heart thudded in her throat, and she was not surprised to hear Karim's voice asking if he could enter.

  At her call, he did so, and stood looking at her across the width of the room. Even from this distance she noticed the pallor of his skin. It made his eyes look unnaturally dark and the lids heavier.

  "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

  "I wasn't ill." She heard how steady her voice sounded and wondered if Karim's calm question had hidden the same amount of emotion.

  "I assumed you weren't feeling well," he said, "because you didn't come down to dinner."

  "I was too angry to see you," she said bluntly.

  "I thought so. I have come up to apologize."

  He came across the floor and paused at the foot of the bed. He had changed from his dark suit to a pale-colored one, and his shirt was creamy and frilled down the front. He looked incredibly handsome and, had he been her husband at this moment, she would have flung herself into his arms and begged him to stay. The thought of such weakness frightened her, for she knew that passion was not the solution to the problems between them. As Ibrahim Khan had said, when passion went, there had to be something else to take its place; and she was not sure whether there was anything else between herself and Karim.

  "Will you forgive me, Fleur?" he said again.

  "I can't forget the fact that you see me as your possession."

  "I see you as the woman I love."

  "But that turns me into your possession."

  "Don't you do the same with me?" He gripped the foot of the bed. "Weren't you jealous when you saw me with Ferada? I saw the way you kept watching me and the anger in your eyes."

  "There's a difference between normal jealousy and obsessiveness!"

  The breath caught in his throat. "Is that how you see my love for you?"

  "Yes," she said curtly. "And I hate it!"

  He came round to the side of the bed. His eyes moved over her face as if he were trying to guess what was going on in her mind. Suddenly he leaned forward and caught hold of her. She winced at the pressure of his hands and instantly his eyes went to the bruises on her flesh. Slowly the blood seeped into his cheeks.

  "Did I—did I do that?"

  "My lover didn't," she said bitterly, "so it must have been the man who professes to love me!"

  With a stifled cry he knelt beside her. His head was on a level with her breasts, and the bedside lamp played on the darkness of his hair. Aware of his physical nearness and the way it aroused her, she steeled herself against responding to it

  "Words aren't enough to tell you how much I hate myself," he whispered. "If I could take your pain, I would do so willingly."

  "I would rather you understood me," she said huskily. "It's the only way you will be able to control your jealousy."

  "When you're my wife, it will be better. Then I won't have any doubts."

  "If you doubt me now, you will always doubt me. Putting a ring on my finger won't make you trust me more."

  "As my wife you will be too busy to go out with other men." His eyes gleamed. "You will have children to take care of and a demanding man to satisfy."

  Her senses were stirred by his words, but with it also came a revulsion from them, and she drew back against the pillows.

  "I hate it when you say things like that. Making love to you and having your children won't stop me from wanting to have friends and a life of my own. I won't just sit at home like an empty vessel, waiting for you to come back to fill it. I'm not a pet, Karim, I'm a human being."

  "I know." He reached for her hand and twined his fingers through hers. "I'm human too, my darling. That's why I can't remain here with you." His eyes glowed as they moved over her, resting on the skin that gleamed through the primrose chiffon, and the curves of her body that were molded by the silken sheet that lay upon her. "I suggest we leave any further discussion until tomorrow."

  "Very well."

  He straightened, half put out his hand again, then turned and strode out. Fleur leaned against the pillows dejectedly. Karim had not accepted one word she had said. He believed her to be overtired and was still treating her as if she didn't know her own mind. He thought everything could be solved by his lovemaking and, though this might be true for the first few years of their life together, it was no foundation on which to build a marriage.

  Next morning she was downstairs before any other members of the household. Only the servants moved silently through the rooms, their long robes turning them into shameless blue bundles. The faces of the women were half hidden, and only their eyes were visible. It was the si
ght of these women that reminded her of the life and culture of the man she loved. She tried to picture him in England, among her own family and friends, and speculated how he would react to them. There was much about him that would never change, yet surely the cooler temperaments with which he would be surrounded would rub off on him?

  She was deep in thought and sipping her second coffee of the day when Mrs. Khan joined her. Only rarely did the woman put in an appearance before lunchtime, usually spending the morning in her own quarters.

  "My husband and I are going to lunch with friends," she said, settling herself in a basket chair on the terrace. "We hoped you and Karim would come with us, but he said last night that he wanted to spend the day alone with you."

  Fleur was annoyed that he had made the decision without asking her whether she wanted to go, though she would probably have said the same.

  "Do your friends live nearby?"

  "About fifty kilometers away. They have recently built a beautiful villa, and my husband is anxious to see it. If he likes it, he thought of using the same architect to design your summer home."

  Fleur looked up from her coffee. "I'm not sure I want one. If we live in the northern part of Teheran, there doesn't seem much point in having a summer place. Anyway, with air conditioning there isn't the same need to rush out of the city."

  "Karim relaxes more when he is away from Teheran," Mrs. Khan chided gently. "Surely you want what is best for him?"

  "I think Karim and I should decide together what we want," Fleur said, equally gently. "I don't believe in one partner making the decision for the other. It should be mutual."

  "We don't see it in the same way. We believe a wife and a husband each brings something different to a marriage."

  "I know," Fleur said bitterly. "The wife gives and the husband takes!"

  "But the wife is always glad to give. It makes her feel needed."

  "You mean she enjoys subjugating herself?" Fleur set her coffee cup down sharply. "Well, I wouldn't. Nor would I want my husband to expect me to do it."

  "You have very strong ideas about what you want your husband to do," Mrs. Khan said. "You might find life less difficult if you were more pliant. Don't fight Karim, my dear." The dark eyes, far softer than her husband's, surveyed Fleur with gentle reproach. "I know you are too thoughtful to quarrel with him in the presence of myself and my husband, but we are aware of the tension that exists between you. You seem to want to resist Karim and, of course, that makes him more determined to dominate you. If you would give in to him a little… Women should pretend, you know. We can gain far more that way."

  "But I'm afraid… it isn't my way. I wasn't brought up to pretend—even if it's the best way of getting what I want. I have no intention of allowing Karim to dominate me."

  "He can't help it; it's his nature. Would you clip the wings of an eagle?"

  "I don't see how the simile applies."

  "But it does. Karim is only happy when he is in control. In his professional and personal life he has to be the one in charge." The dark head, untouched by gray, tilted to one side as the older woman surveyed the younger. "Look at me, Fleur. Am I not a happy and fulfilled woman? And that is exactly what I want for you."

  "But I'm not like you," Fleur protested. "I wouldn't be happy with the things that make you happy."

  "Then how do you expect to be happy with Karim when he is exactly like his father?"

  The words hit Fleur with the impact of a sledge hammer. To see Karim as the son of his father was difficult enough; to see Karim as a replica was more than she had bargained for.

  "He… he isn't," she stammered. "He's had a different education. He's lived in England and America and…"

  "He is a Khan," came the quiet reply. "Now that he is back in his own country—among his own people—what he did when he was abroad counts for nothing. If you wish to spend your life with him, this country and its people must become yours."

  The words were an echo of those that Ruth had said to Naomi, her mother-in-law, but Fleur knew she would never be able to utter them. This country and its people would always be alien to her. It was something she was only now beginning to comprehend, and the implication of what it meant had to be carefully considered.

  Footsteps resounded on the marble floor, and Karim spoke from the hall. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

  "I was telling Fleur you wish to spend the day alone with her. I think she is disappointed not to be seeing the villa."

  "We can drive over one afternoon," he said easily. "Omar has given me permission to look at it any time I like."

  "You have everything worked out," his mother said fondly and smiled at Fleur as she rose, as if to show that this only served to indicate the truth of what she had said a little earlier.

  It was not until his mother had left them that Karim perched on a chair, swinging one long leg immaculately clad in beige cord slacks. "You are still looking pale, my heart. That's why I thought it best if we didn't go on a long journey today."

  "Fifty kilometers isn't far. You should at least have asked me."

  "Don't you want us to spend the day by ourselves? Nizea is going with my parents, and we will be alone in the house."

  "With ten servants."

  He snapped his fingers to indicate they were nothing, and she gave an irritated shrug. She was glad he wished to be alone with her and knew it was churlish not to admit it. Yet the highhanded way he had made the decision prevented her.

  "How remiss of me!" he said suddenly and, reaching into the pocket of his shirt, took out an envelope. "I meant to give you this yesterday but in the heat of our— er—discussion, I forgot."

  She took the envelope and recognized Madame Nadar's handwriting.

  "She sent it to my office by a servant," he explained. "You know how unreliable the post is. A letter is delivered here more quickly from New York than from one side of Teheran to the other."

  She smiled and, slitting open the envelope, extracted the letter. It expressed delight at her engagement and was gushing with best wishes for her happiness.

  "You must not think of continuing to teach here. I know how eager you are to be with your fiance, and I have immediately contacted the agency in London with whom I was dealing before I engaged you. I am quite sure they won't have any trouble in sending me another English teacher at once. She may not have all your excellent qualifications but please have no misgivings at leaving me. I am more than delighted to do everything I can to insure the happiness of any member of the Khan family."

  Anger such as she had not known filled Fleur. Silently she folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope. Her hands were shaking—as was her whole body—and she refused to look in Karim's direction.

  "Well," he said complacently, "aren't you pleased?"

  "You know the contents," she stated without surprise.

  "Naturally. She telephoned me before she sent the letter round."

  "To make sure it met with your approval?"

  "What's this?" he said in perplexity. "You surely can't be angry because she's released you? Don't you know what it means? We needn't wait until October." He came to stand close to her. "We can fly to England next week to see your parents, and then we can arrange our marraige."

  "No!" she cried sharply. "We can't. I won't do it! You had no right to ask Madame Nadar to release me. I made it clear when I spoke to you that I wanted to stay with her until October."

  "Only because you felt it to be your duty. You said it would take her time to replace you, and all I did was to ask her to expedite it."

  "You mean you ordered her to do it," Fleur snapped. "Why couldn't you leave things alone? Who gave you the right to interfere?"

  "What's this talk of right?" he demanded, flinging his hands wide. "I want your happiness, and you want mine. That's the only criterion that counts."

  "No, Karim, it isn't. People have to be left to make their own decisions about what's right for them; and I had already made mine. I told Madame I
wanted to remain at the school until October. Even then you knew I felt guilty at letting her down."

  "You haven't let her down," he said impatiently. "She's just told you she's getting a replacement."

  "She's doing what you asked her to do. And you had no business to interfere."

  "I refuse to discuss it further." Karim was suddenly angry. "You are behaving like a child. All I did was make things easier for you—for us—and you're angry because I didn't come and say 'may I' or 'do I have your permission.' When you think logically about it, you'll be delighted. But you're so determined to be independent that…"

  "I certainly am," she cut in. "And I won't let you dictate to me."

  "Don't be childish."

  Her breath caught in her throat. How could she make this man see what was wrong about his actions when he was fundamentally opposed to her freedom?"

  "It has nothing to do with being childish," she said carefully. "Naturally I'm pleased to be free. What I'm not pleased about is that you went over my head to arrange it. Particularly when I asked you not to interfere."

  "Is it interfering because I wish to make you my wife as soon as possible? You're behaving like this because you're angry at what happened yesterday. I have already apologized for that. I was jealous of your being with another man and…"

  "I'll still lunch with other men friends even when I'm your wife," she said flatly.

  "Only in our own home. No married woman dines out with another man unless her husband is with her."

  The words fell with the sharpness of stones into a still pool, each one echoing in her mind and building up into a crescendo of sound.

  "Let's go and sit by the pool," he said, and the carelessness with which he turned to leave showed he considered the conversation over.

  It was all she needed to give her the courage she required. "You'd better go alone, Karim. I'm going upstairs to pack."

  "To pack what?"

  "My clothes. I'm leaving."

  "Fleur." There was fond amusement in his voice. "Darling, I'm sorry I lost my temper again, but I hardly slept last night for worrying about you. It's made me short-tempered. Please forgive me." His hand stretched towards her. "Come."