by Anne Mather
Abby accepted a glass of sherry, and lowered herself on to the cushions. They were very comfortable, and she curled her legs beneath her, looking up at Rachid with challenging eyes. She was beginning to enjoy this game of cat-and- mouse, and after so many weeks' seclusion, she felt like a prisoner out on parole. She didn't even flinch when Rachid squatted down beside her, the velvet cuff of his dark grey jacket only inches from her shoulder as he adjusted his tie.
'You should wear black more often,' he remarked, as his grandmother seated herself on the cushions opposite, and Abby arched her dark brows.
'You bought me this dress,' she conceded softly, plucking at the material. 'I thought you might recognise it.'
'I do,' he retorted, his irises almost as black as his pupils. 'And I remember the last time you wore it, after I came back from Paris.'
'What are you talking about?' his grandmother demanded suddenly, her voice sharp with suspicion, and Rachid allowed a faint smile to lift the corners of his mouth.
'I was admiring Abby's dress, Nona,' he reassured her smoothly. 'I was telling her that she should wear black more often. Do you not agree with me?'
'I seem to remember seeing that dress before,' the old lady puzzled, with a frown. 'One like it was found by the swimming pool, wasn't it? Not so long ago. I remember your father bringing it to me, and asking if I knew whose it was.'
'Your memory is very sharp,' commented Rachid dryly, 'but condensed, I fear. There was a dress found, but it was more than three years ago.'
'Is that so?'
Nona was amazed at the passage of time, but at least her impatience with her own faltering mental powers gave Abby a breathing space. Her sudden colour would have been hard to explain, and she was relieved when Rachid switched the subject to his uncle's hospital in Cairo, and the research they were doing there. By the time Nona spoke to her again she was able to answer quite composedly, although she was aware that Rachid had not missed her heated confusion.
Dinner was a typically continental meal. Nona enjoyed French cooking, and her menus invariably favoured foods cooked in wine, and served with a variety of sauces. Abby was glad that Rachid seemed to enjoy the meal, and his reversion to European clothes made him more approachable somehow. Nevertheless, she was conscious of the guarded expression he persistently wore when he addressed her, and she guessed he had not forgotten her earlier attempts to disconcert him.
When the main course had been removed, and they were enjoying, a strongly-flavoured cheese with tiny salted biscuits, Nona turned once again to the subject that was uppermost in her mind.
'When do you expect the baby, Abigail?' she askea, nodding to the servant who was serving her coffee. 'Have you seen Doctor Kemal? Is he satisfied with you?'
Abby glanced swiftly at her husband, and then answered quietly: 'I have seen Doctor Kemal, yes. And everything seems to be satisfactory. As to when I expect the baby, he estimates the end of June, about the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth.'
'I see.' Nona snorted. Then she turned to Rachid. 'So you knew about this before I left for Miriam's.'
Rachid sighed. 'Yes.'
'And you didn't tell me?'
'I did not tell my father until the week before I brought Abby back to Xanthia,' retorted Rachid, surprising Abby herself by his statement. She had thought he would have mentioned it as soon as he returned home after visiting her. Why hadn't he? Her brows descended in a troubled frown. Had he, after all, been reluctant to do so? Or was there some other reason? Unbidden, the thought of Farah soured the rest of the evening. It was not unreasonable that he would be loath to tell his mistress of his wife's condition, and her eyes when next she looked at Rachid were filled with bitterness and resentment.
'Hmm!' Nona was still muttering over his negligence. 'It seems to me you could have confided in your grandmother. Haven't we always been friends? Haven't I always taken your part against your father, not least when you first told us about Abigail?'
Rachid's mouth drew in, and Abby could not resist the opportunity of destroying his controlled facade. 'Perhaps- he had a reason for keeping it to himself, Nona,' she ventured maliciously. 'After all, it must have been very difficult for him to explain the situation to someone who had thought they had his exclusive attentions‑'
'Abby!' Rachid's grim use of her name was dumbfounded, and even his grandmother looked a little embarrassed.
'I think this conversation has gone far enough,' she declared, pushing back her chair. 'Come, Abigail, let us talk together. I want to hear all about London, and did Rachid tell me that your mother had died? I am sorry about that. How is your father coping on his own?'
Abby allowed herself to be led away from the table, but now she didn't care that Rachid's eyes were following her. All the vitality had gone out of her, and she wished she could return to her own quarters without further humiliation.
CHAPTER NINE
It was not late when Abby retired, Nona was weary after her journey, and their conversation was restrained after the things that had been said earlier. Besides, Rachid's brooding presence was a discouraging influence, and Abby was relieved when Nona professed her tiredness. Refusing her husband's stiffly proffered escort, she had the servants summon Hassan to accompany her back to her apartments, but once there, the whole weight of her recklessness bore down upon her, and she bitterly regretted her ill-mannered indictment.
Dismissing Suni, she undressed herself, tossing the black gown into the bottom of the wardrobe, hoping she never had to look at it again. Then, after sluicing her face and hands in the bathroom, she allowed the folds of her sprigged cotton nightgown to fall about her, fastening the bootlace shoulder straps with dejected fingers.
Part of her depression was due to the fact that she half believed her own accusation. There had to be a reason why Rachid had chosen to keep her condition to himself, and the one she had offered seemed the most logical. Somehow, living here in seclusion, apart from the everyday happenings at the palace, never hearing Farah's name mentioned, nor encountering her simpering, flirtatious personality, she had almost succeeded in forgetting the hold she had on her husband. But now the bitterness of it was back in full measure, heightened to unbearable proportions by the awareness of her own increasingly ungainly appearance. She had no defence against another woman at the moment, and she applied the brush to her hair savagely, expunging her frustration by any means she could.
Her bedroom was on the upper floor of the two-storey building. It was an attractive room furnished in the modern style, but with traditional effects like the cedarwood ottoman in the corner, and the bed itself that stood on a low dais. There were even curtains to draw about the bed when privacy was desired, but Abby had never drawn them, and she couldn't remember Rachid doing so either. The room was light, and well-proportioned, with French doors opening on to an iron-railed balcony, and the air-conditioning which had been installed throughout the palace kept all the rooms cool in high summer, and free of dust when the hot dry winds blew in from the desert.
Abby had always admired her surroundings, their classic simplicity appealing to her. The tiled floor was always cool to her toes, and the sheets on the bed were made of silk. There were matching silk curtains at the long windows, a soft shade of honey, and the plain walls were hung with jewelled paintings, reflecting an historical love for colour.
But right now Abby found nothing appealing in her surroundings. She was confused and restless, unable to relax in the cool luxury of her bed, prevented from finding oblivion by the anxious turmoil of her thoughts. For the first time, sleep did not provide an answer, and turning out all but the lamp beside her bed, she pushed open the French doors and stepped on to her balcony.
It was a beautiful night. She had never seen stars so brilliant or a sky more reminiscent of black velvet. The air too was soft, and delicately perfumed, and she could almost believe there was a heaven, and she had accidentally stumbled into it.
A shadow moved in the garden below her, and her skin prickled. It cou
ld only be a guard, of course, but nevertheless she drew back a little, unwilling that anyone should observe her so scantily attired. She guessed that if he had seen her, he would conceal himself again, but the thought that she was under observation spoiled the magic, and brought the cold realities of her situation to the forefront of her mind.
She half turned towards the bedroom, and then froze as a dark figure stepped out from the trees, on to the terrace below her. It was not one of the guards. Without exception they wore Arabian dress, whereas the intruder below her was wearing European clothes. She tried to penetrate the shadows and identify her visitor, and as she did so he called softly up to her.
'Abby! Abby, it is I, Rachid. May I come up?'
Rachid! Her mouth dried instantly, but she moved almost automatically to the rail.
'What do you want?' she whispered, aware that other eyes might still be watching them. 'I—I was just about to go to bed.'
'I want to talk to you,' he said, his hands pushed deep into his trousers pockets. 'Surely you can spare me a few minutes of your time. And before you ask, it cannot wait until morning.'
Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'The servants are in bed. If I come down, I'll disturb them.'
'I know another way,' he replied, pulling his hands free and walking to the creeper that grew up to her balcony.
'You can't—that is—Rachid, it's too dangerous!' she protested, guessing his intent as he grasped the creeper and swung one leg up the wall. 'Oh, God, be careful, can't you? If the creeper breaks ...'
'It is very strong,' Rachid assured her, as he thrust one leg over the rail and stepped on to the balcony. 'See! I am quite safe. But it is reassuring to know that you were concerned about me.'
Abby struggled to retrieve her lost dignity. 'I would have been concerned about anyone,' she retorted, suddenly aware of her state of undress. 'What on earth did you want to speak to me about that necessitates scaling the walls of your own palace?'.
Rachid surveyed her very thoroughly, brushing his hands down the sleeves of his jacket, removing the creamy petals of the flowers that grew so profusely on the creeper. Then, with a polite gesture, he indicated the room behind them, and with an uneasy shrug she preceded him inside. It was obvious they could not talk on the balcony, within sight and sound of an eavesdropper, but she was reluctant to allow him access to the bedroom they had shared so intimately three years before.
With the doors to the balcony closed, Abby was supremely conscious of their isolation. She could not imagine why Rachid had come or what he had to say to her, and she pictured Suni's reaction if she was summoned to mediate between her mistress and her husband. Despite the girl's affection for her, Abby had no doubts where her real Joy aides would lie, and she wrapped her arms about herself as if to ward off the very real feelings of apprehension she was experiencing.
Rachid's eyes lingered upon her, noting the nervous tightening of her lips, the way her eyes darted this way and that. But if he guessed she was alarmed by his intrusion, he made no mention of it, and instead dragged his gaze away to survey the shadowy corners of the room.
'You are comfortable here?' he enquired, after a moment, making Abby draw in her breath. 'It is little changed, you will find, but you used to like it.'
'I'm very comfortable, thank you,' Abby hastened tautly. 'But that isn't why you're here, is it, Rachid? To ask about my comfort?' She licked her dry lips. 'Would you mind coming to the point? I can guess what this is all about, and if you're about to reprimand me for speaking carelessly in front of your grandmother, then I accept that what I said was—was in bad taste.'
Rachid's mouth drew into a thin line. 'Bad taste?' he echoed dryly. 'Is that what you think? To imply to my grandmother that I am having an affair with another woman, you consider is—bad taste?'
Abby sighed, bending her head, the silky mass of her hair falling about her ears, hiding her expression. 'I suppose it was—unforgivable,' she acknowledged. Then, summoning all her strength, she lifted her head and faced him. 'But what you did was unforgivable, too, wasn't it? Am I to have no redress?'
Rachid uttered an oath. 'There are times, Abby, when I have the almost irresistible urge to strike you!' He breathed heavily. 'What is this all about? What am I supposed to have done? What—unforgivable sin am I to pay retribution for now?'
Abby hesitated. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said: 'Why didn't you tell your family I was expecting a baby? Why was it such a closely-guarded secret? Were you ashamed? Or was it, as I said, expedient for you to keep it to yourself?'
Rachid took an involuntary step towards her, and then halted, grim-faced. 'You have a suspicious mind, Abby,' he grated coldly. 'Of what possible expediency could it be to me to keep such a thing silent?'
'As I said‑'
'I know what you said.' He took a deep breath. 'But contrary to your conjecture, there is no one else with a priorclaim to my—how did you put it?—exclusive attentions? And my sole reason for keeping your condition to myself was a personal one.'
Abby ran a nervous hand over the gentle swell of her stomach. 'How—how personal?'
Rachid's jaw clenched. 'If you must know the truth, I was—apprehensive‑'
'You? Apprehensive?' Abby almost laughed.
'Yes, I,' he snapped savagely. 'When I left you before Christmas, you were sick and desperate. How could I be sure you would not refuse to come with me when the time came? Call it pride, if you will, but I practised my deception for purely selfish reasons. Having suffered the ignominy of your repudiation once before, I hesitated to anticipate something which might be denied me. Particularly when your condition forbade me to take more violent action!'
Abby looked at him now, her eyes wary as she confronted his outraged indignation. Could it be true? Was that why he had kept the truth to himself? She wanted to disbelieve him, to justify her own outburst, but his sincerity was hard to ignore.
'So no one knew?'
'No.'
'Why did you tell them you were bringing me back here, then?'
Rachid shrugged. 'I told them you had agreed to return to me. That was enough.'
'Yet you told your grandmother I would not be staying after—after the child is born.'
'Correction—I told her you had only agreed to stay until the child was born.' His eyes darkened. 'Do you deny this is what you said?'
Abby turned aside, caught by a trap of her own making. 'I—I—do the rest of your family know of this?'
'No.'
His response was abrupt, and she turned her head to look at him, looping her hair behind her ear as she did so. 'Why not?'
Rachid shook his head. 'Would you have me appear an object of pity? A contemptible creature worthy only of scorn? A man whose wife turns to him only as a provider, someone to supply the needs of herself and her child?'
'Your child, too, Rachid!'
'Yes, my child, too,' he agreed hoarsely, 'but only because I took advantage of you, took advantage of your compassion for a sick man, is that not what you said also?'
Abby made a negative gesture. 'You're taking my words out of context, using them against me‑'
'Do you deny you only returned to me because of the child?' he demanded, stepping closer to her so that his warm breath fanned her cheek. 'Would you have returned otherwise, when no argument of mine could persuade you?'
'No ...' admitted Abby unhappily. 'But you know‑'
'I know nothing,' he retorted roughly. 'I am a man adrift on a cruel sea, tossed by tide and circumstances, defending I know not what. You say you care nothing for me, yet tonight you are all allure, all enticement in my presence. You say you despise me for what I am—well, what am I but a man, with a man's strengths and failings. You tell me you hate me, that I only want you for the child I hope you'll give me, but if that is so, why am I here now, fighting the desire to take you in my arms and administer the kind of sweet punishment only a lover can dispense?'
Abby's breathing felt suspended. 'You—you don't mean
that. Not after the way you behaved this morning. You— you said you didn't even want to touch me‑'
Rachid half closed his eyes against the unconscious seduction of her gently rounded figure, and Abby, watching him, felt again the unwilling stirring of her senses. She knew that if he didn't go soon, she would not have the strength to send him away, and her words were brusque as she sought to dispel the increasing intimacy between them.
'I—I think you should go,' she said, pressing her palms to the sides of her neck, moulding her hair to her nape. 'We—I—this has been quite a day, one way and another. Let's leave it now, while we're still on civil terms with one another, shall we?' She hesitated, and then added deliberately: 'If—if it's diversion you need, you'll have to look elsewhere, I'm afraid. You obviously misunderstood my—teasing. Go—go and look for Farah. I'm sure she'd be more than ready to‑'
His violent imprecation cut off her words, and his narrow fingers dug painfully into the smooth flesh of her upper arms. He stared at her with impassioned eyes, as he struggled to contain his temper, and then, with angry emphasis, he said:
'Do you want me to go to Farah, Abby? Is that what you really want? When you forbade me your bed two years ago, was it perhaps because you were bored with that side of our marriage, and you wished to be free of an unwanted responsibility…'
Abby gasped. 'You know why‑'
'Is that what you are saying now?' he persisted, ignoring her outburst. 'That even though you tremble when I touch you, you would rather avoid the inevitable conclusion to our love-play‑'
'No! No!' Abby spoke vehemently, forgetting for the moment exactly what she was saying in the need to defend her actions of two years before.
'No?' he taunted savagely. 'What would you have me believe? That you only kept me away from you because you were tired, because you were not well, perhaps?'
