by Anne Mather
'I tell you, you know why,' she asserted tremulously. 'Can you deny that Farah was the woman your father wanted you to marry?'
'No,' he agreed, frowning, his fingers in no way loosening their painful hold. 'But you knew that. It is no secret. I have never denied it.'
Abby's lips trembled. 'She was your mistress, wasn't she?'
'Haji, you shouldn't speak of such things!' he muttered harshly. 'You are my wife. It is not seemly that we should be discussing such matters. What Farah was or was not is not in question here‑'
'I disagree‑'
'And I overrule your disagreement,' he retorted grimly. He shook his head a trifle wearily. 'You persist in turning over things past. Can we not consider the present? The future?'
Abby looked down at his fingers circling her arm. 'Let go of me, please. I—I'm tired. I want to go to bed. Have the decency to leave me alone.'
'So-be it.'
With a heavy sigh his hand fell from her, and she covered the place it had been with protective fingers. It was always the same, she thought despairingly. They could never be together without the past rearing its ugly head, and no matter how much she might wish it were otherwise, there was no escaping the truth.
Rachid hesitated only a moment longer, and then strode towards the balcony, flinging open the doors and stepping out into the night air. Abby watched him anxiously, unwillingly aware of the sense of anticlimax his leaving always provoked. Reluctantly she acknowledged that only when she was with him did she feel truly alive, but somehow she had to overcome her weakness and face a future that had never seemed more uncertain.
Rachid swung his legs over the rail, grasping the creeper with what appeared to Abby to be careless hands. She wanted to caution him, but his eyes when she encountered them were hard and guarded, and the sardonic twist to his mouth deterred her instinctive warning.
'Saida,' he said, inclining his head in a mocking gesture, and then Abby's cry of dismay mingled with the awful tearing sound the creeper made as it pulled free of its holding.
Rachid hurtled to the terrace below with what appeared to Abby to be devastating speed. She stood for a moment, transfixed, frozen by the horror of what had happened, and then stumbled weakly to the rail, peering down desperately into the darkness.
There was movement on the terrace, Rachid and some one else, someone who was kneeling down beside him, muttering words in stammering Arabic. Abby guessed it was the guard she had seen earlier, and turning back into her bedroom, she gathered up her muslin wrap and tied it hastily about her. Then she wrenched open her door, fleeing down the stairs which only minutes before she had denied Rachid the use of, unlocking the doors on to the terrace and emerging with tautly-strung nerves and a fast- beating heart.
'Rachid!' His name burst from her lips as she neared the two figures, faint and anguished, full of remorse for what she saw as her own selfishness. 'Oh, Rachid! Are you all right?'
The guard rose at her appearance, making the usual gesture of obeisance before indicating Rachid, who was still squatting on the mosaic tiles of the terrace, one hand supporting his head.
'Prince Rachid has suffered no serious injury, my lady,' he reassured her in his own language, the moonlight falling on her pale face, illuminating its look of concern. 'Please do not distress yourself. All is well.'
'Thank God!' murmured Abby, with heartfelt gratitude, sinking on to her knees beside her husband, touching his sleeve with unsteady fingers. 'Rachid! Rachid, are you sure you're not harmed? That was a crazy, crazy thing to do!'
The dark eyes were turned into her direction, and there was cynicism in their depths. 'Do not tell me you were alarmed,' he told her bitterly. 'Were I to have smashed my skull on the fountain there, you would no longer be obliged to stay with me, would you? And your friend Daley would have what he has always wanted.'
Abby stared at him unhappily. 'Don't say that, Rachid! Of course I don't wish for anything to happen to you. I— I—oh,' she shook her head, 'can you get up?'
'With a little luck,' he assayed flatly, ignoring her outstretched hand and vaulting to his feet with more ease than she was able. 'You see, I am like the cat in your proverb. I have nine lives. I must have. You have already disposed with two of them.'
Before Abby could make any response the guard intervened.
'You are well, master?' he asked anxiously, disturbed by the bitter tone in Rachid's voice. 'You wish for me to help you back to your apartments?'
'Thank you,' inserted Abby, without waiting for her husband's response. Speaking in Arabic, she asked the guard if he would assist her in helping Rachid upstairs, and when her husband protested that these were not his apartments, she succeeded in overruling his objections by miming to the guard that he was still in a state of shock.
Apart from a slight limp, due he said to a bruised knee, Rachid had survived the fall without undue discomfort. It was remarkable really, but the distance between the balcony and the terrace was not so great, and Rachid had landed on his feet. As usual, thought Abby dryly, and then squashed the unworthy thought.
With the guard's departure, Rachid looked at his wife through narrowed eyes.
'Why did you do this?' he enquired, his voice taut with some emotion. 'Why could you not have allowed Rafid to take me back to my own rooms?'
Abby moved her shoulders awkwardly. 'I—I was worried about you,' she declared, aware that even to her ears it sounded thin. But then she didn't exactly know why she had asked Rafid to help Rachid upstairs, except that she had been unable to let him go without trying to make amends. 'Besides, you don't want the servants to gossip, do you? I mean, your falling from my balcony! That's certainly open to conjecture.'
Rachid expelled his breath on a weary sigh. 'And is our occupation of separate rooms not open to conjecture also? Do you not think our relationship inspires curiosity among almost everyone who lives in my father's house?'
Abby shrugged. 'I suppose it must.'
'Very well.' Rachid spread his hands. 'Then I will go— by the more conventional method this time. I will have the creeper attended to in the morning. Goodnight, Abby.'
'No! That is—wait, can't you?' Abby put out a hand towards him almost involuntarily. 'Rachid, I—I'm sorry.' He was very stiff suddenly. 'For what are you sorry?' Abby pressed her lips together. Even now, she couldn't forgive him everything. 'For—for making you use the creeper,' she murmured foolishly. 'I could have—I should have opened the door.'
'It is of no matter.' He was distant.
'Oh, but it is.' Abby couldn't help herself. She had to destroy that look of detachment he was wearing. 'Rachid, please! Do you forgive me?'
Without thinking, she had approached him, putting out her hand and touching his sleeve, drawing his attention to her with innocent provocation. With her hair loose about her shoulders, silvery fair where it brushed the darkness of his jacket, and her lashes still spiky from the dampness of the tears she had shed as she sped down the stairs, she was unknowingly entrancing, and Rachid, despite his stern exterior, was not unmindful of the fact.
'Go to bed, Abby,' he said thickly. 'There is nothing to forgive. I was reckless, and I paid the penalty. A hazard I have faced before, and no doubt will again.'
Abby gazed up at him reproachfully. 'You won't let me feel any better, will you?' she cried. 'You know I was to blame for what happened. Why can't we part as friends, not enemies?'
'I am not your enemy, Abby,' he insisted huskily. 'In the name of all the saints, why do you persist in tormenting me? Does it give you some kind of thrill to know what you are doing to me? Will you sleep easier knowing I shall not sleep at all?'
Abby's lips parted. 'Rachid ...' she murmured uncertainly. 'What do you mean?'
With a groan of anguish he turned towards her, looking down into her upturned face with tortured eyes. His features were taut with emotion, and unable to prevent herself, she lifted her hand and laid it against his cheek.
Long brown fingers captured hers, turning her hand against
his lips, his tongue probing its sensitive palm. Then, while she was still bemused by the breathtaking simplicity of his caress, he bent his head to her shoulder, pushing the muslin wrapper aside and exposing the delicate bones of her shoulder.To kiss her shoulder, he had to move closer, and his other hand slid around her thickening waist, drawing her ripening body nearer to the pulsating hardness of his. It made her overwhelmingly aware of his need of her, and while common sense urged her to break the embrace now, while she still had the chance, the throbbing magnetism he projected was a far more potent stimulant. She had been so long without the satisfying fullness of his possession, and in her over-emotional state she had little strength to fight the needs of her own body.
With the utmost gentleness Rachid swiftly divested her of the rest of her clothes, drawing in his breath as he surveyed the proud beauty of her unashamed nakedness. She was too aroused to care that earlier in the day she had denied him even the shadowy outline of her maturity, and in her quivering eagerness, she was the epitome of a woman fulfilled.
Rachid's breathing quickened as he tore off his jacket and tie, and Abby's urgent fingers sought the buttons of his shirt.
'Dear God,' he muttered, as her nails raked the arrowing of hair that grew down over his stomach, and unable to delay any longer, he swung her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.
He knew so well how to please her, she thought, as the mindless rapture of his hands upon her body invaded every corner of her mind, banishing all coherent reasoning, making her a slave to his demanding passion. She couldn't wait any longer to feel the hungry fascination of his mouth exploring hers, and when he came down beside her on the bed, she could only wind her arms around his neck as if she would never let him go. She revelled in the supple hardness of his body, in the muscled hardness of his thighs. The sheets had never felt more sensuous against her bare flesh, nor the warmth of the night air more inviting against her moistening skin. This was what she had been made for, she decided, as Rachid's arms closed about her, arching her body close to his, and she could only cherish the knowledge that whoever else had known his passion, only she was capable of bringing him to this peak of emotional frenzy ...
CHAPTER TEN
Two weeks later Nona sent for her.
Abby had neither seen nor heard from Rachid's grandmother since that fateful night they had dined together, and although she had been troubled that she might have offended the old lady, she had had more important things to worry about.
Her most pressing concern was her reaction to her husband. No matter how she tried to deny it, her feelings towards him would not respond to sane reasoning, and not even her assertion to herself that it was her condition which was making her vulnerable could alter the fact that she no longer wanted them to be apart.
It was doubly humiliating, feeling the way she did, when Rachid obviously felt no such communication. The morning after the night he had spent in her apartments, she had awakened to find him gone, and in spite of oblique messages, sent with Suni, encouraging him to come and see her, he had remained stubbornly remote. She had eventually come to the conclusion that he regretted giving in to the urges that had governed him, and his subsequent departure for Paris four days later, on a business trip for his father, had left her feeling raw and distraught.
Nona's message came as something of an anticlimax. Abby wasn't at all sure she wanted to see the old lady, to have her probe the softened shell of her defences, and possibly expose a sensitive nerve. But messages from the Dowager Princess were treated somewhat like a royal summons, and it would have been unthinkable not to attend.
Abby dressed carefully for her interview. Her visits outside the walls of her own apartments were so few and far between, she felt she owed it to herself to put on a brave front, and her pale pink shirt and matching coral pants spurned the advancing state of her motherhood. Indeed, she looked more like a schoolgirl than her sister-in-law, as Sophia escorted her to her grandmother's apartments, and the other girl touched her hand in admiration.
'I do not know how Rachid can bear to be parted from you,' she confessed, with a heavy sigh. 'I know he can be trying at times, but I am assured he cares for you very deeply, and for the child you are carrying, of course.'
'Of course,' said Abby dryly, trying to hide the anguish Sophia's gentle words evoked. The child was all-important, she thought bitterly. Even his father had accepted that fact.
Nona was reclining on a lounger in the shade of a cluster of date palms. She looked older than when Abby had last seen her, but perhaps that was because of the dark circles around her eyes, and Abby hastened to greet her, wondering if she had been remiss in not making any contact.
'Sit down, child, sit down!' Nona's voice had luckily lost none of its strength, and Abby accepted the basket seat beside her, refusing the glass of fruit juice a smiling servant proffered.
It was pleasant in the garden at this time of day, the sun not yet reaching its zenith, and the faintest of breezes swelling in from the coast. Abby closed her eyes for a moment as the cooling draught fanned her warm cheeks, and then opened them again as Nona began to speak.
'You are well?' she asked, her sharp eyes missing nothing of Abby's appearance. 'You look disgustingly healthy, and I ask myself, why should this be so, when Rachid grows increasingly morose.'
Abby was disconcerted by the sudden attack, but she endeavoured to conceal it. 'Rachid's—disposition has nothing to do with me,' she affirmed quietly. 'As—as a matter of fact, I seldom see him.'
'No?' Nona frowned. 'He doesn't share your apartments?'
'You know he doesn't.' Abby shifted uncomfortably.
'Why not?'
'Oh, Nona ...' With a sigh, Abby swung her feet to the ground. 'I'm sure Rachid has told you—has explained‑'
'Rachid has explained nothing,' Nona retorted with impatience. 'He refuses to discuss the matter. That's why I'm forced to turn to you.'
Abby rose to her feet. 'I tried to explain, the night we came to dinner. Our—our relationship is not a—a natural one-‑'
'Yet you are pregnant.'
'Yes.' Abby could not deny the inconsistency.
Nona shook her head, looking every one of her seventy- odd years. 'I don't understand. How can this be? When you left here, you said it was because you could not have a child.'
Abby shrugged. 'I was wrong.'
Nona frowned. 'But why were you so certain it was you? And why leave? Rachid was shattered. You know how much he cared for you. He even went against his father's wishes in marrying you.'
'I know that.' Abby made a helpless gesture. 'Nona, you don't understand ...'
'That's true—I don't.' The old lady fanned herself with agitated fingers. 'I gave you my support in this marriage, Abby. Surely I deserve some explanation.'
Abby sighed. 'Oh, Nona, it's not that easy ...'
'You used to be able to talk to me.' Nona looked up at her reproachfully. 'Why is it so hard now? Are you going to tell me that you don't love Rachid any more? Is that what you find so hard to say?'
'Yes. No. Oh, I don't know ...' Abby moved about the sunny terrace restlessly. 'I don't know what I feel any more.'
Nona's darkened brows arched. 'That's something anyway.'
'Is it?' Abby took a deep breath. 'What do you want me to tell you, Nona? I'm having Rachid's baby. Surely that must tell you something.'
'It should,' the old lady agreed. 'But it doesn't. I would like to know how it happened, but I suppose I should be accused of being inquisitive.'
Abby hesitated. 'While Rachid was in London, he—he was taken ill.'
'A touch of fever—yes, I know.' Nona nodded. 'It's a germ he picked up in the town. It recurs from time to time. I expect he told you he's been putting much time in at the hospital, teaching the children.'
'He didn't tell me.' Abby shrugged. 'Karim did. I didn't know anything about it.'
Nona nodded. 'You know how much Rachid loves children. Surely that's indirectly responsible for the present
situation.'
Now Abby frowned. 'How do you mean?'
Nona spread her hands. 'You left Rachid because you couldn't give him a child, or thought you couldn't, didn't you?'
Abby felt the hot colour fill her cheeks. 'That—that was part of it, yes.'
'Part of it?' Nona sat up. 'What else could there be?'
Abby bent her head. 'I'd rather not go into that.'
'Oh, very well.' Nona was impatient, but she contained her curiosity, saying instead: 'You were telling me about Rachid being ill. Did you care for him?'
'Oh, no. At least, not exactly.' Abby sought for suitable words to describe what had happened. 'We—er—we were having dinner together, when—when he was taken ill. I helped him to bed.'
'Ah, I see.' Nona's lips twisted a little wryly. 'A case of propinquity.'
'You could say that.' Abby assented.
'So what excuse do you offer for my grandson spending the night in your apartments two weeks ago, and then taking himself off on this trip to Europe, without even saying goodbye?'
Abby's face blazed now. 'How—how do you‑'
'How do I know he spent the night with you?' Nona shrugged. 'Surely you realise, after all these years, there's little that goes on in the palace without my hearing about it.' She made a moue with her lips. 'As it happens, I sent for him, later, after most of the household had gone to bed. I wanted to speak with him, to ask him—certain questions. When I discovered where he was, I decided, mistakenly, I now realise, that my questions were unnecessary. By the time I'd changed my mind, he had left for Paris.'
'Oh!' Abby linked her fingers together. 'I see.'
She was startled when Nona suddenly got to her feet, making a strangled sound of impatience. 'You love him, Abby, I know you do,' she declared irritably. 'In God's name, what is this silly game you're playing?'
Abby stepped back. 'It's no game, Nona,' she replied tremulously. 'Rachid wants an heir and, I hope, I'll provide one. That's the only reason I'm here. Anything else— anything else—is purely physical!'
