Sandstorm (15 page)

Supporting herself against the coolness of the pillar, she rested her cheek against her arm. Sofia, noticing her movements, had looked up from her book, and now she smiled encouragingly at her. Of all the members of Rachid's family, Sofia was the only one who had not changed towards her, and Abby was grateful for the girl's devotion. Perhaps the fact that Sofia's mother had died just before Abby first came to Abarein had made her turn to the English girl. Whatever the reason, the twelve-year-old Sofia had been immediately attracted to her elder brother's wife, and Abby had welcomed her undemanding affections. Now, at sixteen, Sofia was approaching the fullness of womanhood, but her affections had not changed, and without her Abby would have been desolate indeed.

'It is almost time for lunch,' she said now, putting down her book and getting up .from the bench she had been occupying. 'Are you hungry?'

Abby made a rueful moue with her lips and then smiled, running an exploring hand over the swelling mound of her stomach. 'A little,' she admitted. 'If I'm not careful I'm going to, get as fat as Yasmin.'

'Not you.' Sofia was indignant. 'Besides, you could do with putting on a little more weight. You were quite thin when you came here.'

'I'm not thin now,' Abby pointed out dryly, and Sofia gave her a studied look.

'No, you are not,' she conceded thoughtfully. 'Having a baby obviously suits you. You are—how do you say it? —blooming!'

Abby's laughter was soft. 'Thank you. You're very kind.'

'It is true.' Sofia spoke with feeling. 'If I were Rachid‑'

'But you're not,' Abby interrupted her firmly. Then: 'Have you finished your book?'

'Not yet.' Sofia accepted the reproval with good grace. 'What do I need with Homer? I am to marry Kasim. Why must I learn Latin and Greek? So long as I know how to please a man, that is the important thing, is it not?'

Abby shook her head at Sofia's deliberately outrageous statement. She knew that the girl would not dare make such remarks in either her father's or her brothers' presence, but she felt at ease with Abby, and they shared the same sense of humour.

'I imagine Kasim will expect his wife to be intelligent as well as beautiful,' Abby responded now. 'You wouldn't want him to think you hadn't a thought in your head outside your home and your children, would you?'

'Like Yashti, you mean?' Sofia suggested wickedly, coming closer to stroke her fingers down the long silvery braid of hair Abby wore over her shoulder for coolness. 'I sometimes wonder if she has ever opened a book.' She giggled. 'She certainly finds it hard to read the guilty look on Hussein's face, after he has spent a night in the medina!'

'Sofia!'

The unexpected harsh tones startled both girls, and Sofia spun round in alarm to face her elder brother. Neither of them had been aware of his entrance, his sandalled feet making little sound on the marble floor, and Abby felt her own nerves tighten as Sofia stammered her apologies.

'I—I did not know you—you were there, Rachid,' she articulated jerkily, and Abby, taking pity on her, made her own taut contribution.

'You so seldom honour us with your presence, my lord,' she taunted mockingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing Rachid's anger turn from his young sister to herself.

'Oh, Abby ...' It was Sofia who spoke, aware of the other girl's sacrifice, but Abby only shook her head in silent admonition, and the girl took the hint and said nothing more.

'Leave us, Sofia!' Rachid commanded curtly, his eyes hard as they rested on his wife, and with a little helpless gesture she complied, leaving Abby to face her husband's wrath alone. But it was not in her nature to defy the male members of her family, particularly her father or her elder brother.

With the girl's departure, however, Abby's momentary desire for the offensive died, and self-consciously aware of how the sunlit courtyard beyond her must be outlining the swollen fullness of her abdomen, she turned abruptly into the apartment, placing herself in a less revealing position.

'To what do I owe the honour of this visit?' she enquired, endeavouring to sound casual, but Rachid was not yet ready to tell her.

'I should be grateful if you would refrain from encouraging Sofia to mock the other members of my family,' he declared coldly, prowling restlessly about the exquisitely- appointed salon. 'I know she respects you and seeks your company, and I should not care to have to forbid her to visit you here.'

'What I' Abby stared at him, irritated for once by the dark blue robes he was wearing, in deference to his father's wishes. His head was even covered by the swathe of a kaffiyeh, and the shadow of his beard showed on his jaw- line. He had never looked more alien, or more arrogant, and she felt she hated him for his unfeeling self-assurance. 'You're threatening to stop Sofia from visiting me?' she exploded. 'Oh, Rachid, do you think I'm corrupting her, is that it?'

His dark eyes were hard and unyielding as he halted in front of her. 'Perhaps,' he conceded, making the blood pound inside her head. 'You cannot deny you have no love for Yashti, but I will not permit my sister to speak disrespectfully of her elders.'

Abby sucked in her breath. 'You're afraid she'll exhibit some human instincts, aren't you?' she exclaimed tremulously. 'You're afraid that, like me, she'll show a little independence. Just because Yashti is content to live the life of a vegetable‑'

'Enough!' His hand descended in a cutting gesture. 'I did not come here to discuss your opinion of my family.'

'No, I didn't suppose you did,' she countered, unwilling to be silenced like a child. 'You'll have to forgive me if my conversation is somewhat limited. Sofia is a sweet child, and I love her very much, but her chatter does tend to be rather juvenile, and naturally I cannot help but be influenced. However, as you so seldom find the time to visit this part of the palace, I suppose I should be grateful. At least she cares what happens to me. She doesn't treat me like a leper. She doesn't behave as if the sight of me disgusted her‑'

She broke off abruptly at this point, realising that once again she was going too far. But she was never so conscious of her appearance as she was in Rachid's presence, and in his eyes she was sure she was fat and clumsy, and hopelessly ungainly.

The silence in the room made her apprehensive, and she cast a surreptitious glance behind her to find Rachid standing staring at her, his hands secured behind his back. It ' made her feel even more self-conscious, and she twisted her fingers together, wishing he would say what he had to say and go.

'I understood that you would not welcome my presence,' | he said suddenly, his voice harsh and with an underlying thread of anger. 'Can you deny that you made your feelings painfully clear in London? What am I to assume from your present attitude? That your condition has mellowed your reactions to me? That cut off from all your friends and acquaintances you are desperate for anyone's company, even mine?'

'You can assume whatever you like,' she retorted, annoyed to find she was trembling. 'You can make whatever excuses you like for not visiting me, for treating me like some shameful skeleton you'd like to keep in the cupboard. Only skeleton isn't quite the word, is it? Just the reverse. j I realise I must look inelegant to you, but‑'

'You are talking rubbish!' he overrode her violently, tearing the kaffiyeh from his head as if it irritated him. 'And you must know it. A woman with child is the fulfilment of her destiny, and no man could turn aside from his own procreation.' His voice was raw with emotion. 'You have never looked more beautiful, Abby, and I am never unaware of it. So do not speak to me of skeletons and cupboards. Not when I am forbidden to lay my hands on you!'

Abby quivered, aroused by his sensuous words so that she hardly knew what she was saying. 'Do you want to lay your hands on me, Rachid?' she whispered, circling her dry lips with her tongue, and she saw the way his knuckles whitened over the kaffiyeh in his hands.

His smouldering dark eyes bored into hers, tearing aside the gauzy threads of her defensive shield. In spite of all that had gone before, she ached for him to touch her, and her foolish expostulations melted like snow in the disruptive heat of his nearness. It was over three months since he had held her in his arms in her father's study, and shown her how weak she really was, and so much longer than that since she had known his searing possession. For whatever reason, she was remembering that now, remembering it and remembering too her own foolishness in denying that need. Right now she would have given anything to feel his hard body close to hers, and she took an involuntary step towards him, inviting his undisputed claim.

'No,', he said suddenly, his anguished voice destroying the sensuality of the moment. 'No, Abby, I do not wish to touch you.' He ran one hand round the back of his neck, massaging the muscles there as if they pained him. 'It is not my intention to promote any further contact between us, other than that which the situation demands.'

Abby fell back in dismay, her humiliation at being repulsed compounded by the belief that his previous words had been only a sop to what he saw as her vanity. It was obvious he had really come here to undermine her friendship with Sofia, and bitterness rose like bile in the back of her throat.

'I think you'd better go,' she said, turning away to smooth her fingers over the delicate moulding of an alabaster statuette that supported a vase of thickly-petalled blossoms on its head. 'And you'd better tell Sofia, if you don't want her to visit me again. I don't see why I should do your dirty work for you.'

Her voice broke on the final syllable, and his muttered: 'Abby!' was at once angered and tormented. 'I have no desire to prevent Sofia from visiting you. On the contrary, I know she finds your companionship stimulating. I only ask that you should not condone her disobedience of my father's wishes.'

Abby bent her head, the silvery braid falling softly over the swell of her breasts. The action exposed the delicate curve of her nape, and the silky tendrils of hair that coiled there, but she was unaware of it, only conscious of her own sense of deprivation. She wished Rachid would go, before her emotions got the better of her, and although she was grateful for his indulgence so far as Sofia was concerned, she saw no reason in prolonging the interview.

However, Rachid made no move to leave her, and she had turned her head, ready to demand his departure, when he said harshly: 'I was speaking with Nona on the telephone last evening.'

'Your grandmother? Really?' Abby shrugged. 'What has that to do with me?'

'She is coming home today,' he replied, with emphasis. 'And she has asked that we—you and I—should join her for dinner this evening.' He took a deep breath. 'That is why I came. Not to spy on you and Sofia.'

Abby's nails curled into her palms. 'Of course you told her we could not.'

'No.' Rachid's voice was grim. 'I told her we should be delighted.'

'Then you'll have to make some excuse,' retorted Abby tightly. 'As you've just said, you have no wish to promote any further contact between us.'

'I added—other than the situation demands,' he countered violently. 'The present situation demands that we spend the evening together. I want your assurance that you will obey me in this.'

'Obey you?' Abby managed a ragged smile. 'Oh, Rachid, you do say the most tactful things!'

'I do not feel very tactful when I am with you,' he retorted, breathing heavily. 'Well? Will you come?'

Abby hesitated, but the temptation of an evening in the company of a woman she both liked and admired was irresistible.

'Very well,' she agreed, and saw the look of relief that crossed his lean face. 'I will meet you there at—what? Eight? Nine o'clock?'

'Make it eight o'clock,' he agreed, unfolding the cloth of the kaffiyeh. 'Until later, then.'

'Inshallah,' murmured Abby mockingly, and had the sadsfacdon of seeing the uncertainty in his expression.

Abby dressed for the dinner appointment that evening with more enthusiasm than on any occasion since she had returned to Xanthia. She told herself it was because it was so long since she and Nona had seen one another, and she wanted to make a good impression, but deep inside her she knew a perverse desire to make Rachid regret what he had denied.

Seated before the mirror in her dressing room, she studied her complexion with critical eyes. Her skin had the honey bloom of the sun upon it, and needed little improvement, but she darkened the curling length of her lashes with mascara, and applied a subtle eye make-up that accentuated their slightly upward slant. Her mouth benefited from the application of a shiny lip lustre, and she licked her lips experimentally, liking the delicate flavour.

Leaving the mirror, she threw back the doors of her wardrobe and studied the row of clothes that confronted her. Before returning to Abarein she had equipped herself with some new clothes, suitable to both her condition and the climate, but she had to concede now that her choice had been uninspired. At the time she had felt little interest in anything, and the physical miseries of her condition had only added to her indifference. Now, however, the sickness had left her, and with it much of her apathy. There were times like now when she could even think positively, and she sighed in impatience over the balloonlike cottons and billowing silks.

She was still standing there, trying to decide what to wear, when a young girl came bustling through from the bathroom. Suni was her personal maid, and she had been clearing up after Abby's bath, but now she viewed her mistress's robed figure with evident agitation.

'It is almost a quarter to eight,' she exclaimed, in her own language, and Abby responded likewise.

'I know it,' she said, the Arabic syllables tripping easily off her tongue. 'But I cannot decide what to wear. They are all so—tentlike!'

Suni giggled, her dark face splitting with amusement. She was a pretty little thing, no more than fifteen or sixteen, Abby guessed, and since her imposed exile they had become close friends, much to Sofia's disapproval. 'It is not suitable that you make friends with a servant, Abby,' she reproved her on occasion, but Abby had replied that beggars could not be choosers, a proverb her sister-in-law chose to ignore.