Three Daughters: A Novel (27 page)

“Phillips, this is my mother. Mother, Thomas Phillips.” Momentarily he thought Phillips was going to make a tasteless remark, thinking he was the victim of a practical joke. His mother’s beauty often embarrassed people. The English boy recovered and mumbled, “Howdoyewdo.”

She offered a smile so dazzling that even Samir, who had seen it countless times, was surprised. She had small, perfect features with eyes that widened at their outer edge, giving her face a dreamy look. Once in Jerusalem a tourist claiming to be a filmmaker had infuriated his father by following them and begging her to appear in a moving picture.

“Samir.” His mother reached to kiss his cheek, her face as noncommittal as a judge.

His father, on the other hand, was always darting about, his robes flying, a look of intensity on his face. He listened to this one and that one with sincere interest. He had a full jowly face of excellent color, a prominent nose, and fine, even teeth. He was shorter than his wife, though they were seldom side by side. If Samir had to sum it up, his father made people feel energized and hopeful while his mother left them dissatisfied.

“Come.” Samir took Phillips by the arm. “I want to show you the stables. The farm is an anomaly. It has the most sophisticated plumbing system in Palestine but the house is no more than a shack. My father insists that we all cram ourselves into it once a year for the fruit harvest—though none of us does the actual work. It’s always open and ready to shelter any passerby because my father has this romantic idea of the purpose it had in the old days. He says many young men hid here during the war and escaped conscription in the Turkish army.” Samir punched Phillips playfully. “If you find yourself pursued by an angry father because you’ve disgraced his daughter, you can always find shelter here.”

When they reached the stables, they heard a feminine voice talking seriously to the horses and they cleared their throats. When Samir saw that it was Nadia, the first thing he thought of was the scene in the foyer of the school, when she had smiled at Margaret’s father.
She looks lovely
, he thought, and an unexpected bittersweet feeling overtook him. He wished that Phillips weren’t there.

“
Megnuneh
. I’m daft,” she said, continuing to caress the flanks of a sorrel mare. “Hello.” She held out her hand to Phillips. “Don’t tell my parents I’m here. I promised to be sociable and scout the eligible boys.”

“You have two right here,” said Phillips and then, patting the horse, he added, “and another here.”

They all laughed. “Have you seen the tennis court?” asked Samir. “How about a match? I’ll find you a pair of Julia’s shoes.” They had been urged to dress casually, for it was a long day spent out of doors.

“I don’t think your mother would like us to play on the day of your sister’s betrothal.”

“She doesn’t mind what anyone does,” he said. “And my father wants the courts used to get a better return on his investment.”

She hesitated only a moment. “All right.”

“I’ll get the shoes and meet you at the court. It’s straight across that path.” He took Phillips with him and returned alone. “Rheema and Leila are showing Phillips the orchards.”

After she put on the shoes, she held the racket as if it were a sword. “I see you’re going to take this seriously,” he joked. “The look on your face is for combat.”

“You’re the second person who has used that word to describe me. Miss Bailey once told me I looked combative.”

“That could be said about you.”

“She said I didn’t smile enough. But why must everyone go around with an idiot grin? Isn’t it all right just to be yourself?”

“You’ve never smiled much at me, but”—he shrugged—“it’s not necessary.”

“Women are always smiling to show some man their good nature. They stop smiling soon enough. You must be sick to death of smiling girls. Has a woman ever frowned at you? Here, let me show you how it looks.” She scowled, crossed her eyes and then smiled, and for the second time he was entranced by the intricate curvature of her mouth. If, at that moment, he had cut through the profusion of his own taboos, he would have known that he wanted to kiss it.

They strolled onto the court and played a set, which he won. Before the second set, she walked to the outer limits of the court in a little circle with her head down. She cast a long, determined look at him as he waited patiently on the other side. “Samir,” she said soberly, “this time, I’m going to beat you.”

“Really? You’ve decided, have you?” He took a deep, invigorating breath. It was a beautiful day. To the west was the Mediterranean. To the south were the spires and rounded domes of Jerusalem. He could also see his mother standing in the middle of an admiring crowd. Poor Julia. Even though it was her party, her beautiful stepmother was the one who received the attention. Sara was barely thirty-seven. His father had been a widower with an infant daughter when he chose to marry the belle of Nablus.

He looked back at Nadia, who was his mother’s emotional opposite. Her face was flushed with effort, her eyes squinting into the sun, her expression intense. She was really going to try to beat him, a foolish strategy for a girl, her mother would tell her. To show herself superior to a man in anything was social death. He smiled to himself. Wouldn’t she be furious to hear such a thing? She would attack him like a tiger. The determination on her face made her appear more vulnerable than formidable. He served the ball. It took thirty-five minutes—she ran like a demon and used every advantage—but she beat him.

“I would give you another chance, but my parents will be looking for me. Oh, look”—she pointed to an arriving car—“here’s Father Simon. Don’t you have to be in the ceremony?”

“Yes. My father wants me to give Julia away. My first act of command.” He smiled to show he didn’t take himself seriously.

As they walked toward the tents, they passed the stone cottage. “You’re welcome to come here and ride. The cottage is kept up by Mary Thomas at the bottom of the hill. Use it as much as you like. The horses would benefit from a good fast ride.”

“I’d like that.” She was impressed with his graciousness. He made it sound as if she would be doing him a favor to ride his horses.

He looked down at the crowd. “Julia looks lovely.”

“She’s very happy to be marrying Peter.”

“Yes. And you? What are your plans now?”

“Margaret’s father has asked me to take a job as interpreter for his agency.”

That bit of news changed his lighthearted mood. “What do your parents say? They won’t allow it,” he stated flatly.

“Yes,” she insisted, and there was defiance in her voice, “they will.”

“Oh.” He was nonplussed and studied her face for more clues about Victor Madden. Had her voice caught as she said,
Margaret’s father
? She met his gaze fleetingly but then looked away.

“And you?” she continued, sounding offhand. “Will you become engaged next summer? Who’s the lucky cousin?”

“That’s one issue on which my father and I disagree.”

“What? On getting married?”

“On marrying relatives. In England it’s against the law, I think. I’m not keen on it either.”

She was surprised by the statement and the seriousness of his tone. “Why not?”

“I don’t think it’s sound. I don’t think it’s good genetically for the children. It doesn’t give them the best chance.”

“Don’t do it then,” she said quietly, and he thought she appeared slightly dejected. “You have a whole lot to choose from.” He noticed that when she was trying to sound the most sure she had a habit of facing away, as if to hide some frailty. She was walking ahead of him and he had a moment to study her. She had swept her hair up carelessly to reveal a slender, sculpted neck with well-defined tendons that became pronounced when she turned her head. He thought,
She will never see herself from this vulnerable angle. I feel I should protect her.

At this moment she turned and caught the unmistakable look on his face. “Nadia.” He reached out and put a finger on her lips and felt their incredible softness. His entire body focused on her mouth. He wanted to cover it with his, to feel it move under his own lips, to taste her, to bruise her. For an instant—it couldn’t have been more than three or four seconds—he reveled in the exquisite sensation that ignited his body. There was the maddening pressure of full breasts caught against him. He raised his hand and reached to caress that soft velvet fullness and then—it was over. She pulled away with a look of fury in her eyes.

“Did you have a bet with Phillips?” All that talk of taboos. “ ‘I’m not keen on marrying relatives,’ ” she mimicked him cruelly. “Oh, Samir”—her eyes were filled with angry tears—“how could you?”

He knew that nothing he said would make it right and let her run alone toward the group while he turned back to deal with his discovery.

Why her? Why, when he could have chosen from so many girls? “I did mean what I said about marrying relatives,” he muttered to himself. “I won’t do it to myself or to her.” He walked quickly toward the crowd and thanked God that he had passed the matriculation exams. In two weeks, he’d be safely in London.

23.

YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM, AREN’T YOU?

O
f course. You must be Nadia.” The attractive, well-groomed woman stretched out her hand but only grazed the fingers before retrieving it. “Georgia Leeds. Victor’s away for two days. A friend of Margaret’s, are you?”

There was something wrong. Georgia Leeds was clipping the ends of her words as if she resented speaking at all. “Perhaps I should come back when Mr. Madden returns.”

“No.” Click, click, click went her heels. Clip, clip, clip went her words. “He wants you to get accustomed to the place.” She took a folder of reports out of a filing cabinet. “I’ll show you your office, but don’t settle in. We’re moving to the new hotel in the next block just as soon as the suites are painted.”

Nadia followed her into a windowless cubicle incongruously furnished with an ornate mahogany desk and a flashy Oriental-looking chair. A fan had coaxed a breeze in the other room, but here the air was heavy and still. She swallowed hard and pushed back her hair from her damp brow.

“These are some progress reports on what’s been done to improve our relations with the local races.” Georgia Leeds put the folder on the desk. “You’ll get some idea of what our problems are.” Her voice was breathy and insinuating and Nadia decided she, like so many, was unhappy to be away from her country. Yet she wasn’t prepared for what took place at lunch, which Georgia insisted they have together.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Nadia dropped her fork. “In love with whom?”

“You’re in love with Victor, and you’re certain if you stay close to him, he’ll fall in love with you, too.”

“That’s not true.” She considered getting up and walking out, but a part of her weighed the idea that this was the way sophisticated people behaved. “I’m happy to have the job.” She was feeling pleased that she was handling the situation.

“Ooh, job, job, job! There’s no real job.” She stabbed at her meat impatiently. “Don’t you see? He just wants to have you around.”

Nadia was too stunned to answer right away. Then, although excited by the idea, she got control of herself. “He wants me as an interpreter. To talk to the Bedouin.”

“He can get twenty men from the office pool to talk to the bloody Bedouin. But they’re not nubile popsies.” She looked around at the diners with such a look of frustration that Nadia felt sorry for her. “Just be warned.”

“Warned of what?”

“Of Victor’s predilection for anything in skirts. He can smell it a mile away. Right now, when he’s well aware that his new raw recruit was coming in, he’s taken the jollyboat
to Tyre with the woman who does the payroll. If he puts a bag over her head, she’ll do fine. Big boobs and tight skirts is how she advertises her virtues.” Satisfied to see Nadia blanch, she softened her tone. “Just take it from Auntie Georgia—if you’re serious about wanting a job, keep your affections on some nice chap outside the office. Our friend Victor is only after one thing.”

His new raw recruit. Taken the jollyboat to Tyre with the woman who does the payroll. Our friend Victor is only after one thing.
The phrases strung together like freight cars on a locomotive chugging through her brain, each loop bringing a stronger wave of incrimination. How stupid she had been to think he found her special.
Anything in skirts.
He can smell it a mile away.
That awful crude image had made her almost afraid of Georgia. Her thighs tightened and she pressed them together and rocked slightly in her chair.

When Victor showed up on the third day, she was too resentful to say a civil “good morning.” When he asked her to have lunch, her suspicions doubled.

“Thank you, no.” She said it so quickly and sharply that he blinked.

“Lunch makes you angry? Is it unhappy memories of luncheons past?” He looked around. “Angry over this cramped little office? We’re moving soon.”

She had to smile. He saw her as so much bolder than she was. His fresh shirt and polka-dot tie and lopsided smile were as disarming as ever, but she made up her mind to stick to business. “I really don’t see the purpose of my being here. There’s a pool of interpreters you can choose from. I’ve read over all the programs for coaxing the Arabs and Jews and Muslims to feel affection for the British and for each other, and I find them thoughtful and inventive. I couldn’t improve on any of them. You probably thought I was far more knowledgeable and could give you something beyond this, but I can’t. I can’t. Don’t feel you have to stick to your offer. It’s perfectly all right. I’m not disappointed.”

He looked dazed. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I can’t see the purpose of my being here. There’s no real job for me.”

“Ah . . . that’s better. Now I get it. Hmm.” He put his hand to his chin. “I can see why you might feel that way. Some aspects of public relations are amorphous. Certain contacts—it can be as simple as a successful luncheon where the food is just right—will soften a man’s heart and make him willing to accept you as a comrade, while an elaborate reception with a full band will harden him against you. If you deliver Lord Cavendish’s sincere felicitations in your lovely classical Arabic, how can it not make a difference?”

She looked doubtful. “But what about day to day?”

“Oh, there’s plenty of translation needed—the local editorials, news items. And many days we’ll be in the field. We’re going to go where the people are and where the problems can be witnessed firsthand.”

“Where? In the streets?”

“Perhaps in the streets, but I have something else in mind. Something in the area of sports. There’s no better way to cement relations than with friendly sports competition. Now, have you changed your mind about lunch?”

Nadia looked worriedly in the direction of Georgia’s desk and Victor caught the look. “I get it. Georgia’s been warning you about me, is that it?” She turned bright red. “Don’t worry. Georgia should have gone to work for the Temperance Union around the corner. She feels a passion to save people from themselves. Come on.”

There were three wonderful aspects to the luncheon. The King David Hotel was easily the most glamorous building in all of Jerusalem. It had been designed by Swiss architects and belonged to the same Egyptian Jew who owned the famous Shepheard Hotel in Cairo. The building was made of
mizzi ahmar
, the pale rose stone that turns golden with the sun. The window frames and shutters were lime green. Sudanese waiters in white pantaloons and red tarbush carried food-laden trays across polished marble floors while piano music played in the background. The second wonderful thing was that several of her remarks made Victor smile. Right before her eyes, he seemed to be growing more interested in her. The third wonderful thing happened at the end. Just as she had tilted her head back to enjoy a healthy laugh—the picture of a carefree woman living on the very edge of modern life—Samir Saleh was led to a table at just the perfect angle to witness the entire scene. It was all she could have hoped for.

“Where were you?” Miriam sounded angry. She was angry but trying to control herself.

“I went shopping for a new skirt.”

“A new skirt?” Her voice was both ridiculing and accusatory. “Samir was here to say good-bye.”

“So?”

“He waited forty-five minutes. He wanted to see you.” Where Samir was concerned, her usually serene mama was like everybody else—anxious, hopeful and obsequious.

“Oh, Mama, what does it matter?”

“What does it matter? Nadia, what’s wrong with you? You take delight in dismissing any important thing.”

“Important to you, perhaps.” Her mother’s eyes became anxious and Nadia regretted her dismissive tone. “Suppose I had been home. What do you think that would have accomplished? Absolutely nothing. We would have talked for a few minutes. I would have wished him good luck. He would have wished me good luck and felt that he had done the proper thing. That’s what’s really important to him. He’s a rich, privileged boy, Mama, and he’s going to marry a rich, privileged girl.”

“That’s not true. He helped me with the spinach pies. He actually rolled out the dough and even filled some of them—he was anxious that he wasn’t doing a good job, can you imagine? He’s not arrogant in the least. Nadia”—her mother’s voice became conciliatory, but Nadia knew it took great effort—“stop over there. Go to his house and tell him you’re sorry you missed him.”

“No. I’m not going to do that.”

“Nadia, please. He seemed so humble. Almost as if he were afraid you wouldn’t see him. I got the feeling—well, I think he cares for you.” She looked up from her cooking with such a childishly hopeful expression that Nadia felt embarrassed to see it.

“He doesn’t care for me, Mama. He feels at home with me, that’s all.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Miriam looked thoughtful. “I’m not just being foolishly romantic. I could tell he was feeling something.”

When Nadia thought of Samir, she thought of the kiss, and it kept her angry and confused. When she thought of the kiss, she remembered the hungry action of his lips at the moment when they pressed on hers. Even if it had started out to be a casual kiss, it had not ended as one. She hated him for using her like that, but a part of her was thrilled to be so wanted. He had probably come to apologize.

“Mama, I can’t go. Please don’t ask me. And anyway, what good would it do? He’s going to be in England for a long time. We’ll both be very different people when he comes back.”

Samir sailed from the port of Jaffa with twelve other passengers on a coal-burning cargo ship of the Khedevieh Line, which was under British control. He left on September 10, allowing himself three weeks to make the trip and arrive in time for the fall term at the London School of Economics, which had become recognized as part of London University for the BSc degree in economics. The ship dropped cargo at Naples and Lisbon and that was the last comfortable climate he was to know.

The school was located in Aldwych, just off the Strand, and about a mile from Bloomsbury, the central university site. He was assigned a cold and drafty room on Fitzroy Street but it might as well have been off the face of the earth as he knew it. He had left his home during the hottest and driest season. Now he was never—and this included the time spent in bed—quite warm enough. The pervasive damp chill took its toll—he developed a miserable head cold that hung on.

He was unsettled and lonely and his loneliness centered around one person. It was a time in his life when he needed something to dream about and represent all that he loved and missed of home. And the only girl he had to dream about was Nadia. He couldn’t really miss his mother or father and he had become used to having Julia gone. Phillips was at the University of Glasgow. Who else was there to whom he could feel an attachment? He built silly little daydreams about her as he tried to find some warmth in the drafty, ancient halls. He doodled her initials and sometimes her name on scraps of paper. On the playing fields at Malden he imagined looking up at the stands and seeing her there. He couldn’t forget the feel of her wide, sensual mouth. She had returned his kiss. It was fleeting but he had felt it.

As Margaret had said, she couldn’t have done a more thorough job of bewitching him if she had hired a sorceress.