Sandstorm (20 page)

'It is such a shame,' Suni was saying now, her fingers moving rhythmically over Abby's scalp. 'You and Prince Rachid—you seem so right for one another. Now if it was Prince Hussein—ayi, well, that would be different.'

Abby knew she ought not to gossip, but she had to ask the question: 'If what was Prince Hussein, Suni?'

The Arab girl coloured hotly. 'It is not for me to say, mistress,' she mumbled, turning aside to replace the brush on the dressing table, but Abby would not let her go so easily.

'No, tell me,' she insisted, and with a reluctant gesture, Suni complied.

'I only meant that Prince Hussein is not like his brother, mistress.' She hesitated. 'I do not think he would care too much if the Princess Yashti went away, do you?'

Abby shrugged. 'I hadn't thought about it.'

In truth, she did not know her brother-in-law that well. Their meetings had been confined to family gatherings, and in the early days she and Rachid had shunned too much company. Later, they had joined family dinner parties, but her association with Hussein had been limited by the overt hostility of his wife. Yashti was passionately jealous of her husband's attentions, and that was why Sophia found it so easy to mock her. Perhaps Hussein was a bit of a philanderer, perhaps he did have a mistress in the medina. But at least he was discreet about it, and no words of his illicit liaisons came to his wife's ears.

The subject was dropped, but Abby couldn't forget what Suni had told her. Was Rachid upset that she was leaving? Was that why he was spending long hours in his study? She lay awake at night, pondering her own reactions to his behaviour, and finding it increasingly hard to be unemotional about it. Her own feelings were so uncertain. She no longer knew what she wanted any more. Even the affair with Farah was fading into insignificance beside the persuasive thought that perhaps she had been partly to blame. If she had not believed herself to be incapable of bearing children, she might not have reacted so violently to the knowledge of her husband's infidelity, and surely there should be something in the marriage contract about forgiveness.

Nevertheless, the opportunity to see Rachid, and discover for herself how he really felt, was not presented to her. The day before she was leaving for England, she was told he had left to visit the oil refinery at Abramoud, and was not expected back until nightfall. She suspected he had gone away deliberately, to avoid any confrontation between them before she left, but she spent the day in restless seclusion, aware that somehow she had to see him before she boarded the plane. If only he was coming with her, she thought, nibbling at her nails in nervous anticipation. She needed him, she admitted it now, and if it was at all possible, she had to tell him so.

Suni informed her of Rachid's return, when she came to help her undress that night. It was late, already after eleven o'clock, but Abby had asked her to wait until the sleek limousine passed between the palace gates. If Suni wondered why her mistress wanted to know, she asked no questions, and Abby allowed herself to be disrobed with a tremulous sense of destiny weakening her knees.

The night was very dark. There was no moon, and even the stars seemed muted in their velvet bed. But the scent of jasmine was intoxicating, and Abby's senses were stirred by its hypnotic perfume.

She waited until Suni had left her, and then, donning a cream silk robe over her high-waisted nightgown, she descended the shallow staircase. Halfway down, she was disturbed by a sudden pain in the small of her back, but guessing it was due to all the exertions she had suffered at the hands of her medical advisers, she paid it little heed. She had had various minor discomforts from time to time that day, but with so much else on her mind, she had little thought for herself.

On the terrace she hesitated, aware that she had never walked through the gardens alone at night, and that although she knew where her husband's rooms were, he could just as easily be in his study. 'Princess!'

The harsh tones of one of the guards brought her round in a whirl of confusion. But his features were gentle as he looked down at her, and she realised he could help her.

'I—I want to speak with Prince Rachid,' she averred, trying to behave as if her silken robes were her normal mode of attire. 'Do you know where he is? Can you take me to him? It is most important, or I would not be here.'

The guard looked doubtful. 'My lord the Prince has retired, my lady,' he replied gravely. 'However, I can give him a message, if you will, and maybe, if it is urgent, he will come to see you.'

'No. No, that's not what I want.' Abby tried not to sound as agitated as she felt. 'Please, I know what I'm doing. If you will escort me to the Court of the Eagles ...'

The guard was not sufficiently familiar with Abby to argue. 'Very well, my lady,' he agreed, with a polite bow. 'If you will come this way ...'

The soft ferns that grew along the path caressed her sandalled feet as she accompanied the guard between the espaliered fruit trees. The cry of a night bird, disturbed by their passage, was wild and eerie, and there were rustlings in the undergrowth, as the night creatures scuttled out of their way. It was late, and the palace was almost completely in darkness, except for the lamps that burned in their sconces and cast a mellow light over burnished copper shades.

Rachid's rooms seemed in darkness also, but as they approached Abby glimpsed a faint light beyond the shutters of his bedroom. Perhaps he was working, she thought hopefully, and then caught her breath as another thought occurred to her. What if he was not alone? she fretted.

What if that was why the guard had been so reluctant to escort her?

'Thank you, I can make it from here,' she said now, as they reached the terrace, and the guard gave her a troubled look.

'Would you not like me to summon Prince Rachid for you, my lady?' he suggested hopefully, but Abby shook her head.

'I've told you, I can manage,' she replied firmly. 'Thank you for your assistance. Goodnight.'

The guard shrugged, and after a moment strode away, but Abby guessed he would hover within hearing distance until he was assured she had gained entrance. Realising this, she hastily mounted the steps of the terrace and surveyed the heavy iron ring that was suspended by the panelled doors. Experience had taught her that these bells made a deafening sound and were seldom used these days. There had to be some other way of attracting Rachid's attention, and after a moment's hesitation she went back down the steps. A handful of stones should do it, she thought, looking about her impatiently, but as she bent to pick up some pebbles, another pain attacked her.

It was much more severe this time, a distinct jabbing sensation in the lower area of her spine, and she let out an involuntary cry as it caught her unawares. She straightened with some difficulty, mentally chiding herself for making such a revealing sound, and then sighed in frustration when the guard came hurrying back.

'You are ill, my lady?' he exclaimed, with much urgency. 'You cried out. What is it? Is something wrong? Did Prince Rachid not answer your call?'

'I haven't called yet,' Abby retorted, half impatiently, albeit a little troubled herself by the weakening aftermath of the pain. 'I was just about to throw a few stones at the shutters‑'

The guard's instinctive reproof was silenced by another, more aggressive, tone. 'What in hell is going on here, Hassan? Have you no more sense than to argue with your woman outside my apartments?'

Abby swung round a trifle fearfully, as her husband came striding across the terrace and down the shallow steps. He had obviously been preparing for bed, for he was wearing only a loose caftan, made of striped linen, and its open neckline exposed the bare column of his throat. Even in the shadowy light spilling from the open doorway behind him, his features looked gaunt and haggard, and his impatience with the servant was uncharacteristic of his usual courtesy. He had obviously mistaken Abby's robes for the robes of an Arab woman, but his expression changed as the breeze took the silken glory of her hair, and blew it in an aureole of silver about her head.

With a frown replacing the anger he had previously exhibited, Rachid came to an abrupt halt. 'Ah, my apologies, Hassan,' he said, as Abby took a few nervous steps towards him. 'It seems I was mistaken. I did not expect my wife to visit me this evening.'

'I regret the intrusion, my lord.'

All Hassan wanted to do was get away, and with an understanding nod, Rachid gave him his dismissal. Then, as Abby reached the steps beside him, he offered her his arm to mount them and escorted her silently inside the building.

But once inside he released her immediately, indicating the salon to one side of the wide hallway, switching on lamps to illuminate her progress.

When she had traversed half the room and come to a halt beside a low plinth on which resided a bowl of desert roses, he could contain himself no longer, and in low incisive tones he demanded to know why she had come.

'I thought the arrangements were all agreed,' he said, dark brows arching his irritation at the intrusion. 'You leave at ten in the morning. With luck, you should be home before dark.'

Abby drew a deep breath. 'I didn't come to see you about the arrangements, Rachid,' she averred quietly. 'That —they don't concern me.'

'What then?' He was abrupt. 'Be brief, can you? I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.'

Abby gasped. 'You have a long day ahead of you! Do I not?'

'I am assured you did not come here to argue the length of each of our days,' Rachid replied heavily. 'Perhaps I am not very tactful. Perhaps I do not feel very tactful. But I am tired. Of that there is no doubt.'

Abby, still smarting from the effects of his insensitivity, was in no mood to be tactful either. 'Why is that, Rachid?' she demanded maliciously. 'I was told you weren't sleeping. I never thought to ask why!'

Rachid's face darkened ominously. 'What are you suggesting now? That I am spending my strength with another woman?'

Abby sniffed. 'I didn't say that‑'

'You implied it.' Rachid's face was grim. 'Perhaps you think I have another woman here, at this moment? Perhaps you think that is why I am eager to get back to bed.'

Abby faltered. 'And—and have you?'

The word Rachid used was not a polite one, and his fingers as they curled about her wrist showed little mercy for the tender delicacy of her skin. Without ceremony he dragged her after him, out of the room and up the stairs, and practically pushed her into the lamplit austerity of his bedroom.

The bed was empty. It had not even been touched, and the stark simplicity of the room reflected the ascetic taste of its occupant. Only Rachid's belongings adorned the mirrored dressing table, and only his clothes lay where he had dropped them, on the jewel-coloured rug beside the bed.

'Are you satisfied now?' he demanded, in a harsh voice, raking back his hair with unsteady fingers. 'I am sorry if I hurt you, but you do not bring out the best in me, and there are times when even I cannot control my actions.'

'I know that.' Abby was feeling terrible now, not least because she guessed that Rachid thought this was why she had come—to check up on him. When it wasn't true!

'So ...' He spread his hand. 'Now that you have satisfied yourself that I am not conducting an affair under your very nose, perhaps you will return to your apartments. I will, of course, accompany you to the airport in the morning‑'

'I don't want to go, Rachid!'

The words burst from her, incapable of measured utterance, springing from her lips with all the fervency of her emotions. Whatever he had done, it was in the past. It was the present and the future that really mattered. Why had it taken her so long to see that?

If she had expected some suitable rejoinder from her husband, she was disappointed. Instead Rachid only looked at her as if he suspected some ulterior motive for her ejaculation, and his dark brows descended with brooding solemnity.

'You do not wish to go?' he said at last. 'But it is all arranged. Your father is expecting you‑'

'I realise that.' Abby caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'But—but I've changed my mind. I want to stay here, with you. I want us to be together.'

To her astonishment, Rachid looked almost angry at her words. 'What is this?' he demanded, between his teeth. 'Is this some new game you are playing? Have I not danced to your tune long enough? Have you realised that while you are in England I will be free of the torment of your tantalising presence?'

'No!' Abby stepped towards him, but now it was he who drew back. 'Rachid, what's the matter with you? I—I thought you wanted me. You said you did. You said you loved me. Has all that changed, now that you're sending me away?'

Rachid put an unsteady hand to the back of his neck. 'I am not sending you away, Abby,' he ground out savagely. 'You wanted to go‑'

'No!'

'—you told the doctor you were unhappy here—'

'No!'

'—what in God's name am I supposed to believe?'

Abby suddenly knew what she had to do. Ignoring his attempts to evade her, she came close to him, putting up her hand to his cheek and turning his face to hers.

'You can believe that I love you,' she said huskily, as his eyes darkened incredulously. 'You can believe that I always did; even when I hated you, I loved you.'

'Abby‑' He trembled as she pressed her body close to his. 'Abby, do you know what you are saying?'

She reached up to touch the corner of his mouth with her lips, her eyes answering everything he needed to know, and then just as his hands reached for her, she experienced another searing spasm of pain. There was no mistaking its ferocity this time, and an anguished sob escaped her as she slumped in his arms.

'Abby!' His passionate protest brought her erect, and taking a trembling breath, she viewed him through misty eyes.

'Oh, darling,' she said, as comprehension gripped her 'I think our son doesn't intend for me to go to England either ...'

Abby lay in a dreamy state of contentment. She was in her own room again, or at least the room she and Rachid would share from now on. Outside, the sun was already sinking into the ocean, and soon darkness would fall, but she had no fears of the velvety advent of night. Night meant that Rachid would come to her, and even though Doctor Kemal had suggested they occupy separate rooms until Abby was recovered, she would hear none of it. She loved her husband, she needed him near her, and it was certain that nothing would keep Rachid away.