She peered at the tall figure in the white robes and gold agal. She couldn’t see his face, but his bearing and the way he moved made her sure that it was Ali. He was talking to someone by his side, someone smaller, whose head was covered and who might have been a woman…
Fran didn’t even realise that she’d tensed, leaning forward a little more, and a little more, until the figure turned-and she saw his beard. Then she discovered that she was gripping the rail with all her strength. She released it, feeling the waves of relief wash through her so fiercely that she felt faint.
To make it worse, Ali looked up at that moment. She stepped away so that he shouldn’t catch her looking at him. But she was sure he would have seen her. She turned quickly back into the room.
To pass the time she pulled out some of the books she found on a shelf near her bed. They were in English, and all about Kamar.
She had already learned a good deal about the country in her preparation for the feature, but this book concentrated more on the men who had shaped the principality.
Kamar was barely sixty years old. It had become a self-governing state because one determined man, Najeeb, had appeared out of the desert, sat himself and his tribe down on the first oil well, and refused to budge. He was the man the oil companies had had to deal with, and when he’d declared himself sovereign it had been easier not to argue.
He didn’t sound a very pleasant man, Fran thought, but he’d had vision, courage, determination and obstinacy. He’d been Ali’s grandfather.
His son, Najeeb the second, had made money easily and spent it easily. He’d had two sons, who had quarrelled for the throne, and the younger, Saleem, had triumphed. Saleem had opened up Kamar to modern technology, and seemed to have been an enlightened ruler.
The photographs showed men with curiously similar faces, fierce, hard, seeming to look out on far desert horizons. They all had a noticeable unyielding quality about the mouth and chin, the same quality Fran had seen in Ali’s face. He came from a line of men who were ruthless by nature, and also because ruthlessness was the only thing that paid. And he was one of them.
She was suddenly unwilling to read any more. She closed the book sharply. At once Leena was on her feet, urging that it was time to retire. Fran agreed.
It seemed that Leena would stay with her, sleeping on a small truckle bed, in case she should want anything during the night. Fran’s attempts to shoo her away proved fruitless, so she resigned herself. And when she awoke in the early hours, with a parched throat, it was pleasant to have someone make her some herbal tea that sent her back to a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE morning Leena had a surprise for her.
‘We can go to the bazaar and do some shopping, if it is your wish,’ she suggested.
So she wasn’t to be kept locked in the palace all the time, Fran reflected. Perhaps while she was out she would find a chance to contact the British ambassador.
The maids dressed her in the peacock robes, and set the matching turban on her head. The veil was connected to one side of this, and could be drawn across her face to be hooked onto the other side.
Outside the door she found four large men waiting, their arms folded.
‘They are your guard of honour,’ Leena explained.
‘Oh, I see,’ Fran said wryly.
A stretch limousine waited below. One of the guards drove, the other three settled into the first compartment. Fran and Leena went into the second compartment. The car began to draw away.
But before they had travelled a couple of yards there was the sound of footsteps outside and one of the doors to the rear compartment was wrenched open. Next moment, a man had settled himself on the seat facing Fran, and pulled the door shut.
‘Get out!’ shrieked Leena. Then her hands flew to her mouth and she whispered, ‘My lord!’
It wasn’t Ali but a young man who resembled him, except that his expression was lighter and his eyes twinkled with merriment.
‘I couldn’t resist having a look at my cousin’s latest acquisition,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Your veil,’ Leena gasped to Fran.
‘Too late, I’ve seen her face now,’ the young man said. He smiled at Fran. ‘I am Prince Yasir, Ali’s cousin. Tell me, are the stories true? Did Ali really pay a hundred thousand for you?’
‘That’s what the rumours say. Most women don’t come so expensive. I’ve never paid more than thirty thousand myself, but Ali acquires only the best, and I can see you’re something out of the ordinary.’
‘Get out of here at once!’ Fran exploded. ‘Go on! Get out before I kick you out.’
Leena shrieked, but the young man merely roared with laughter. ‘And with the spirit of the devil. You were worth every penny. Goodbye-until we meet again.’
The next moment he opened the door and jumped out while the car was still moving.
‘He is a prince,’ Leena moaned, ‘and you threatened him. The royal displeasure will fall on us.’
‘Nonsense!’ Fran said robustly. ‘How dare he suggest that I was bought?’
‘But everyone says you cost Prince Ali a hundred thousand,’ Leena protested.
‘He gave that much to charity because-that is-to please me,’ Fran said, choosing her words carefully.
Leena gasped. ‘Then he must value you greatly.’
So now she knew how she was regarded here, Fran thought: as a high-priced acquisition, on a level with a jewel or a racehorse. No doubt Ali saw her in the same light.
Then she forgot her indignation in her excitement at being in the bazaar. As the limousine glided through the streets people backed away and bowed to the royal flag, although the darkened windows meant that they couldn’t see inside. They drew to a halt. Leena settled Fran’s veil back in place, and they stepped out of the car.
She gasped as she felt the noonday sun beating down on her. But when she’d had a few minutes to accustom herself she enjoyed the heat, the brilliant light and the dazzling colours. If this had been a holiday she would have revelled in it. As it was, the guard of honour constantly reminded her that she was a prisoner, although an honoured one.
Since she could order anything she wanted at the palace, there was little for her to buy in the street, but she chose a pair of white doves, whose cooing and friendly ways enchanted her. The vendor assured her, through Leena, that no cage was necessary.
‘Win their love, and they will stay with you,’ he promised.
‘He means they will fly back to him and he can sell them again,’ Leena said indignantly. ‘We’ll have a cage.’
‘No,’ Fran said. ‘No cage.’
Leena started to argue, but Fran silenced her. She took a bag of food from the vendor, and used it to entice the doves into the car. As they got in, Fran could see the driver talking into the car phone. She discovered why when she reached her room to find a dovecote already set up on the balcony.
To her delight the doves seemed pleased with their new home, and showed no inclination to fly away.
‘Not like me,’ she murmured to them. ‘I’ll fly at the first opportunity.’
There was a light snack, then Leena seemed mysteriously anxious for Fran to take a nap. But she refused to say why this was so important, until Fran had awoken and was taking a cooling bath.
‘What’s that?’ she demanded as Leena poured a sweet-smelling lotion into the water. Eyes closed, she breathed it in, and instantly strange thoughts began to float through her mind. It was a heady, erotic scent, hinting of passion incited and fulfilled. It was a perfume for lovers, and she breathed it in with relish.
Then abruptly she opened her eyes, assailed by suspicion. ‘I’m getting out of here,’ she said firmly, and climbed out of the tub. ‘And when I’ve had supper I’m going to bed for a very early night.’
‘But I have to prepare you for the master. He has chosen you to be his companion tonight. You are most honoured among women.’
