‘Fiddlesticks!’ Fran said shortly. ‘If you think I’m going to let you do me up like a turkey being prepared for the table, you’re very much mistaken.’
‘But it is the custom,’ Leena wailed. ‘To be chosen by the great lord is the finest thing that can happen to a concubine.’
‘The chosen one is bowed down with honour.’
‘Not this chosen one!’ Fran snapped. ‘I’m not going to be bowed down with anything. I shall go with my head up, look him in the eye and tell him what I think of him.’
‘But properly attired,’ Leena begged. ‘Or I am in trouble.’
‘Very well. Only for your sake.’
The seamstresses had worked through the night and the first of Fran’s new clothes was ready. It was a marvel in pale fawn satin and brocade, with a wide, jewel-encrusted sash around the tiny waist. Over it was a tunic of diaphanous silk gauze, also glittering with jewels. When the matching turban was in place Fran drew a disbelieving breath at the sight of the Arab beauty who looked back at her from the mirror.
Ali seemed to be there with her, whispering ‘I told you so’, his eyes glowing with desire…
She drew a sharp breath and castigated herself. She was furious with Ali, set on leaving him at the first chance and never seeing him again. She must remember that.
The door opened and Rasheeda entered. It was the first time Fran had seen the mistress of concubines since the first day. Rasheeda regarded her loftily, then nodded her approval. Leena visibly relaxed.
From outside the door came the melancholy, mysterious sound of a horn being blown.
‘Your litter is here,’ Rasheeda said, adjusting Fran’s veil. ‘You will travel inside it to His Highness’s apartments, and I will walk ahead proclaiming your coming. When you see the prince, remember to bow low and say, “Your humble servant greets you, my lord.” Do not meet his eyes unless he tells you to. To look at him without his permission is a grave offence. Do you understand?’
‘I understand,’ Fran said, breathing hard.
Rasheeda opened the door, four large men carried a curtained litter inside, and set it down. Leena parted the curtains for Fran to step in, closed the curtains firmly again, and they were on their way.
The litter was carried by men chosen for their size and strength. The inside was fitted with gold, inlaid with rubies and emeralds, and furnished with gold satin. The sides were shielded by curtains of white and gold brocade.
The journey seemed to take for ever. Shut away behind the curtains, Fran could only guess what was happening. In front of her she could hear the sound of the horn, followed by Rasheeda crying out words in Arabic.
She spent the time trying to sort out her thoughts and prepare what she was going to say to Ali. It would be like him, she thought crossly, not to be there when she arrived.
But he was there. She heard him speaking to the bearers, then the sound of feet retreating, the door closing.
‘You can get out now,’ came Ali’s amused voice.
Fran leapt out of the litter and looked around for him, but Ali had retreated to a safe distance and was watching her with laughing eyes. Fran snatched away her veil and faced him.
‘If you have the nerve to think that “your humble servant” is going to bow to you-’
‘But I don’t,’ he said, laughing. ‘That’s why I took the precaution of making sure we were alone first. If my servants had seen you greet me disrespectfully I should have had to cast you into a snakepit, which would rather have spoiled our evening.’
Fran regarded him. ‘How dare you send for me as though you had only to snap your fingers and I must jump to attention?’ she seethed.
‘But I’m afraid that’s exactly true,’ Ali said apologetically. ‘I appreciate that you are unfamiliar with this arrangement, but don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.’
‘Not in a million years!’
‘Will you and I be provoking each other for a million years, my Diamond? What a wonderful prospect.’ His eyes smiled at her, in a way that almost made her forget her anger. ‘How beautiful you are!’
‘Don’t try to change the subject.’
‘To me, your beauty is always the subject. How your eyes enthral me!’ He deftly removed the turban, letting her hair fall freely about her shoulders, and running his hands through it. ‘And your hair! How I have dreamed of your hair!’ He drew her into his arms. ‘And of your lips,’ he said, covering them.
A thousand answers jostled in her brain, but with her mouth engaged with his possessive kisses she could make none of them. She tried to hold onto rational thought, but she was just realising that she had secretly longed for his embrace. Throughout all her justified indignation, that yearning had been there, like a subtle, endlessly repeated chord. Now she had what her flesh wanted and her mind resisted.
‘Tell me,’ he whispered, ‘haven’t you dreamed of me, just a little?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and watched the eager light come into his eyes. ‘I’ve dreamed of how I was going to make you very, very sorry. I enjoyed those dreams.’
‘How hard-hearted you are!’ he chided her softly.
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by his mouth on hers. She should have been ready for him, but nothing could have prepared her for the scorching intensity with which he caressed her lips again and again, until she gasped from the sensation.
‘Such a battle we will have,’ he whispered. ‘And how we will enjoy the victory!’
‘Whose victory?’
‘When we lie in each other’s arms it will be a victory for both of us. Otherwise it will not be a true loving. We must look to the night ahead with joy.’
‘But for a while we must wait,’ he added, releasing her. ‘Passion, like many things, must be deferred so that it’s full savour can be appreciated. Try to be a little patient.’
Fran was speechless. To give herself the relief of exercise she began to pace Ali’s apartment, which was stupendous in its luxury. It was a kind of labyrinth, with horseshoe arches leading off in all directions. The mosaics on the walls were inlaid with intricately worked gold that gleamed richly in the soft light.
They were in a large room with several tables, laden with every possible variety of food. Instead of chairs, long couches were strewn around, as though for an orgy. But there were just the two of them.
‘It’s shocking, isn’t it?’ Ali said, reading her face.
‘Yes, it is,’ she responded indignantly. ‘Nobody has the right to live like this when there are people starving.’ She studied one of the walls and added, ‘It looks new.’
‘You sound as though that made it worse.’
‘It does. If this was an old palace I might-’
‘Forgive me?’
‘Understand the need. I mean, if it’s there anyway- but building from scratch-all that money-’
‘Blame my great-grandfather, Najeeb. He built the first palace, but it wasn’t big enough, so his son had to build this one.’
‘The first palace?’
‘I love you when your eyes pop with virtuous indignation. Come out onto the balcony and I’ll show you the Sahar Palace. It’s called that because Sahar means dawn, and with its high tower it catches the dawn sun before any other building.’
His balcony looked out over the city. Following his pointing finger, she just made out Sahar Palace. It was hard because the building was in darkness. Simply abandoned, she thought crossly. Her fingers itched to get at her Dictaphone and make notes of the waste and extravagance in this country. Luckily her memory was excellent.
‘Can you put your puritan scruples aside long enough to eat something?’ Ali asked, taking her hand and leading her to where a banquet was laid out on long tables decked with flowers.
‘I hope the food is to your liking,’ he said, pointing to one dish.
‘Chicken with dates and honey,’ Fran said in wonder.
