But the alternative was to live by his side as his chief concubine-for she would be little more than that-enjoying his desire but not his respect, never knowing the truth of his heart or her own, and seeing their love wither in that uncertainty.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I love him enough for that.’
‘In that case,’ Elise said decisively, ‘we have work to do.’
It was unlike the princess to act impulsively, but when she announced her immediate departure nobody dared to argue. Ali’s chief adviser ventured to suggest that His Highness might prefer her to wait until his return, but she gave him her chilliest and most imperious stare until he faltered into silence. When he gathered his wits sufficiently to remind her that the wedding was set for two days hence, she informed him loftily, and with perfect truth, that she would have returned by then.
Instantly a smooth-running machine was set in motion. The princess’s personal limousine was brought to the front to wait for her with its engine running. A message was sent to her state apartments and a moment later Her Highness emerged, accompanied by a heavily veiled maidservant. In a few minutes they were in the car, on their way to the airport, and the flight to London.
Another limousine was waiting at the other end, to take them to Ali’s house. After a brief pause there, it set off again for the short journey to Fran’s address, where it disgorged the ’maid servant the ’maidservant’, now without her Arab garb and veils. The whole business had taken under twelve hours.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELISE was back in Kamar by noon next day. Ali reached the palace an hour later. Within minutes he was on his way to his mother’s room.
The thunder of his boots on the tiled floor caused a quaking everywhere, except in the princess’s apartment. She sat calmly writing at her desk, waiting for her son to arrive. The slam of the door shook the building. She glanced up, then returned to what she was doing.
Ali cast a glowering look at her bent head, and set about pacing the floor. When he’d covered the ground several times he snapped, ‘My grandfather would have fed you to the alligators for what you’ve done.’
‘Your grandfather was an exceedingly foolish man,’ Elise observed calmly. ‘I regret to say that you seem to have inherited the worst of his foolishness. Of course I got her away. Whatever were you thinking of to let things get so far?’
‘She is the bride I have chosen,’ Ali growled.
‘But has she chosen you? Marry her at the sword’s point and you would never know.’
‘Do you think I know nothing about her heart? There have been such things between us-I cannot tell even you-’ He found himself reddening, and turned away from his mother’s understanding eyes. ‘I promise you, I know her heart.’
‘No, my son, you know only her passion. Her heart is a secret to you. And when passion dies?’
‘That will never happen.’
‘For you, perhaps. But a woman’s heart is different. For her, passion is nothing without love. How can she know that you love her when you have behaved with arrogance and unkindness, and treated her wishes as though they were nothing?’
‘Everything I have is hers. What can she ask that it will not be my pleasure to give?’
‘Her freedom. Freedom to choose you-or reject you.’
He paled. ‘Reject me?’
‘You must win her, so that she can choose you freely.’
‘And if she does not?’ he asked, almost inaudibly.
‘Then you must let her go. Unless her happiness is more to you than your own, you do not truly love her, and she is right to refuse you.’
‘You’re asking me to beg from a woman.’
‘If she’s the woman I think her, she won’t make you beg.’
‘But to humble myself-to go to her as a suppliant, uncertain of her answer- I am the prince.’
‘And have never had to ask for what you wanted. It’s time you learned.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Then she will never be yours,’ Elise said simply.
He wheeled away from her sharply. His mother watched him with sympathy and pity. It was hard for her to do this to him. Only the knowledge that his eventual happiness depended on it had given her the courage.
When at last he spoke again his voice was shaking. ‘I can’t believe that she left without a message to me-not a single word.’
‘Have you looked everywhere?’
He stared at her, and after a moment he hurried out of the room.
The maids were still in Fran’s apartment. They took one look at his face and scattered. Ali raged through the rooms, looking for he knew not what. Somewhere, surely, there must be a sign that she hadn’t simply turned her back on him. Because if she had done that then everything he’d thought was between them was no more than a mockery.
At last he found what he was looking for on a little inlaid table, held down by a gold box. He opened out the single sheet of paper and read:
My Darling,
I know you’ll think it’s a terrible betrayal, my leaving you, but try to understand that I have no choice. Nobody should get married like this. There would never be peace between us, and eventually there would be nothing at all.
Do you remember my dream of a flying carpet? Well, it happened, as you meant it to. The magician cast his spells and the prince came out of the coloured smoke. He was handsome and charming, and he showed me wonders that will live in my heart for ever.
It was a lovely dream and I shall always remember that I once had a little magic, all my own. But, sadly, magic doesn’t last, and the carpet flies away again.
Goodbye, my darling. I wonder where we’ll meet again? Will it be in the Enchanted Gardens? Were we ever destined to find them? Or maybe they don’t really exist.
I’ve wondered how to sign this letter. You gave me so many names, and it was lovely pretending to be them for a while. But they were only illusions, and I can’t live on illusions. If you can’t love the woman I really am, let us forget each other.
No, not forget. Never. But put the dream aside as too beautiful to be true. I’ve signed this letter with the one name you never called me, but the only one that was true. Try to forgive me.
The letter was signed, ‘Frances.’
When he’d finished reading Ali realised how quiet and empty the apartment was. Where once there had been her laughter, now there was nothing. Her defiance had enraged him, but he would have given all he had to have her there again, telling him that she would do as she pleased, no matter what he thought. With what courage she had opposed him, and how wonderful that courage seemed now.
Only the soft plashing of the fountains broke the silence, and suddenly he realised that another noise was missing. He’d grown used to the cooing of her white doves, the faithful birds that would never leave her. He strode out to the courtyard.
But the dovecote was empty. The doves had flown away.
He knew then that she had really gone.
It was strange, Fran thought, how you could love a man so much that it hurt. You could dream of him at night and yearn for him by day. The memory of his passion and your own could make your flesh ache with longing. He could fill your heart and thoughts until nothing else existed in the whole world.
And yet you could force yourself to leave him, and know that you’d done the right thing. You could struggle not to be crushed by your own heartbreak and resist the fierce temptation to run back to him.
For the first few days she flinched whenever the telephone rang, certain that it must be Ali. But it never was.
