needs; is their “thirst” to be slaked in the same fashion?’ he would have been honestly shocked and distressed. It was the old double standard, she told herself bitterly, but her sex wasn’t merely enchained by what men expected of it, it was also enchained by its own emotions, for whereas a man could take merely out of need, a woman could rarely give without emotion, without giving something of herself. It isn’t fair, she wanted to protest rebelliously, but instead she summoned all her powers of reasoning and logic and said calmly,
‘Naturally any man could be forgiven one lapse, but from what I hear your nephew, far from restraining his “thirst” having slaked it once, encourages it to grow stronger. As I said before, I sincerely pity the poor girl who is destined to be his wife. Or one of his wives, I should say.’
‘Then you would be wrong.’ Her stepfather said coolly. Danielle thought she discerned a mixture of pain and admiration in his eyes, but overriding both emotions was a determination which sent prickles of primitive awareness running along her body until the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck and along her arms rose as defensively as the prickles of a hedgehog.
‘Jourdan can only take one wife. I assume you already know the story of his birth from Philippe, but what you obviously do not know is the promise I had to give his mother before I was allowed to take him from her—namely that he was to be brought up in the Christian religion. Even though she died several days after his birth, I adhered to that promise, and despite his prominence in Qu‘Har my nephew is as Christian as you yourself, Danielle.’
Then all the more shame to him, Danielle wanted to cry, but for some reason her tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of her mouth. A curious sense of unreality enveloped her, a feeling of foreboding, intensified by the anxious look in her mother’s eyes whenever they rested upon her.
‘As my adopted daughter, you will one day be extremely wealthy,’ Sheikh Hassan continued, completely changing the subject. ‘We have never talked of this before because the subject has not arisen. As you know, I am an extremely rich man, but I also own and control much family property which can only be passed down from father to son, from brother to brother, or uncle to nephew. There is no female right of inheritance. Were I to die my own private fortune would be divided between your mother and yourself, but my controlling interest in the oil company would go to either my older or my younger brother, since I have no sons of my own. The balance of power in Qu‘Har is poised delicately between my brothers, both are intensely jealous of each other, and it sometimes takes the wisdom of Solomon to make them see reason, but were I to die and my share of the oil company not be willed away from them, civil war would surely break out in our small country, and thus would follow the destruction of everything my father, and myself after him, have striven for.
‘In addition to this I must make provision for your own safety. On my death you will be very, very wealthy; you have had a sheltered upbringing, and know little of men; it is my great fear that you might fall into the hands of one who will mistreat or abuse you, Danielle, purely through greed.’
He made her sound like an over-ripe fruit, Danielle thought half hysterically. Could he really believe she was so incapable of managing her own affairs?
‘If you believe that, it might be kinder not to leave me anything at all,’ she pointed out logically with a smile. ‘In some ways I would rather you didn’t. I should like to succeed on my own merits…’
Her stepfather’s expression softened at the youthful words and earnest expression on the mobile face before him. She was too beautiful for her own good, this adopted daughter of his, with skin like milk and eyes as green as precious stones.
‘You are a wise child, Danielle, who already sees the burdens of great wealth and will never abuse its privileges, but you have no need to worry, I have already made provision both for the protection of my controlling share of the oil company and you and the fortune you will one day own…’ He looked at his wife, and a look seemed to pass between them; seeking on his part, and accepting on hers, but totally excluding Danielle. Tension tightened her stomach muscles and a dread she could not understand washed over her like icy cold water.
‘How?’
The word was a husky plea, mirrored, although she did not know it, by the expression in her eyes.
Her stepfather came to her and took both her hands in his, his eyes kind.
‘There is nothing to fear, little dove. Jourdan knows what a pearl beyond price he is getting in the greatest treasure I own, and he will treat you accordingly… When you are his wife all this…’
Danielle reeled, hearing nothing more than those fateful words, ‘When you are his wife…’ She was the poor unsuspecting girl who was expected to marry Jourdan, and now she knew why.
‘Danielle?’
It was her mother’s voice, soft and anxious. She forced herself to fight off the faintness threatening to overwhelm her and respond to it.
‘I’m fine,’ her voice gathered strength, ‘But I will not marry Jourdan. I’d rather starve!’
The moment the words left her mouth Danielle realised how childish they sounded; how prejudicial they were to her intended claim that she was old enough by far to decide the course of her own life.
‘Mummy, surely you can understand?’ she pleaded.
‘Of course, darling,’ her mother soothed, glancing anxiously towards her husband. ‘But Hassan merely wants to do what is best for you.’ She touched her daughter gently on the arm and smiled faintly. ‘You know, Danny, you’ve had such a sheltered life that your father and I only wanted to protect you…’
‘Oh, Mother’ Danielle sighed, unconsciously deliberately not using the more childish ‘Mummy’, ‘you can’t keep me wrapped in cotton wool for ever, you know—and besides, from what I’ve already heard of him marriage to Jourdan would be far from a bed of roses.’
‘You must take what Philippe Sancerre told you with a pinch of salt,’ her stepfather said calmly. ‘While I cannot attempt to speak for Jourdan’s past, Danielle, like all men of good sense he knows that marriage is a serious business, and once married…’
‘It doesn’t matter how seriously he takes it,’ Danielle interrupted swiftly, ‘and it wouldn’t alter my views in the slightest if we were talking of some other man; personalities do not enter into my argument, object to the principle of the arranged marriage, no matter how or why it arises. Oh, I know you have only my welfare at heart, but such a marriage is abhorrent and repugnant to me. I could no more agree to it than I could… fly!’
‘I understand how you feel, darling,’ her mother said gently. ‘Hassan, try to understand,’ she appealed to her husband. ‘Although Danielle has had a sheltered upbringing, she is not a Muslim girl trained from birth to accept male dominance and her role in life unquestioningly.’
‘And nor should I wish her to be,’ Danielle’s stepfather agreed, smiling fondly at the downbent darkened head and rebelliously taut body of his stepdaughter.
‘Then you accept that there can be no marriage between your nephew and myself?’ Danielle asked him.
‘If that is your wish, but I cannot pretend that I am not disappointed. It would have been a good marriage. Jourdan will have to be told, of course…’
‘I’m sure he’ll soon find someone else,’ Danielle said grimly, remembering the girl Corinne had mentioned.
‘When it becomes known in our family that he is not to marry you, he will lose face,’ her stepfather said sombrely, ‘but the fault is perhaps mine. I forgot that for all I consider you to be my daughter, you are not, as your mother does well to remind me, a daughter of the East…’
He looked so cast down that Danielle was moved to comfort him. ‘I know you were trying to secure my future, but when I marry I want it to be to a man I can respect and share my life with, not a man who looks to me only to bear his children. Besides,’ she added firmly, ‘I’m not ready for marriage…’