from childhood to accept such a pose, while hers protested agonisingly, pins and needles stabbing painfully through both feet.
After their confrontation in the garden, Felicia had never expected that Raschid would pursue his promise to take her sightseeing—if indeed a ‘promise’ it had been—but pride would not let her back down and refuse to go with him.
She had dressed for Umm Faisal’s guests with special care, but as she opened the door, the horrible thought struck her that Raschid might think that she had donned her attractive outfit for his benefit.
She was wearing a peach linen suit, perfect with her warm colouring, a simple cream silk blouse underneath the neatly fitting jacket. Cream shoes and a slim clutch bag toned perfectly with subtle peach linen, and thin gold bangles chimed musically as she moved. They had been a gift from Faisal, and one which she had tried to refuse until he told her that unless she accepted them the bracelets would be thrown away. She thought of the emerald ring he had bought her—now with him in New York—and his anger when she had refused to wear it until his family accepted their engagement. Now, when it was too late, she wished she had brought the ring with her. Perhaps the sight of it might help to restore some of the high hopes with which she had come to Kuwait.
In Eastern garments she knew that she could never hope to rival the grace of girls who had been wearing them from babyhood, but as she glanced in the full-length mirror set into the wall, she reflected that she had every reason to feel pleased with her appearance, and knowing that she looked her best lent an air of confidence that bloomed in the soft colour of her cheeks and the warm glow of her eyes.
Today she had overcome an important hurdle. Umm Faisal’s friends had accepted her, despite the differences in their cultures—East and West could blend happily, no matter what Raschid said. With the light of battle in her eyes, Felicia went to meet the man waiting for her in the paved courtyard.
Dim light filtered in through the tall narrow windows of the entrance hall, and at first she could not see him. Then he moved and she caught the white flash of his shirt, the cuffs immaculate as he shot one back to glance at his watch. The gesture, so typically male, made her smile, and that was when he turned and saw her, poised in the doorway, the dark wood a perfect foil for her translucent beauty, laughter trembling the generous curve of her mouth, her eyes calm and composed.
He came towards her, his expression unreadable. This time Felicia was determined to retain the upper hand.
‘I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,’ she apologised formally, ‘but your sister’s friends….’
‘You have no need to explain the female of the species to me, Miss Gordon. I’m perfectly conversant with its addiction to senseless chatter.’
His arrogance all but took her breath away.
‘If it’s senseless, it’s because men like you refuse to give them the opportunity to be anything else,’ she retorted, the serenity dying out of her eyes to be replaced by anger, but Raschid merely looked amused.
‘Is that what you have been doing? Lecturing Fatima’s guests on the rights of the liberated woman? You will not be very popular with their husbands, Miss Gordon.’
‘I don’t care whether I am or not,’ Felicia announced recklessly.
‘Foolish of you,’ was Raschid’s only comment. ‘For those same husbands have the power to forbid their wives to have anything to do with you, if they wish, and Faisal would not approve of that. He may appear Westernised to you, Miss Gordon, but he will expect his wife to adhere to the rules of his own society, I assure you.’
Ignoring the warning, Felicia tossed her head, walking past Raschid to where the car was parked. Where once she had wanted to gain his approval for Faisal’s sake, now she seemed to derive intense satisfaction from deliberately needling him—a trait so alien to her personality that she wondered a little bitterly why it had to be Faisal’s guardian of all people who should arouse it within her.
‘Faisal and I will not be living in Kuwait,’ she told Raschid, remembering what Faisal had said.
‘No?’ His sideways glance was mocking. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, Miss Gordon?’
She refused to look at him, preceding him across the courtyard, where the scent of early roses already hung intoxicatingly on the warm air.
‘If I am I’m sure you’ll remind me of it.’
‘Exactly so,’ Raschid agreed urbanely. ‘As an employee of the bank—and make no mistake, Faisal is an employee—he has a duty to go where the Board decides he will be of most use.’
‘The Board?’ Felicia queried bitterly. ‘Don’t you mean yourself?’
‘In these circumstances I think I can agree that the two are synonymous.’
His suave satisfaction jarred, like a nerve in an aching tooth probed by an unwary tongue. Felicia hesitated, on the point of refusing to accompany him, but then she remembered Zahra’s approaching birthday, and accepted that there would probably be no other suitable opportunity to buy her a present. Swallowing the words, with her pride, she contented herself with a cold glare in Raschid’s direction.
For the last few days the household had gone busily frantic over the arrangements for transporting Umm Faisal, Raschid, Zahra and herself, as well as the staff and everything that they would require, to the oasis for the duration of the birthday celebrations. Only that morning Zahra had laughingly confided that without Raschid to master-mind the move she doubted if they would get any farther than Kuwait City. Felicia had suggested rather hesitantly that perhaps she ought to return home, in case her presence at such a time proved to be a nuisance, but Zahra’s swift dismay soon reassured her. In point of fact, she and Zahra had become very close, and it was only her growing affection for the younger girl that prevented Felicia from giving full rein to her growing antipathy towards Raschid. As he had so rightly said, it would hurt Zahra if she thought they were quarrelling, and Felicia had as little desire to cast a blight over the birthday festivities as Raschid. For that reason an uneasy—on her part at least—truce had developed between them.
‘A wise decision,’ Raschid drawled suddenly, startling her. She glared at him suspiciously, caught off guard when he said smoothly, ‘Don’t bother denying that you were contemplating refusing my company. I dislike liars almost as much as I despise fortune-hunters.’
The sheer rage engendered by his dismissive tones rendered her speechless, totally unable to retaliate, and it wasn’t until he walked round to the opposite side of the parked car and opened the driver’s door that Felicia realised that Ali would not be accompanying them. Raschid leaned across the passenger seat, unlocking the door and pushing it open.
‘I think I would prefer to sit in the back,’ she said stiffly. ‘Isn’t that what you think good women should do—dutifully take a back seat and leave the driving to their lords and masters?’
‘On this occasion I think we will opt for the Western custom,’ Raschid replied drily. ‘Otherwise I shall be endangering both our lives by constantly having to look over my shoulder to converse with you— Or do you perhaps read a more sinister purpose into my request? Your imagination runs away with you, Miss Gordon.’
If anything his voice had become even more cuttingly unkind, and Felicia flushed painfully, knowing he was deliberately taunting her.
‘Even if such was my desire,’ he continued, ‘which most assuredly it is not, I never, but never make love on the open carriageway between my home and the city. Kuwaiti drivers are not the most polite in the world, nor the most tolerant of dawdlers, as you will soon discover. I am sorry if I don’t match up to the prowess of your previous escorts in this regard, but in the East we prefer to suit the activity to our surroundings.’
Felicia stood by the car, longing to slam the door shut, wishing she could think of a suitably cutting retort to burst for once and for all the complacent arrogance with which Raschid surrounded himself. She had forgotten that even though she was standing by the side of the Mercedes, Raschid