Desert Barbarian

Stonor swore under his breath and she looked back at him. 'Careful I At your age you have to watch your blood pressure.'

'Vixen!' he muttered.

'Goodnight, Stonor.'

'Come back tomorrow,' he said quickly as she opened the door, but she did not answer.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EACH time she visited Stonor, Marie afterwards took tea with Princess Aissa, either in her private apartments or in a small walled garden shut away from prying mascu­line eyes on the women's side of the palace. This part of the building, Marie soon realised, was far more elabor­ately decorated, far more beautifully furnished than the public rooms only visited by men. The Kings of Jedhpur, in past years, had created a scented, silk-draped paradise for their queens. Marie gazed around these marble-floored, gilded cages and wondered what it had felt like to be the bird of paradise imprisoned here. She remembered that Stonor had once threatened her with harem life—on that evening when he played kidnapper for his own amusement. He had said that she was already, in fact, the prisoner of luxury; indulged, petted and spoilt but shut away from ordinary life. In a sense she knew it was true. Her father had protected her from the problems and pains of life, but in protecting her had walled her up away from the free winds of the world. Now she knew just how much she had missed.

She had looked at her hands with dismay, hating the softness and whiteness of her unscathed palms. Lispa's brown hands were rough from work, and they had a beauty of their own, a beauty and dignity Marie envied. She longed to have Lispa's deft agility, her quick graceful skill in household tasks. She longed to have Jess's artistic skills, too, or to use her brain in the challenge of industry, or learn even any basic industrial skills.

Anything, in fact, but be useless.

The job Jess had given her was really only a space in which to find her true métier. She spent hours thinking about the future. What could she learn to do? What could she train for? Nursing? That had an appeal. You did not need to be brilliant in order to take up nursing, and her education had been a sound one. Or should she go to a teacher training college? She rejected that idea after some thought as it did not appeal to her. She re­jected a business training, too. One by one she considered various jobs and always came back to the idea of nursing. It was an alarming prospect, but she wanted to do some­thing really useful, and it seemed the best way to do that.

She discussed the problem with Princess Aissa and Aziz, during their tea parties. Somehow Aziz always contrived to be on hand for these occasions. He would knock on the door, look surprised and say cheerfully, 'Well, well, Miss Brinton… may I come in?'

Aissa would turn her sleek black head on the long column of her swanlike neck and the almond eyes would smile at him, the corners of the pale pink mouth turn up.

Now and then, as she passed him a cup or a small sweet cake, her fragile, pink-tipped fingers would brush his hand. Once, as Marie was gazing with enchanted eyes at the intense blue of the afternoon sky, she turned back suddenly and caught Aziz kissing Aissa's fingertips, his adoring eyes on the Princess's shy, averted face. Marie felt her own heart quiver at the look on their faces. There was something intensely exciting about the small gesture.

In their formal world Aziz's delicate kiss took on the quality of an explosion of passion.

When she met Lord Hathni, as she sometimes did, leaving the palace with Aziz beside her, talking lightly as they walked, she felt herself tense with alarm at the quick, shrewd glance she received from the Prime Mini­ster's eyes. Aziz would bow his head, his palms together, in that graceful gesture of submissive greeting, and Lord Hathni would give him the same shrewd glance.

Once it occurred to her that Lord Hathni suspected Aziz of having an interest in her. She gently suggested this idea to Aziz, who grinned shamelessly.

'But of course he does! He is a man. He knows that no young man of passion could see your enchanting beauty and be unmoved.'

Marie saw the twinkle in his eye as he made this teasing remark. 'Unless, of course, he happened to be far more interested in another girl?' she suggested.

Aziz looked at her sideways, his slanting eyes amused. 'That would, of course, make a difference.'

She hesitated. 'But your father doesn't seem worried by the interest he appears to think you have in me,' she said with some embarrassment.

Aziz looked down at the marble floor, and for a second she thought that he, too, was embarrassed. Then he looked up and shrugged. 'Miss Brinton, my father does not believe I would so jeopardise my position as to marry an English girl,' he said gently.

She flushed, then laughed. 'I see. He trusts your com­mon sense.'

Aziz spread his brown hands. 'Yes.'

'Then what does he…' She broke off, flushing, even more hotly. 'Oh!'

Aziz looked at her uneasily, seeing her eyes grow stormy. 'My father may put what construction he wishes upon the evidence, but we know, do we not, that he is wrong? That is all that matters.'

'Not to me,' she said indignantly. 'Your father can't be allowed to go on imagining that I'm permitting you to make love to me… I'm sorry if it interferes with your little conspiracy, but in future I can't allow my reputa­tion to be used as a shield for you and the Princess…'

Aziz stiffened and gazed at her angrily. 'The Princess and I have never seen each other alone, Miss Brinton. Either you or one of her women have been present on all occasions. Do not suspect anything else. I give you my word that nothing I have ever done could harm the Princess.'

She looked at him directly, her blue eyes wide. 'Except that what you're doing is going to come out, sooner or later, and then there'll be terrible trouble for her.'

Aziz frowned, biting his lip. 'What else can we do? Our lives are made intolerable by the present situation. We are snatching what tiny crumbs of happiness we can. The future is grim for both of us.' He looked at her, his eyes miserable. 'Did you know that I am betrothed to a girl of thirteen, Miss Brinton? My father arranged the match ten years ago. I have never seen her. I will not see her for two years. Then it will only be on my wedding day, when the veil is removed from her head after we have taken our seven steps around the fire.'

'Seven steps around the fire?' she asked in bewilder­ment.

He nodded. 'The fire is the centre of our wedding ceremony, you see. We take seven steps around the fire, and on the last step the ceremony is complete. We are man and wife. Only then does the bride throw back her veil and reveal her face.'