‘You are not a man, Polly.’ Chassa would not be consoled. Polly changed into the swimsuit, prudently removing her attention from Chassa’s tense profile.
Asif might be technically at home, but he was rarely to be found there. In the past fortnight Polly had visited half a dozen times and Chassa had always been alone and grateful for the company. Life with the exuberant Asif was evidently not one of unblemished bliss.
With every day that filtered tranquilly by, Polly had finally conceded that what she felt for Chris was no more than the fondness of a sister for a brother, a fondness that had once been spiced with the pain of an adolescent and quite innocent crush on a childhood hero. She should have realised the difference long before now. It crossed her mind that she had been a late developer in more ways than one.
Raschid was due back at the end of the week. Polly hadn’t heard a word from him. It infuriated her that, even absent, he should continue to dominate her thoughts. But what else did she have to think about? An hour learning Arabic every day? Jezra attended an exclusive college in Jumani by day and either entertained friends of her own age group or watched television by night.
‘Where are the children?’ asked Polly, following Chassa out through her lounge to the swimming pool in the courtyard beyond. As a rule the two toddlers were outside playing.
‘With their nurse. They tired me out this morning. I should have invited you,’ Chassa hesitated. ‘You are very fond of children, aren’t you?’
Polly laughed. ‘Something of a necessity with three sisters and a baby brother, and your daughters are gorgeous little girls.’
Slipping down into the inviting depths of the pool, she heaved a blissful sigh. The cool lap of the water was wondrously soothing and after swimming back and forth for a while, she floated, grateful for the sunglasses that cut out the blinding glare of the sun reflecting on the water.
‘You are a good friend,’ Chassa remarked out of the blue. ‘You don’t ask questions even when you know that there is something wrong. I am glad of your tact.’
Polly sealed her lips on a startled comment. The compliment was unearned. She had not suspected that there was anything seriously amiss between Chassa and Asif; all couples had ups and downs. She was really far too bound up in her own anxieties to be that observant. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do…’ she said quietly.
‘You are kind, but it will work out,’ Chassa assured her tightly.
What would work out? Once more Polly had that feeling that someone was assuming that she was more informed than she indeed was. It was extremely frustrating. The reflection led her back to thoughts of Berah, whom she still knew nothing about. Her curiosity was only natural, wasn’t it? Why shouldn’t she pump Chassa? Every time she came here she retreated from the temptation. She cleared her throat. ‘Do you mind if I ask you what Berah was like?’
Chassa sat up on her lounger. ‘Berah?’ she repeated in surprise.
‘Raschid never mentions her, and I don’t like to ask,’ Polly confided truthfully. ‘Did you even know her very well? I realise that she died soon after you married Asif.’
‘I met her only on a few occasions. When I was a teenager I spent my summers here while my parents were abroad. It was really so that Asif and I could get to know each other a little,’ Chassa volunteered wryly.
‘But Raschid didn’t know Berah before they married, did he?’
Chassa grimaced. ‘Prince Achmed is very old-fashioned. Berah was brought up very strictly. She was not educated like you or me—her father didn’t approve of educating women.’ She sighed. ‘You ask me what she was like. She was beautiful, feminine but very quiet, not open.’
‘Jezra told me that she was often very depressed.’
Chassa paled. ‘Yes, that is true. She became…slightly unbalanced by her craving for a child. She loved Raschid very much—she idolised him. It was very sad,’ she said uncomfortably, her gentle eyes troubled, ‘but I think that many women have coped with heavier blows. Asif hated her. He said that she changed Raschid forever—I don’t know. I have never known Raschid different from the man he is now…’ Her sleek dark head turned almost with relief at the sound of footsteps.
Asif strolled out to the poolside, debonair in a fashionable white suit. He was swinging his sunglasses in one hand. When he saw Polly, he struck a theatrical attitude of astonishment. ‘I don’t believe it! It is Polly the illusion. We hear about you, we talk about you, and how often do we see you?’ His grin was ebullient. ‘But since your arrival you have been a rare source of entertainment. On that point I can reassure you.’
‘Polly is often here. Why do you say these things?’ Chassa enquired stiffly, studiously avoiding looking anywhere near her extrovert husband. ‘What must she think of you?’
He laughed. ‘I was joking. I don’t have to treat Polly like a stuffed-shirt guest. She shouldn’t need to be told that I’m delighted to find her here. But if I were you, Polly…’ As he hitched his immaculate pants to hunker down, his tone became one of exaggerated confidentiality, ‘I would vacate the water at speed. You may have noticed that Raschid is not the most liberated of men, and he has this marked tendency to believe that no man can look at you without being inspired by the kind of intimate thoughts which he considers strictly his department. Why else was I barred from paying my respects personally when you were ill? He even objected to me sending you flowers—but I digress…’
‘Flowers?’ Polly echoed sickly.
‘At this very moment Raschid is probably trying to find you,’ he continued, unconscious of the brick he had dropped. ‘Take it from me, my pool is not where he wants to strike oil.’
Asif had sent the flowers. She could have sunk in her chagrin. Asif’s droll delivery further slowed up her thinking processes. ‘Raschid’s back?’ she ejaculated sharply. ‘Early?’
She hauled herself out of the water without bothering to wade to the steps. Chassa tossed her a towelling robe. ‘I’ll send your clothes over later.’
Polly twisted the moisture out of her hair with a nerveless hand. Raschid was five days early and she hadn’t heard the jet. How the heck could she have missed hearing it? She fled indoors in panic. He had simply taken the hint about the flowers. Her annoyance was out of all proportion to the embarrassing discovery. A cover-up for the discomfiture of learning that Berah sounded as if she had been the perfect wife aside of her surely understandable grief over her childless state? Beautiful, feminine, quiet, adoring. Polly skidded to a breathless halt inside the bedroom. Half-way out of the robe, she froze in dismay when the door opened.
Crusader-blue eyes flamed over the shapely curves almost indecently defined by the clinging swimsuit. The tightened buds of her nipples were clearly outlined for his appraisal. In a sudden defensive movement, she covered herself again.
‘You have been swimming?’
‘Yes.’ Scorched by the sensual burn of Raschid’s outright stare, Polly heard her voice emerge stiltedly. ‘I didn’t hear the jet landing.’
‘We landed at the airport. I had business in Jumani.’ His hand lifted to the gold agal binding his kaffiyeh. Removing it, he cast both aside, his whole attention relentlessly fixed on her as he crossed the room.
Silently he peeled the garment’s crumpled edges out of her tight hold and parted them. Slowly he tipped the robe off her taut shoulders to let it fall. Naked desire fired his eyes. A heartbeat later she was in his arms, her stunned protest drowned by the insistent possession of his mouth. Devastated by the smo
uldering charge of that driving kiss, she trembled violently. He rocked her from her head to her toes with the force of his passion. Her response was intuitive, spontaneous. For a timeless space there was nothing but him, and the world had shrunk to the boundaries of that savage embrace.
Loosening the halter ties at the nape of her neck, his hands impatiently pushed the fabric down to her waist, skimming back up over her narrow ribcage to enclose the tiptilted swell of her breasts. He made a wholly masculine sound of satisfaction. His thumbs drew down over the tumescent nipples he had revealed and her knees buckled, her fingers grabbing at his shoulders for support. His lips broke from hers only as he lifted her and brought her down on the bed.
Her hands flew up to cover her breasts. The glitter of his eyes marked the gesture as he stepped back and began to undress. ‘Rewarded with this enthusiasm, I may forgive much,’ he breathed huskily. ‘Vocal as you were on our wedding night, you would have proved a willing partner had providence not stricken you with illness.’
‘That’s a lie!’ she spluttered, her eyes wide with trepidation.
‘I will enjoy disproving the claim. I think playing the shrinking martyr threatened by her husband’s lust will be a role you find difficult to maintain when you leave this room again.’ Almost casually Raschid leant forward and closed a hand round the slim ankle snaking back as she attempted to escape over to the far side of the bed. In his vibrant amusement, his slashing smile was pure-bred primitive. ‘But I confess I had not expected you to make this quite so entertaining.’
Impotently Polly tried to kick. The temper which only surfaced in her with him had taken over. He held her fast, black-lashed eyes of azure glinting with a humour that was more maddening to Polly than anything he had either done or said. ‘How foolish of me not to guess. This is in all probability your fantasy.’
‘F-fantasy?’ she parroted, aghast.
‘Your cruel Arab husband spreadeagling you by force upon the bed to have his wicked way with you while remaining indifferent to your pleas for mercy,’ he clarified with velvet-dark satire.