Climax of Passion

It was clear to him that the geologist’s daughter was having a very strange effect on the sheikh. What had seemed an absolutely firm decision about the rat-hole had not turned out a firm decision at all.

How was he to understand anything if everything kept changing? It had been alarming enough when the geologist’s daughter had turned to him for succour, although Kozim assured himself he had acted creditably. It was even more alarming to witness Xa Shiraq’s reaction to her messages.

The first one had evoked a burst of derisive laughter. Kozim had not thought it a laughing matter. The message had sounded quite impertinent to him. However, the sheikh’s reply had certainly put the geologist’s daughter in her rightful place. Kozim had heartily approved of that.

To Kozim’s mind, the second message should have earned the same result. Xa Shiraq had mused over it, a knowing smile lurking on his lips, his black eyes glittering with calculations. He did not share them with Kozim. His reply, when it came, seemed an extraordinary concession.

Kozim had found it extremely difficult not to expose his surprise. He reflected that the sheikh’s mind often worked in mysterious ways. Yet there was a lack of consistency over this business with the geologist’s daughter that Kozim found disturbing.

The messenger had barely finished bowing when the sheikh commanded her to speak, not waiting for the usual form of salutations and address.

Xa Shiraq’s obvious impatience, indeed, his air of anticipation to hear what the geologist’s daughter had to say, was unlike any manner Kozim had witnessed in his long years of service with the sheikh.

The messenger intoned the words.

‘Go on. Go on,’ Xa Shiraq urged, waving his arms in encouragement. ‘There must be more. She would not leave it there.’

The messenger advanced. ‘These words are for your ears only.’ They were whispered in his ear.

For some reason Kozim could not fathom, Xa Shiraq was so struck by this private communication, his unusual burst of mobility was instantly cut dead. He went absolutely still. Kozim recognised the quality of stillness. It was always thus when the sheikh was absorbing every shade, every minute detail, every nuance of an important problem.

He remained in this state of intense introspection for several minutes, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

‘Did the princess say anything else?’

The question ended the long, tense silence.

‘No, Your Excellency,’ the messenger smartly replied.

‘Then you may go.’

The messenger’s departure did not end Kozim’s growing sense of insecurity. Several more minutes passed before the sheikh deigned to notice him.

‘Is there a full moon tonight?’ he asked in a voice that rang with decision.

‘No, Your Excellency. What moon there is will set before midnight.’

Kozim had already checked his calendar. It was said that a full moon could induce a temporary madness in a man who was under the spell of a woman. Kozim had thought it worth checking if such a dangerous phase was looming on the horizon.

‘Order the freshest and finest samples of Xabian jasmine, Kozim. I want it placed in every room.’

‘I will see to it,’ Kozim said, wondering if partial moons could have the same ill effect.

There was a gleam in the sheikh’s black eyes that confirmed Kozim’s suspicions. However, if what followed after midnight did not live up to the sheikh’s expectations... Kozim thanked his lucky stars he was not the geologist’s daughter!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FRUSTRATION edged into desperation as Amanda tried one experiment after another with the veil. She had done a course in pareu tying as practised by the Polynesians. The only difference between a pareu and a veil was that the latter was more diaphanous. She had thought one style or another would produce a desirable effect but none of them did.

What was fine on a tropical beach simply did not have the seductive elegance she was searching for. She needed to entrance, to enthrall. She didn’t think she could achieve that by looking...obvious.

The harem women followed her activities with amused interest and much chatter. Amanda felt she was in centre ring of a circus. Irritation added to her edginess and despair. ‘Do any of you have a better idea?’ she demanded, discarding her last effort as utterly hopeless for her purpose.

The old woman who spoke English rose from a settee. ‘Gaia,’ she said with a confident air of authority.

The other women clapped with enthusiastic excitement.

Amanda had no idea what it meant. ‘I want help,’ she said.