Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(12)

The Sheikha was a skilled debator, Danielle acknowledged. And in essence what she had said was quite true, However, what she objected to most was not the lack of male company, but the lack of free choice.

When she said as much to her companion, the Sheikha shook her head and smiled.

‘You think this is so, but it is not. One may have the company of one’s husband, or one’s father…’

‘But only at their discretion,’ Danielle said bitterly.

The Sheikha’s eyebrows rose.

‘And you think it beyond a woman’s powers to ensure that a man—especially her husband—enjoys her company; treasures the precious moments he may spend with her like an oyster guarding pearls. Shame on you, Danielle! Your Woman’s Lib has robbed you Europeans of your faith in your own ability to attract and hold, something which our girls know almost from the cradle. A woman can make her husband’s life heaven or hell if she chooses; a wise women chooses to make it heaven, for when there is harmony in the home there is happiness in the heart. You underestimate your own sex, I think, Danielle,’ the Sheikha concluded. ‘Do you not have a saying, “The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world”? Think upon the truth of those words.

‘Now,’ she said briskly, changing the subject, ‘Kadir will drive us down al Muhammad Street, so that you might see the new buildings our family are erecting. There is the new library,’ she announced, pointing out a gleaming new building, built on Eastern lines and extremely attractive. ‘And next to it the medical college and the hospital. Hassan has told my husband that we must educate our sons for the day when oil will no longer reign supreme, and to this end many new industries and technologies are being developed, but these are all concentrated on an area several miles away from the capital. Later we shall take you to see the other side of the town which lies along the coast. Beyond it are beaches and a small island which used to be the centre of our pearl industry.’

‘Do men still dive for pearls?’ Danielle asked, intrigued.

‘A few, but they are mainly Europeans,’ the Sheikha replied with a certain amount of dry humour. ‘It is a dangerous occupation and a brief one, and unless one finds pearls of perfect colour and shape a poorly rewarded one.’

Their driver turned off the main arterial highway and down another dual carriageway with a centre aisle planted with flowering shrubs and discreetly placed street lights from which hung flowering baskets.

‘You are admiring our flowers,’ the Sheikha commented. ‘They are indeed a pleasure to all of us, especially those of us who can remember when all this was arid desert. It is the work of my brother,’ she added proudly. ‘With Hassan’s encouragement he has built: a large desalination plant which provides water for the growing of food, and enough surplus to permit us to grow grass, trees and flowers in our city. Truly to the Arab there is no more miraculous sight than those, growing where once there was only sand. It is a mark of how far we have progressed that our children merely accept this miracle without wonder.’

Either side of the road stretched impressively façaded shops filled with a mouthwatering assortment of goods, especially jewellery, but it was in front of a discreet, small establishment up a narrow street that the Rolls eventually stopped.

Their escort was in uniform and armed, and Danielle shuddered when she saw his gun.

‘It is better to be safe than sorry,’ the Sheikha told her gently, seeing her expression. ‘These are dangerous times in the Middle East. Qu‘Har is a very small and a very rich country, without a strong guiding hand on the reins it could all too easily be torn apart by our powerful neighbours, should they so desire. But today is not the day for serious discussion,’ she added, smiling again. ‘To do so will cloud the colours of the silks, and spoil their beauty.’

To Danielle’s relief the guard remained outside while they entered the shop. To Danielle’s surprise, a woman came forward to attend to them, nothing servile about her as she prostrated herself before the Sheikha and then rose with one lithe, swift movement.

Danielle gasped when she saw her face. She was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, her complexion flawless.

‘Zara, this is Danielle, daughter of Hassan,’ the Sheikha said by way of introduction. ‘Danielle, Zara is my cousin, and what you would perhaps call a career woman, is this not so, Zara?’ she appealed, obviously enjoying Danielle’s patent astonishment.

Zara laughed.

‘My cousin the Sheikha teases you a little, I think, Danielle. It is true that my father permits me to buy silks and run this shop, although of course I only attend the ladies of the palace… I am fortunate in having such a generous and understanding family,’ Zara continued on a more serious note, ‘for otherwise I must surely have lost my senses. My husband was killed in an explosion at the oilfield a week after we were married. I was eighteen,’ she told Danielle briefly, her eyes clouding. ‘As I had no children to comfort me, no will to live without my husband whom I had loved since we were children, Jourdan suggested I start this business. I believe his suggestion saved my sanity and my life. He is a very generous and understanding man.’

‘And also a very attractive one,’ the Sheikha said, so wryly that for a moment Danielle’s heart almost stopped beating. Jourdan was all male animal; she knew that, and Zara was an extremely beautiful woman. Could she be his mistress? Or should she say, one of his mistresses?

She wasn’t given time to dwell on the matter. Zara gave a brief command in Arabic and two girls appeared carrying bales of silk which were placed on the low table surrounded by silk cushions.

‘Please sit down, Danielle,’ Zara offered. ‘One of my girls will bring us coffee and then we shall settle down to the serious business of choosing silks.’

‘Do you require anything my cousin?’ she asked the Sheikha, who shook her head. Danielle envied the way the other two women could sit so comfortably cross-legged, while her muscles protested violently at the position, and she knew she looked nowhere near as elegant and relaxed as her two companions.

A shy young maid brought coffee which they drank, while more bales of silk were brought to the table and when, and only when the coffee cups were removed did Zara assume her business manner and start describing the silks, pointing out those she considered most suitable for Danielle.

‘The green with the gold embroidery, and the bronze… There is also an amber, a good shade for one of your colouring, and of course yellow.’

In the end the Sheikha insisted on purchasing half a dozen different silks for Danielle, which she told her would be made up by the palace dressmakers.

‘Many of our women now prefer to buy their clothes in Paris and New York, but personally I think there is nothing quite as flattering as the caftan.’

‘It is very exotic.’ Danielle admitted, fingering a bolt of pretty turquoise silk embroidered with tiny crystal beads. ‘But I should be very reluctant to put away my jeans for ever.’

‘We have yet to purchase perfume for you, and shoes,’ the Sheikha announced when they had taken their leave of Zara. ‘The shoes will be made especially for you at the palace, but perfume blending is an art best left to the experts, and we must visit the suk another day for that. We of the East are great believers in the value of perfumes. Correctly used they can greatly influence the senses, more than you may imagine. You have a saying amongst the men of your country, “At night all cats are grey.” Is this not so? However, in our country it is believed that a woman expresses herself as much by her perfume as her personality and that because of it she is instantly recognisable to those who know her even clad in her robe on the darkest night. We take pride in wearing our scent, knowing it to be an important way of expressing ourselves.’

On their return to the palace Danielle was tempted outside into the courtyards she had been told were specifically for the women. After making sure she was wearing an adequate amount of barrier cream and having declined Zanaide’s offer to accompany her she went out into the courtyard, walking at first beneath the shady clumps of palms and along the bougainvillea-smothered cloisters before venturing out between the intricately paved paths to sit by one of the many ornamental ponds and watch the multi-coloured carp basking by the lily pads. The courtyard was an oasis of peace in what was obviously a busy household, and Danielle had it to herself. No expense had been spared in its construction, and each direction one looked delighted the eye with fresh pleasures. Tiny humming birds darted in and out of the creepers, moving so fast that one only had to blink to miss them; doves cooed softly in the background and the strident call of a peacock somewhere in the distance barely disturbed the drowsy peace of the afternoon.

Danielle sat back and closed her eyes, but the minute she did so the image of a mocking dark face imprinted itself behind her eyes and she had to open them again. She would not think of Jourdan, she told herself firmly, walking aimlessly down one of the paths which terminated at a heavy wooden door set into the wall.

Memories of reading The Secret Garden enticed her to turn the iron handle.

Beyond the door was another courtyard around which were arranged horseboxes, velvety muzzles stretched over half open doors. As Danielle stood wondering whether to go or stay, a familiar figure came towards her, and she forgot Zanaide’s warning lessons and she hurried towards him, her face breaking into a pleased smile.