Seared with painful agony, Danielle turned helplessly towards Jourdan, then fell back, the colour draining from her face, as she saw the tiny, dark-haired figure clasped tightly within his arms, her face raised for the kiss.
‘Catherine adores Jourdan,’ Philippe said at her side, ‘Indeed, chérie, you will not be very popular in our family when your marriage to Jourdan becomes known. My mother and Catherine had high hopes that she would be the one he would make his wife.’
‘Catherine?’ Danielle stared across to where the other girl was still entwined with her husband, her lips pouting enticingly, as, oblivious to everyone else, she slid her arms round his neck.
‘But surely… I thought your mother said that Catherine was not yet ready for marriage…’ Danielle bit her lip as she remembered exactly what Madame Sancerre had said about her daughter. Surely a girl like that could never adapt to the Arab way of life as Jourdan’s wife would have to?
‘Not ready for just any marriage,’ Philippe agreed, ‘but marriage to Jourdan is another matter altogether, is it not ma chérie?’ His eyes hardened slightly as they took in Danielle’s flushed, defensive features. His sister had urged him to bring her to Qu‘Har, with the promise that if, as she hoped, her proximity would cause Jourdan to propose to her, Philippe himself would not go unrewarded. As Jourdan’s wife she would be in a position to do a great deal for him… Philippe was a realist. He had not totally abandoned the notion of marriage to Danielle, but such a marriage must inevitably be for the future, and he needed money now. His gambling debts weighed uncomfortably upon him; Jourdon was supposedly already betrothed to a girl chosen for him by his family, but Catherine could be very persuasive, and neither was she too fussy about the methods she chose to get her own way.
She was a fool if she thought that simply by inveigling her way into Jourdan’s bed she could persuade him to marry her, Philippe had told her forthrightly, but Catherine had not been deterred. Her brother was forgetting that their family was an old and proud one, she reminded him, and there were ways and means which could be used to make Jourdan forcibly aware of his responsibilities, if necessary. She had paused delicately, but no further explanations had been necessary. Brother and sister understood one another perfectly, and Philippe also knew that their mother, while not approving of Catherine’s methods, would tacitly ignore them to aid her daughter to what would, after all, be an extremely advantageous marriage.
When Philippe had wondered out loud how his sister would cope with the restrictions of life in Qu‘Har, Catherine had laughed out loud. She had no intentions of living anywhere of the kind. Jourdan was after all half French. They would live in Paris, of course!
Philippe looked across at her now, her red lips parted invitingly as she gazed up at Jourdan, and then he transferred his gaze to Danielle’s pale face, correctly interpreting the expression he saw there. So the silly little fool had fallen headlong in love with her arrogant husband! So much the better. People in love were known to make great sacrifices for the objects of their affections. A plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. Perhaps coming to Qu‘Har was going to prove even more beneficial than he had originally thought. He looked at Jourdan, remembering their shared schooldays and his own resentment of the other, his superior in so many fields. How sweet it would be to wrench from Jourdan the prize he so obviously thought his. It had been Sheikh Hassan himself who had told him of his hopes for Danielle’s future. He loved his stepdaughter almost to the point of obsession, and in Danielle Philippe thought he saw not only a means of revenging himself on Jourdan, but also a way of making sure that he never had to want for anything ever again. Danielle’s marriage to Jourdan, which at first had seemed to signal the end to all his and his sisters’s hopes, could, after all be turned to their mutual advantage.
Smiling, he drew Danielle’s hand through his arm and swung her round so that she was facing Jourdan and Catherine.
‘Catherine is very much in love with your husband. In fact…’ he paused and seemed uncertain as to whether he ought to go on, but Danielle’s heart was already gripped in a vice of pain so agonising that she could not hurt more, or so she thought, until Philippe taking her silence for encouragement continued apologetically. ‘In fact… both my parents and myself thought that he returned her feelings, otherwise they would never have permitted her to travel out here. The two of them saw a good deal of one another the last time Jourdan was in Paris. He hadn’t actually approached my father, but Catherine at least had no doubts, and when his invitation came to visit him here…’
‘Jourdan invited you here?’ Danielle swung round, her eyes enormous in the pale oval of her face.
Philippe shrugged uncomfortably, and said gently, ‘Surely you do not think my sister would make such a journey uninvited?’
Out of the corner of her eye Danielle could see Catherine disentangling herself regretfully from Jourdan’s arms. Still holding his hand as though she drew support from the contact, she turned to Danielle, her voice softly apologetic.
‘Forgive me,’ she said simply. ‘It is just that Jourdan and I…’ She paused as though unable to go on, but in her eyes was the expression Danielle fought so hard to prevent showing in her own. She went cold with shock and fear. Catherine Sancerre was in love with Jourdan and he had invited her here to his home knowing that, and knowing also that he was married to Danielle. Whom he did not love, Danielle reminded herself bitterly. Was Jourdan in love with Catherine?
If so, he must never, never learn of her own feelings. Pinning a false smile to lips which threatened to betray her and tremble, Danielle slid her own fingers through Philippe’s arm in an imitation of the possessive manner Catherine was adopting towards Jourdan.
‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ she said brightly. ‘In fact it’s lovely to have you both here…’
Catherine’s trilling laughter broke the silence.
‘Oh, Jourdan, how unromantic your wife is!’ she exclaimed huskily. ‘I confess if I were so newly married to you I would not want another single solitary soul around.’
‘Danielle is English, Catherine,’ Jourdan said dryly, ‘and the English see things differently. However, she seems pleased enough to see your brother.’
His eyes were on the hand Danielle had slid through Philippe’s arm as he spoke, but she refused to remove it, lifting her head instead to meet the challenge written on his face.
‘You must be careful, chért,’ Catherine cooed, ‘otherwise Philippe will steal your little wife away from you. However, I have not journeyed all this way to stand out in a dusty courtyard and ruin my complexion. Can we not go inside?’
Belatedly remembering her duties as hostess, Danielle called to Zanaide to show their visitors into the main salon, asking at the same time that the maids arrange for rooms to be prepared.
‘I should like to wash before I sit down, if that is possible,’ Catherine exclaimed fastidiously. ‘I am covered from head to foot in sand, and my poor skin is scratched in a thousand places from it. You wouldn’t recognise it, chéri,’ she said to Jourdan.
Danielle overheard the remark and her cheeks burned, but she made no comment. Her soul writhed in torment. How could she hope to compete for her husband’s love with a girl of Catherine’s sophistication? No doubt Jourdan had not had to teach her how to make love.
‘Perhaps Danielle would take you to her room so that you can wash there,’ Jourdan suggested, glancing at Danielle in a way that made it impossible for her to refuse his implicit command.
Neither of them spoke as Danielle led the other girl towards her room. Danielle opened the door and stood back to allow Catherine to enter. The French girl’s eyes were cold as they swept the room before finally lingering on the double bed, patently unslept in.
‘Poor Danielle,’ she murmured with false compassion. ‘Married to a man who so plainly does not want you. You would have done better to persuade your stepfather to allow you to marry Philippe. He at least cares for you, while Jourdan—’ her eyes passed insolently over Danielle’s slender frame, ‘Jourdan is used to women, chérie, not awkward young girls. In aiming for him you aim too high and must only be hurt when you fall, is this not so? Did he tell you nothing of me? Of our plans? When we were in Paris we were so close…’
From somewhere Danielle found the courage to retort, ‘Many women have thought themselves close to my husband.’
Retaliation was swift and merciless. ‘Many women have been his mistress, you mean!’ Catherine spat at her. ‘But between us it was different. Jourdan knows the importance and prominence of our family. He would never dream of insulting me by offering anything other than marriage. And he would have married me, if your stepfather had not offered him such a tempting carrot. Oh yes, I know all about it,’ she told Danielle, not adding that it was Philippe who had mentioned the possibility to her, when explaining why the Sheikh had refused his offer of marriage. Catherine was a practical girl. She would have to marry money, but in Jourdan she would have both wealth and sexual excitement, and she had been carefully enticing him towards marriage for several years, hoping to use his innate sense of responsibility and honour to force him into a situation from which he could not extricate himself without marrying her. The information that Sheikh Hassan wanted him to marry Danielle had come as a shock. An unknown, docile Arab bride she could cope with, Jourdan was after all half French and must want more from a woman than passive obedience, but Danielle was a different matter. The news that Danielle was already in Qu‘Har visiting the Sheikh’s family had forced her into taking action. She had hoped to use her own time in Qu‘Har to force Jourdan’s hand in some way, and the discovery that he was already married to Danielle had come as a shock. Her eyes narrowed as she examined the luxurious room. How could Jourdan have married this stupid doeeyed creature in preference to herself? She studied Danielle’s slender form disparagingly, and looked once more at the large bed.