Falcon's Prey Page 2

  ‘What is wrong?’ Faisal whispered, unconsciously reiterating her own thoughts. ‘You stiffen and tremble at my touch like a dove in the talons of a hawk,’ he told her indulgently. ‘When we are parted, I shall dream of the moment when I lift the gold necklace from your bridal caftan and unfasten the one hundred and one buttons, to discover the one thousand and one beauties of your body. Do not worry,’ he assured her confidently, ‘your reluctance is as it should be. You are as chaste as the milk-white doves my mother keeps in her courtyard, and soon my uncle shall know that for himself.’

  There was a certain element of satisfaction in his words, but Felicia could not help trembling a little with fear. Faisal seemed so confident that once they were married she would respond with passion to his lovemaking, but what if this should not be so? What if she was incapable of passion? Although her heart thrilled to his words of love, her body felt only nervous fear. Faisal’s desire for her was increased by his knowledge that she had had no other lover, she knew that. But what if this had not been so? Did he love her, or her chastity? She banished the thought as unworthy. This was undoubtedly an after-effect of Faisal’s disclosure concerning his uncle. It was only natural that Faisal should place greater importance on purity in his bride than her own countrymen, it was part and parcel of his upbringing. And yet this admission served only to stir fresh doubts.

  ‘It is just as well that I am not rich enough to support more than one wife,’ Faisal murmured with a small smile in his voice, ‘for with you in my arms I could want no other, Felicia.’

  It was this knowledge to which she must cling in the weeks ahead, Felicia reminded herself—not her own lack of reaction to Faisal’s lovemaking. It was only her inexperience that made her doubt her capacity for response. However, his remark about the four wives permitted to men of the Moslem faith had also disturbed her. It came as a shock to remember that he came from a vastly different culture from her own; a culture that permitted a man more than one wife as long as he was able to maintain them all in equal comfort; a culture that made no pretence of being anything other than male-orientated, and yet the Arab women she had seen were always so serene, Felicia acknowledged, so candidly appealing; so protected from all the unpleasantness of life by their male relatives. There was the other side to the coin, though; harsh punishments for those women who went against the rulings of the Koran, or so Felicia had read, and she could not in all honesty picture herself as merely a dutiful plaything, living only through her husband.

  All at once the task ahead loomed ominously. If only Faisal could accompany her to Kuwait, to ease those first uncomfortable and uncertain days when she was still a stranger to his family. How subtle his uncle had been, suggesting this visit; more subtle than she had at first realised. Although Faisal was a comparatively wealthy young man, as he had told her, the bulk of his inheritance was tied up in the family merchant banking empire, held in trust for Faisal by his uncle until his twenty-fifth birthday. Until that time Faisal was virtually dependent upon his uncle both for employment and finance. Discarding the disloyal thought that Faisal could have got round his uncle’s edict simply by finding a job in England as totally impractical, Felicia acknowledged uneasily that at present it appeared that Faisal’s uncle had the upper hand.

  Here she was, virtually committed to journeying alone to a strange country, forced to court the approval of a man who, she was sure, was deliberately trying to force her to show herself in a bad light, and would probably never approve of their marriage.

  ‘Are you sure your mother will like me, Faisal?’ she asked in a small uncertain voice.

  ‘She will love you as I do,’ he promised. ‘It will not be so bad, you will see. I am to spend two months in New York, and then we shall be together again. Then we shall make plans for our wedding. Perhaps it is as well that you will be with my family. That way no other man can cast covetous eyes upon you. You are mine, Felicia,’ he told her arrogantly, unobservant of the faint shadows lingering in her eyes.

  Faisal drove her back to her flat himself in the car he kept parked in the underground car-park provided for the use of the apartment tenants. It was an opulent Mercedes with cream leather upholstery and every refinement known to technological man, from a hidden cocktail cabinet to a GPS system.

  Privately Felicia considered that Faisal drove too fast, but on the one occasion she had mentioned this to him he had looked so angry that she had not done so again.

  ‘As you are a guest of my family, it is only right that we should pay all your expenses,’ he told her when he stopped the car outside the small and rather shabby bedsit that had been her home since she first came to London.

  Felicia protested, unwilling for Faisal’s family to think of her as being financially grasping and reminding him that the knowledge that she had not paid for her own ticket would surely influence his uncle against her.

  ‘He will not know,’ he assured her carelessly, ‘and besides, you will need some new clothes, more suitable for our climate.’

  It struck Felicia that perhaps he feared that she would shame him with her small wardrobe, for she was aware of the importance his family placed upon outward show, and so, unwillingly, she allowed him to persuade her to accept the gift of her ticket and save her money for what he termed ‘necessary expenditure’.

  The days flew past, with her seeing Faisal every evening. She wanted to learn as much about the country she was going to as she could, and often by the time Faisal took her home her brain was a confused jumble of facts and figures.

  Even so, she could not help but admire the tireless energy of the Kuwait Government when she learned just how much had been achieved in such a very short span of time.

  Even allowing for the fact that the country’s vast oil revenues had made many types of technological advancement possible, the swift rebuilding after the war left her breathless.

  Naturally Faisal was proud of his country’s progress, the more so because his own family had had a large part in it. It was with great sincerity that he told Felicia of their democratic form of government, with the Head of State chosen from amongst the descendants of Sheikh Mubarak al Sabah, who had ruled the country from 1896 to 1915, and was, even now, referred to simply as ‘Al Kebir’—The Great.

  Although Faisal deliberately played the relationship down, Felicia was a little dismayed to learn that his family were distantly connected to the ruling house. Faisal assured her that she must not let this overwhelm her, but she was beginning to see why his uncle Raschid might not approve of Faisal’s choice of bride.

  Naturally, she was fascinated by this glimpse into another world—albeit a very rich and exotic one; however, whenever she tried to voice her doubts as to her ability to cope with so many changes, Faisal merely laughed, telling her that his family would adore her.

  ‘Even Raschid will be impressed by your beauty. You have the colouring of his grandmother,’ he told her, eyeing her speculatively. ‘You will surprise him with your innocence and modesty.’

  Felicia could only pray that this was indeed so, pressing Faisal to tell her a little more about his own background.

  Nothing loath, he described to her the modern town of Kuwait, which had now taken the place of the old mud-brick port. His family had extensive financial interests in the city—their bank had helped finance the erection of a modern hotel in which they held a controlling interest, and there were other buildings, office blocks, apartments, shipping interests; all of which made Felicia uneasily aware of the vast gap that lay between them.

  Kuwait had one of the best social service systems in the world, Faisal boasted proudly, with excellent schooling, a hospital system that would have made a Harley Street surgeon pea-green with envy and very much more. Felicia was properly impressed, but Faisal shrugged it all aside. ‘Much is made possible by money,’ he told her. ‘But there is still the huge vastness of the desert, which Uncle Raschid claims will never be tamed. For myself I prefer London or New York, and it is in one of these citie
s that we shall make our home.’

  Felicia was surprised that this should make her faintly sorry.

  She noticed also that Faisal was at pains to assure her that although most Kuwaitis were adherents to the Moslem faith, there was no bias against people of other faiths; nor would she be expected to change her own religion when they married.

  ‘That at least is something Uncle Raschid cannot hold against you,’ he surprised her by saying, ‘for although all of us are of the Moslem faith, because of the great love Raschid’s grandfather bore his English wife, her descendants are of your faith, thus Uncle Raschid himself is a Christian.’

  Christian or not, Felicia was not looking forward to making his acquaintance—especially without Faisal’s comforting support. The eventual confrontation loomed unpleasantly on the horizon, but not wanting to burden Faisal with her own worries, she kept her fears to herself, trying to ensure that their last few days together were as carefree as possible.

  For Faisal’s sake she would do all she could to make a good impression on his uncle, but her pride would not let her adopt a fawning attitude to an older male relative—no matter how he might disapprove of her independence!

  With her seat booked, she handed in her notice at work, and carefully scoured the shops for suitable clothes. Fortunately the early summer fashions were already on display and she had no trouble at all in buying half a dozen pretty cotton dresses and pastel-toned separates.

  She hesitated over the purchase of beach clothes, but as Faisal had told her that the beaches off Failaka Island and the surrounding coast were particularly beautiful, she succumbed to the lure of the matching apple-green set of shorts, bikini and jacket. Egged on by the assistant, she added another bikini in swirling blues and greens which complemented her eyes, and a plain black swimsuit for good measure, unaware that its skilful cut emphasised the slender length of her legs and the unexpectedly full curve of her breasts. One evening dress in palest Nile green silk completed her new wardrobe, and although she could barely afford it, Felicia could not deny that the slender slip of fabric was infinitely becoming, tiny diamanté straps supporting the swathed bodice, the skirt falling in folds to whisper seductively round slender legs. Her purchases complete, she allowed herself the luxury of a taxi back to her small bedsit. Faisal was taking her out to dinner and as it would be their last evening together, she wanted to look her best.

  As she put away her new clothes, her eyes alighted on the jewellers’ box which contained the emerald he had bought her. Only the previous evening they had quarrelled because she refused to wear it until their engagement had the sanction of his family. He had teased her about being old-fashioned, but she sensed that to flaunt the opulent stone before his uncle would immediately set his back up. She suspected that the older man would hold rigid and old-fashioned views on such subjects, and while she intended in no way to kow-tow to him, she had no wish to deliberately offend against his opinions.

  Even so, it was hard not to feel bitter about his obvious contempt of her—contempt he had expressed overtly in his letter to Faisal, and this without knowing the first thing about her! Perhaps it was this bitterness that made her more reckless than usual, choosing to wear a dress which had hung unworn in her wardrobe ever since she had bought it, deeming it too sophisticated and eye-catching.

  She had purchased it at the insistence of the colleague with whom she had gone shopping, and afterwards had regretted the impulsive buy, deeming it more suitable for the baby blue eyes and blonde curls of her friend than herself. Not that she had anything against the colour as such. The dress was black, which she knew suited her creamy skin, but it was low-cut, with a pencil-slim skirt, slit up one side to reveal slim thighs, its design emphasising her curves to a degree which made her feel acutely self-conscious. It was just the sort of dress Faisal’s uncle would expect a gold-digging girl to choose, she acknowledged wryly as she zipped it up, and she was in two minds whether or not to change it when she heard Faisal’s knock on the door.

  His eyes smouldered with desire when she went to let him in, and she was glad of the long-sleeved jacket which went with the dress, although she could not help noticing how the matt black fabric made her auburn hair seem much more vivid than usual, darkening her eyes to a slumbrous, mysterious jade.

  Faisal himself looked extremely smart, dressed in a plum velvet dinner suit—affected on anyone else, but somehow on him exactly right—his complexion somehow more olive and Eastern so that she was immediately reminded of the vast gulf in their cultures.

  ‘I wish we were eating in my apartment—alone—and not in a restaurant where I must share your beauty with others,’ Faisal murmured huskily, capturing her hands.

  She tensed as he kissed her, telling herself that with their parting so very imminent it was no wonder that she felt so nervous. Even so, she was glad when he released her, bending to help her into her fake fur jacket.

  ‘Why will you not let me buy you a proper fur?’ he grumbled as he led the way to his car. ‘You are very stubborn and foolish. Remember that once you are my wife I shall have the power to compel you to accept whatever gifts I choose to bestow upon you.’

  ‘Then you may buy me as many fur coats as you please,’ Felicia retorted lightly, wishing she could throw off the childhood training which prevented her from responding to him as lovingly as she would have wished.

  Faisal, however, seemed to notice nothing amiss in her response. Felicia knew that he would have bought her the sun, the moon and all the stars if she let him, but she had no intention of accepting expensive gifts from him before their marriage. She knew from listening to his friends’ conversation what they thought of girls who gave their favours so freely in return for a diamond bracelet or a fur, and she wondered if those same girls had the slightest idea of the contempt in which they were held by their erstwhile escorts. Soberly she admitted that Faisal’s uncle might have grounds for doubting her suitability as a wife; but surely Faisal was capable of using his own judgment in these matters? He was not, after all, a child, and her anger at his uncle’s casual dismissal of her burned afresh, bringing a sparkle to her eyes and a faint flush of colour to her cheeks.

  Faisal had booked a table at one of the newer Mayfair clubs. The club had a gaming room, which was full of expensively jewelled women and their wealthy companions, but when they had eaten, it was to the dim privacy of the dance floor that Faisal led Felicia, taking her in his arms and holding her closely against him as they swayed to the strains of the latest poignant ballad.

  It was stuffy on the dance floor, cigar smoke mingling with the rich perfumes of the women, and Felicia had left her jacket behind at their table. She wished Faisal would not hold her so tightly, nor so closely, but every time she tried to move slightly away, his grip tightened, a look in his eyes that warned her of the effect she was having upon him.

  As they danced, she became uncomfortably aware of speculative eyes upon them as an Arab who had been at the gaming tables wandered across to watch the dancers.

  She was just about to ask Faisal if he knew the onlooker, when he swore suddenly, releasing her, frowning, as he acknowledged the other man’s presence.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Felicia protested, as he attempted to usher her off the floor.

  ‘Do you know that man? He seems to be trying to attract your attention.’

  ‘He is an acquaintance of my uncle’s,’ Faisal replied tersely. ‘And he is bound to tell him that he saw us here together.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Felicia protested in some bewilderment, unable to understand the reason for Faisal’s annoyance.

  ‘He is not a man of honourable reputation,’ Faisal explained. ‘I do not wish to introduce you to him, but if I do not, and he tells Raschid, Raschid will think I have not done so because I am ashamed of you. He will also think it not fitting that I bring you to such a place.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous!’ Felicia started to protest, falling silent as the Arab suddenly stepped out of the crow
d in front of them.

  ‘By the Prophet! Faisal al-Najar!’ he exclaimed genially, but Felicia was aware of the speculation in his eyes, and flushed with embarrassment at the way they roved her body.

  That Faisal was furious she could tell, and despite all the other man’s attempts to draw him into conversation, Faisal stubbornly insisted that they were on the point of leaving and could not delay.

  At first amused by his refusal to acknowledge her presence, Felicia’s amusement gave way to annoyance when he persisted in engaging Faisal in further conversation. Listening rather half-heartedly to his description of events which in no way included her, she learned that he had been at the gaming tables when he saw them dancing and that he had lost several thousand pounds. Even without Faisal’s remarks to colour her judgment Felicia knew that she would not have liked him. He was shorter than Faisal and rather squat, with small, narrow eyes which flicked lasciviously over her person to return knowingly to Faisal’s angry face.

  ‘What’s all this I hear about you going to New York?’ he exclaimed as they were on the point of leaving. ‘Plenty of obliging women there, my friend!’

  He gave Faisal a look that made Felicia freeze with resentment, longing to tell him that she was not Faisal’s mistress, but Faisal himself cut him short, exclaiming angrily,

  ‘I have no interest in the charms of other women. My uncle may have told you that I hope to be married shortly.’

  LATER, WHEN they were on their way home, Felicia asked Faisal if he thought it was wise to mention marriage, especially when his uncle had not yet approved it, but Faisal seemed to have lapsed into a brooding silence.

  ‘That he should dare to look at you so!’ he exclaimed violently, as he swung the car into the road where she lived. His hands were clenched over the steering wheel, and Felicia wondered if he was perhaps thinking that had she been an Arab girl the confrontation would never have been allowed to occur.