Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert Read online

  "All my family are tall and slim," she said nervously. "But we are very strong."

  "You don't look it. I watched you coming down the stairs and you seem exhausted."

  "The days are rather long," she admitted. "Examinations begin next week and…"

  "You don't mean you are teaching in school as well as being with my sister?"

  "Of course. I'm only with Nizea from late in the afternoon."

  "Until late at night," he added sharply. "Madame Nadar should know better than to make you work such hours."

  "It is my own choice," Fleur lied. "My senior girls are the same age as Nizea and are taking the same examination. I cannot neglect them."

  "I didn't realize you would be called upon to do double duty. I was under the impression Madame Nadar had other teachers in the school."

  "She has. But I've taught the girls their curriculum, and I have to see them through it."

  "Then it's a good thing the exam begins soon," he said roughly. "Otherwise you'd be nothing more than bones and hair."

  "A lot of hair," she said, trying to inject some humor into the situation but sorry the moment she had spoken, for his glance turned to the riotous curls and remained there.

  "Right now," he said softly, "the only thing that glows about you is your hair." He pressed a switch on the dashboard and the interior of the car lightened. "I've never seen such a color. Pinky gold might be one way of describing it."

  "So might carrots," she retorted and fumbled for the car door.

  "That is one thing Western women would do well to learn," he said.

  Not understanding him, she paused in surprise and glanced at him over her shoulder.

  "How to accept a compliment," he explained, "without getting embarrassed and wanting to run away."

  She was on the point of denying both accusations when she realized that was what she was doing and, biting her lip, she opened the door. As she stepped on to the pavement she found him beside her. Silently he walked with her to the gates and waited as she took a key from her handbag and unlocked them.

  "Good-night, Miss Peters." He held out his hand, and reluctantly she put hers into it.

  "Good-night, Mr. Khan. Thank you for bringing me home."

  He waited as she slipped through the gates and re- locked them and did not move until she had reached the front door and opened that, too. As she closed it behind him she heard the purr of his car in the stillness of the night. He was a strange man, Karim Khan. Remembering her sharpness with him, she vowed that if she met him again she would be more polite. But cool with it. He was no doubt used to women falling over him, and she did not want to give him the impression that she would do the same.

  Five

  FLEUR found herself thinking of Nizea throughout the next day. Knowing the girl would not be having her operation until the afternoon, she did not call the hospital till evening, when she learned that Nizea was as well as could be expected and that inquiries about her should be made direct to the family.

  There was none of the English habit of giving complete details about a patient to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who called—a practice which Fleur had always considered an Infringement of one's privacy—but she was, nonetheless, reluctant to phone the Khan household, uncertain as to who would take her call. However, Madame Nadar saved her the trouble by calling her in to say she had already spoken to Mr. Khan who had told her his daughter had come through the operation successfully and that the prognosis was excellent for a complete recovery.

  It was a relief to Fleur not to have to leave the school each day and she settled back into her old routine, though she knew this would end when her senior class sat for their examination, and the rest of the school did their usual end-of-term one.

  On Saturday she telephoned the hospital and asked permission to see Nizea. She arrived there in the late afternoon with a bottle of English lavender water which she had obtained with great difficulty. It was hard to know what to get a girl who had everything, and her efforts to do so seemed justified when she entered her pupil's room and found it awash with flowers and fruit. The girl looked wan, with an unbecoming sallowness, but she was in high spirits and thanked Fleur brightly for the scent, which she splashed all over her arms immediately, at the same time begging to be regaled with all the gossip from the school.

  "I won't be able to take the examination on Monday," she confided, "but Karim has told me not to worry. He says he'll manage something for me."

  Fleur did not know what the man had meant by this and diplomatically kept silent. "How long will you have to stay in the hospital?" she asked.

  "I'm not sure. But when I come out we will be leaving Teheran to stay in our summer house."

  "When somebody uses the word 'summerhouse' in England," Fleur smiled, "they mean a conservatory or a greenhouse."

  Nizea giggled. "You could never describe our summer house that way. It's beautiful, Miss Peters. I'd love to show it to you. I think…" Her lips parted as if she had something more to say, but she averted her face and plucked at the counterpane covering her. "Several of the girls from school have been to stay there with me," she continued, "but I find them childish and boring."

  "Some of them probably would be. You are very mature for your age."

  "That's what I feel," Nizea said candidly. "Yet I have not done anything more exciting than they have. I have never been abroad like lots of them."

  "Maturity comes from within," Fleur explained. "You have a seeing eye."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means you see beyond the surface to what lies below. Painters have a seeing eye—although they use it in a different way. So do composers. I'm putting it in simplistic terms, of course."

  "You're explaining it in a way I can understand," Nizea said. "That is what makes you a good teacher."

  "You're a very responsive pupil," Fleur replied. "That's why it's such a pleasure teaching you."

  "Is it really, Miss Peters?" The girl smiled with delight, though her face instantly clouded over. "What's the use of having a gift if I'm not allowed to use it?"

  "No one is stopping you from using it. As I once told you, getting a degree won't necessarily make you a better writer. You might learn much more about the world and human feelings by becoming a nurse or a social worker."

  "You still need training for that," came the sharp retort. "And my father is determined to marry me off within a year."

  The girl lapsed into a moody silence, and Fleur tried to think of something to say that might make her less despondent. "You might find it easier to cajole your husband into letting you do what you want," she said casually. "Do you know the young man your father has in mind for you?"

  "His name is Farouk Raj and he is the same age as Karim. He is rich and extremely well-connected. It is this last part that my father considers the most important, for we have more than enough money of our own." Her voice rose. "My friends think I'm mad because I don't want to marry him, but I can't bear the idea of being tied to any man."

  Still Fleur held her tongue. It was a dreadful thing for Nizea to be married off to a man she did not love, but to agree with her would be courting disaster.

  "How old is Mr. Raj?" she asked tentatively.

  "Thirty-two. He and Karim celebrate their birthday within a week of each other, and they are good friends, too."

  "I'm surprised your brother isn't married."

  "So is my father." Nizea pulled a face. "He is always arguing with him because of it. You have no idea the number of girls my father has produced for his inspection. But he has turned them all down."

  "Maybe he's looking for perfection." Fleur kept her voice expressionless, and Nizea gave her a suspicious look to see if she were being sarcastic. Then she decided to take the comment at face value.

  "My brother is young, handsome, wealthy, and much respected. It would be a great honor to be his wife. He would also be an excellent lover."

  "Nizea!" Fleur found it difficult to keep her face straight, f
or she knew the Persian girl was deliberately teasing her. "You shouldn't say things like that."

  "Why not? It's true. If I am considered old enough to be married, then I'm old enough to know what marriage is all about."

  "It's about more than sex," Fleur said positively.

  "But sex is important." Nizea was equally as positive.

  "I'm not denying its importance. I just think it should be seen in relationship to other things."

  "How practical you sound," the younger girl laughed. "Yet I think that deep down you are a romantic."

  "You know nothing of the way I feel."

  "I know there is a man in love with you. Some of the girls who sleep at the school during the week have seen him when he's called for you. They say he's very English and not man enough for you."

  "I don't wish to hear any more."

  Fleur jumped up, aghast to think her affairs had been discussed at such length by a bevy of giggling schoolgirls. Rory not good enough for her? She caught sight of herself in the dressing-table mirror—slender as a wand in a cotton voile dress of ice-green, its bodice high-necked yet showing her full breasts and tiny waist, the circular skirt swinging upon her shapely calves. Impatiently she pushed away her hair from her face, pulling the heavy strands back behind her ears.

  "I think we've talked enough for one afternoon, Nizea. I'm going to leave you to rest."

  "But you've only arrived. You can't leave me yet."

  There was a slight cough directly behind Fleur, and her scalp prickled, making it unnecessary for her to turn round to know who it was. That precise cough had made it all too clear.

  "Good afternoon, Mr. Khan," she said coolly as he came into her line of vision. "I'm glad you're here to keep your sister company. I'm just leaving."

  "And preventing me from having the pleasure of driving you home?"

  For an instant Fleur was flummoxed, then she found her tongue. "I'm returning to the school."

  "No matter. I will take you where you wish to go. Please sit down."

  His look defied her to disobey him and, because her knees were trembling, she did as he said, watching in silence as he greeted his sister with a playful touch on her shoulder, at the same time dropping a little package into her hand.

  "For me," the girl exclaimed, and unwrapped it to show a gold bracelet laden with dangling charms. "Oh, Karim! It's exactly what I wanted. How did you know?"

  "Because you've told me a hundred times in the past month!" he teased. "But if you lose this as quickly as you lost the other one, I won't replace it. So be warned."

  He sauntered to the window and leaned against it. With the light behind him his shoulders looked broader and his hair more like black satin. His skin seemed more golden- brown too, and Fleur knew that before the summer was out it would become still darker. Even now it made him look fierce, and she "lowered her head quickly before his piercing eyes could meet hers. Until now she had never considered herself susceptible to the way a man looked, but there was something about this one that made her vibrantly conscious of him. It was as if she were a microscope and able to see every detail about him. Without looking in his direction her brain enumerated them all: his elegantly curved eyebrows; the brilliance of his eyes with their intensely brown irises; the beautifully shaped mouth whose narrow upper lip was at variance with the sensuous lower one, and the firm chin with a cleft in the middle that robbed it of hardness. Again she knew him to be a man of contradiction; a man whom one could know a lifetime and never know at all.

  "You seemed to be having an argument when I came Into the room," he said to his sister, folding his arms across his chest. "I hope my arrival prevented a quarrel?"

  "We weren't quarreling," Fleur intervened hurriedly.

  "Miss Peters thought I was being rude about her personal life," Nizea added.

  "Were you?"

  "I didn't think so. But she is not used to the candor with which Persian women speak among themselves. Perhaps you can explain it for me."

  "Do you think a man can explain the way women behave when they are together?"

  "Not any man," his sister said, "but you can. I am sure you know how women behave at all times!"

  "Take care," he mocked, "or you might be starting an argument with me."

  The amusement in his voice made Fleur look at him. Expecting his gaze to be fixed upon his sister, she was disconcerted to find it resting on herself. Even across the width of the room she felt the power of his personality. She clasped her hands together, hoping he did not notice that they were trembling.

  "What my sister wishes me to say to you, Miss Peters," he said, "is that our women regard the acquisition and retainment of a man as the most important thing in their life. Second to this is the importance they attach to helping other women—who don't have a man of their own—to acquire one. And since Nizea is already betrothed—albeit unwillingly—she feels she can safely turn her attention to you. I can assure you she had no intention of being rude and that her interest in your affairs stems only from the fact that she is your sincerest admirer."

  Fleur went pink. "I wasn't really angry with Nizea, Mr. Khan. I was just a bit surprised by her candor."

  "Because it came from a pupil?"

  "Partly."

  "Would you have minded if I had been as candid?"

  "Probably more."

  He threw back his head and laughed, a warm uninhibited sound that echoed around the room. As it died away he straightened and glanced at his watch. "I must leave now. I can drop you on your way, Miss Peters."

  "Please don't bother."

  His mouth thinned, as she knew it must have done the night she had encountered him in the courtyard and had refused his offer to take her home, only then it had been too dark for her to see it.

  "I will take you," he repeated and waited while she collected her bag and bade Nizea good-bye.

  In silence they went out to his car. It was the cream roadster again, but this time the top was down and he glanced at her briefly.

  "Will the breeze spoil your hair?"

  "It's naturally wavy. The breeze will only make it worse."

  "Worse!" he said in bewilderment.

  "Curlier," she explained.

  "That would only make it more beautiful."

  His hand half lifted and, afraid he was going to take a tendril, she drew back sharply. He saw the movement but made no comment as he opened the car door for her.

  Soon they had left the modern hospital behind them and were driving along the broad, clean, white roads. It was early summer and already hot. Women in gay summer dresses walked with their menfolk, and groups of teenagers could be seen drinking coffee or fruit juices in the sidewalk cafes. It was only girls like Nizea, who came from rich, old-fashioned families, who were still forced to lead a secluded existence.

  "Why the sigh?" the man beside her asked. "That's the second one in as many minutes."

  "I was thinking of your sister," she admitted.

  "Of what she said to you? I am curious to know exactly what it was."

  "It was nothing really important." She dismissed this topic quickly. "I was thinking of her education. She let me read a short story of hers the other day, and it was a powerful piece of writing. Something I never expected from a seventeen-year-old."

  He slowed the car but remained staring ahead, his lower lip jutting forward. "You genuinely believe she can write, don't you?"

  "Of course. Why else do you think I pleaded for her?"

  "I thought perhaps you were doing it because you were irritated by my father's old-fashioned attitude."

  "That does irritate me," she said candidly, "but it would never make me exaggerate the gift your sister has. Have you never read any of her work?"

  "Only the scribble she did as a child."

  "You should read the story she gave me a couple of days ago."

  "I will ask her for it."

  Fleur stared through the side window, remembering Madame Nadar's injunction not to antagonize the K
han family, and hoping her suggestion would not cause an argument between father and son.

  "You are still looking pale," he said suddenly. "I had hoped that with my sister in the hospital you would have had more time to yourself."

  "Madame Nadar rarely allows one free time," Fleur smiled. "She has such enormous energy she can't see why anyone should get tired."

  "Doesn't your contract stipulate your hours of work?"

  "Yes, but…"

  "Then you should stick to it"

  "I'm quite happy as I am."

  "But too pale," he reiterated. "Would you like me to have a word with her?"

  Fleur was horrified, and he knew it at once. "I'm sorry, Miss Peters, that was a stupid thing for me to suggest. Of course I cannot talk to Madame Nadar without embarrassing you. But there may be another way."

  "You must promise to say nothing," she said instantly. "Please, Mr. Khan, I mean it."

  "Don't get so het up. I promise I'll keep quiet. There is more than one way of skinning a cat." He heard her chuckle and gave her a sidewise glance. "What have I said that amuses you?"

  "The expressions you use. They're slangy and I didn't expect them from…" Her voice trailed away, but her embarrassment remained, increasing as she saw the sharp smile that momentarily moved his mouth.

  "You see me as too Eastern to use Western slang?"

  "Of course not. You speak perfect idiomatic English."

  "Perfect idiomatic English," he repeated. "You sound very patronizing!"

  "That was the last thing I intended," she said humbly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Khan. You have every right to be angry with me."

  "I'm not angry with you, Miss Peters. And even if I had been, your apology would have caused it to disappear."

  The hand nearest to her left the wheel and moved towards her. Then it stopped and clasped the wheel again. But she had the distinct impression that he had wanted to touch her, and she was glad to see they were approaching the school. As before, he was out of the car and by her side before she could reach the pavement, and he again watched while she unlocked the gate to let herself into the garden.