The Sheik Retold Read online

  Fearing I would be seen, I shrank back behind a potted palm. The dark gentleman flicked a gaze at me and then stubbed out his cigarette with a smug smile. He intrigued me, this stranger. Yet when I looked back to the pillar, he was gone. I frowned but then dismissed him from my mind to turn back to the party. Only a moment later, Lieutenant Arbuthnot appeared at my elbow.

  "This is luck, Miss Mayo. Am I really fortunate enough to find you without a partner?"

  Ah, Jim. I sighed. I hadn't managed to evade him as I'd hoped. Such a decent fellow, but I wished he would just give up on me and seek his luck elsewhere. I forced a smile and prepared my excuse. "I hadn't planned to dance until everybody else was started."

  "But they are all dancing." He gestured to the crowded floor. The band was playing a popular new Fox Trot called Gypsy Girl. "Please let's not miss this ripping tune."

  I protested, "But I've already turned down so many partners tonight."

  "Just one dance," he urged.

  He looked so much like an eager puppy that I could almost imagine his lolling tongue and wagging tail. "All right," I conceded with a light laugh. "I'm already notorious for my bad manners anyway. This will only be one more sin compounded upon many."

  Arbuthnot danced well enough. He swung me around the room several times before halting us beside the terrace doors. The band was still playing, but they'd switch to a waltz, an older tune called The Earl and the Girl that I'd first learned to dance to on the Victrola almost ten years before.

  With a hand at my waist, Jim guided me outside where we sank together onto a wicker seat. He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "I think you are the most perfect dancer I have ever met."

  His voice sounded almost breathless to me. A panting puppy now?

  The garden was empty in that moment and the setting was far too romantic for my inclinations—quiet and faintly lit by colorful Japanese lanterns festooned from the palm trees and twinkling lights that outlined the winding paths.

  "It is very easy to dance if you have a musical ear," I said lightly. "It's even easier when you have been in the habit of making your body do what you want all of your life. Mine has had to do as it was told since I was a small child." My flippant reply seemed to take him aback.

  The dance ended, and the garden was thronged for a little time, but when the band started up again, the dancers drifted back inside. "Shall we join them?" I asked.

  "It's rather jolly here in the garden," he remarked with a show of reluctance.

  "Then I will make you a bargain. If you will give me a cigarette to keep me in a good temper, I shall stay here and chat instead of going back inside to dance."

  He proffered his silver case. "Are you really determined to go through with this desert tour?"

  "Yes, I am looking forward to it immensely."

  "Why does your brother let you go alone?"

  I noted a slight tremor of his hand as he held the match for me. "Why not? My arrangements have been made for some time. I came of age a few months ago and can do as I please now."

  "But blast it all! Why doesn't he go with you?"

  I took a long drag on my cigarette and then blew out a slow puff of smoke. I watched the wispy shape of it until it disappeared.

  "Because we fell out, Aubrey and I. This is the first time in our wanderings that our inclinations have not jumped in the same direction, but he can no longer dictate my life. He wanted to go to America. I wanted a trip into the desert. We quarreled two whole days and half one night about it before finally striking a compromise. He shall go to New York, and I shall have my desert tour, after which I will go and join him."

  "But what difference could a month possibly make to him?" he asked.

  I shrugged. "That's Aubrey."

  "It isn't safe," Arbuthnot persisted.

  Although his protest rankled a bit, I truly didn't care what anyone thought about me. Let people think what they like. When you are rich enough, you don't have to care. "I don't know why everybody is making such a fuss. Plenty of other women have traveled in much wilder country than this desert."

  "But there's rumor of much unrest amongst the natives since the war ended."

  "Oh, pish-posh.” I flicked the ash from the cigarette with a snort. "The authorities have already dangled that bogey in front of me. I don't believe a word about the tribes being restless. Arabs are always moving about, aren't they? When I asked for facts, they only gave me generalities, so I'll go, unless the French government arrests me. Why not? I am perfectly able to take care of myself. I am used to camping. I shall be armed and I can shoot straight as any man. Moreover, I have an excellent caravan leader, whom even the authorities vouch for."

  He looked to me with a pleading expression. "Miss Mayo—Diana—if you will only put off this trip just for a little and give me the right to go with you… I love you. I want you for my wife more than anything on earth. I shan't always be a penniless subaltern. One of these days I shall be able to give you a position that is worthy of you. No," he amended, "nothing could be that, but one at least that I am not ashamed to offer to you."

  I gaped, too stunned to respond. I could not comprehend how I had awakened an emotion in him that I did not, could not, share. The experience was annoying in the extreme. Damn him! I was confounded why men persisted in pursuit of me, given my reputation for utter indifference. Yet he soldiered on, clasping my hand tightly between his.

  "I love you; I want you. My God, Diana! Beauty like yours drives a man mad!"

  "Is beauty all that a man wants in his wife?" I asked with a kind of cold wonder. "Brains and a sound body seem much more sensible requirements to me."

  "But when a woman has all three, as you have, Diana…" he whispered ardently.

  "Please stop!" I disengaged my hand. "I am sorry. We've been good friends, but it has never occurred to me that there could be anything beyond that. I never thought that you might love me. I never thought of you in that way at all. You must understand that when God made me, He omitted to give me a heart. I have never loved anyone in my life. Even my brother and I merely tolerate each other. We share the same cold nature." It was true—all of it.

  Jim sat in stony silence.

  "I am very sorry to have hurt you," I said more gently. "You've been a splendid pal, but that softer side does not exist for me. I do not possess a romantic nature. Sentimentality and affection have never been a part of my life. I don't know what they mean, nor do I want to know. A man to me is just a companion with whom I ride or shoot or fish; a pal, a comrade, and that's just all there is to it. God made me a woman. Only He knows why, for I have no interest in ever being any man's wife. I am very content with my life as it is."

  I was piqued that he had put me in this awkward position. He should have known me well enough to realize what my answer would be.

  "Forgive me, Diana," he murmured. "Perhaps it was my fear for your safety that prompted me." His eyes searched mine in the dim light of the hanging lanterns. "If I take my medicine like a man, may I still be your pal?"

  "Gladly." I extended my hand. "I have hosts of acquaintances, but very few friends. With our constant globe-trotting, Aubrey and I never seem to have time to make any. Even in England they call us bad neighbors because we are so seldom there. We're home for three months of winter hunting and then we wander abroad the rest of the year. Biskra has been a rarity for us. Seldom have we sojourned in one place so long."

  Taking him at his word and treating him as the pal he had asked to be, I remained sitting beside him. My thoughts, however, were once more far away, wandering in the desert—until a man's low voice rose in the stillness of the night. It was English, with an almost imperceptible slurring from note to note that was strangely un-English.

  Full of vain longings and regrets, he sang in a passionate, vibrating baritone, "Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar. Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell?"

  The song seemed to emanate from the dark shadows at the end of the garden. Enr
aptured, I leaned forward to listen more intently. The singer's voice caressed each word until the last verse died softly away, fading into silence. The stillness deepened, broken only by the sound of my own heartbeat. I sank back with a little sigh.

  "The Kashmiri Love Song. It makes me think of India. I heard a man sing it once but never like that. What a melodious voice! I wonder who it is."

  Jim eyed me curiously. His voice quivered with emotion. "You claim to possess no emotion in your nature, yet this song stirs you so deeply. How do you reconcile that?"

  "Is appreciation of beauty emotion?" I asked. "Surely not! Music, art, nature, everything beautiful appeals to me. But there is nothing emotional in that. It is only natural to prefer beautiful things to ugly ones. Just like pretty clothes to rags," I added, laughing.

  "You contradict yourself. Is not that a concession to the womanly feelings you profess to despise?"

  "Not at all. To take an interest in one's clothes is not an exclusively feminine vice. I like pretty dresses, but I assure you that my modiste has a much easier life than Aubrey's tailor."

  I fell silent, wishing once more to hear the singer, but the only performer at present was a chirping cicada. "Jolly little chap!" I said. "They are the first things I listen for when I get to Port Said. They mean the East to me."

  "Maddening little beasts!" Jim mumbled.

  "They are going to be very familiar little beasts to me during the next four weeks," I remarked. "You don't know what this trip means to me. I like wild places. The happiest times of my life have been spent camping in America and India, but I have always wanted the desert more than either of them. It is going to be a month of pure joy."

  I rose, reanimated with intense pleasure. Arbuthnot followed suit reluctantly, standing silent for a few moments. "Diana, I wish you'd let me kiss you. Just once."

  "No. That's not in the compact." I vehemently shook my head. "I have never enjoyed kissing in my entire life, nor have I any desire to try it again. It is one of the things I do not understand." We halted on the veranda. I hoped I had not forfeited his friendship with the rejection. "Shall I see you in the morning?"

  "Yes," he replied after a protracted silence. "I will ride the first few miles with you to give you a proper send-off."

  "Capital! Until tomorrow then." I smiled, happy that we were still pals and nothing more would be said of the rest.

  ***

  When the dance was over I retired to a room that was nearly empty. My maid had refused the desert trek to go on ahead of me to Paris. My two remaining suitcases stood open, already packed, waiting only for the last few necessaries. Beside them sat the steamer trunk that Aubrey would take charge of and leave in Paris as he passed through. The camel caravan with the camp equipment was due to leave Biskra a few hours ahead of our party. Everything was en train; the final arrangements having all been concluded some days before.

  On a chaise longue was my riding kit—the smart-cut breeches and high brown boots I favored— ready for the morning. I'd spent most of my life in such clothes and was far more at home in them than in the pretty dresses I had laughed about.

  I undressed slowly, but with every garment removed, I only felt more wide-awake with anticipation. I stretched my arms out with a happy little laugh and then crossed over to the dressing table. It was with no thought of beauty that I examined the face staring back at me. I wondered that my looks alone should have driven Jim Arbuthnot to such a passionate profession of love, for surely I had given him no encouragement.

  Passion. I could not comprehend how it made such asses of otherwise fine fellows.

  I shrugged a thin wrap over my pyjamas and then went out to the broad balcony outside my bedroom. The room was on the first floor, and opposite the window rose an ornately carved and bracketed pillar that supported the balcony, stretching up to the second story. I gazed down into the gardens below. It was an easy climb—far easier than many I'd achieved as a child when overtaken with the need of a solitary ramble.

  Often at home, I stood like this on the little stone balcony outside my room to drink in the smells of the night. I'd always loved the night—the pungent, earthy smell after rain, the aromatic scent of pine trees near the house. I thought of it all as I sat on the broad rail of the balcony, with my head slanted against the column.

  The Kashmiri song came back to me as I gazed out over the hotel gardens, and I thought again of Jim's proposal. I wondered if it was truly my nature or Aubrey's cold, loveless training that had debarred me from all affection, making me oblivious to it. The thought of passion, of physical intimacy with a man, filled me with revulsion. Love like Jim professed did not exist for me. Still, I'd never been so gentle with any of my would-be suitors as I had been with Jim. I could only conclude that it was due to my delight over the impending journey.

  I leaned far over the rail, trying to see into the verandah below, and thought I caught a glimpse of white, but when I looked again, there was nothing. Convinced my eyes were up to trickery, I shook it off with a little grimace and settled back against the column. It was a wonderful night, heavy with the inexplicable mystery that hangs always in the Orient. The smells of the East rose up all around me, seemingly more perceptible by night than by day.

  I yawned, suddenly desperately sleepy. Leaving the windows wide, I turned back into my room, flung off my wrap, and tumbled into bed, falling asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

  I awoke only a short time later. The moonlight streaming into the room told me it was still night. Although all was quiet, I sensed that I was not alone. The certainty of this pierced through my sleep-dulled brain. My heart raced, yet I lay perfectly still, keeping my breathing slow and deep. I peered through my lashes, straining to see into the darkness. There! A shadow fading away by the window. Was it a thief?

  Summoning my courage, I sprang from bed and ran onto the balcony, but it was empty. Leaning over the railing, I could see no one. I listened intently but heard nothing. Still, I was convinced I hadn't imagined it.

  I returned to my room and turned on the lights, but nothing seemed to be missing. My watch lay on the dressing table precisely where I had left it. My suitcases had not been tampered with. I looked to the bedside table. My ivory-mounted revolver was lying undisturbed.

  Was it all just a dream? But it had seemed so very real. I had felt a presence. Why else would I have awakened from a sound slumber? I was not an unusually light sleeper. After one more visual inspection of my room that indicated nothing amiss, I shrugged it off as over-excitement, shut off the lights, and returned to my bed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next morning fulfilled my every expectation. My arrangements were pitch-perfect, and the hired guide, Mustafa Ali, appeared capable and efficient. Although the ride to the first oasis was long and hot, I had never been so exhilarated. Jim Arbuthnot was back to his usual jovial self. With the awkwardness of the prior night laid to rest, we resumed our playful badinage and I enjoyed his company immensely. Aubrey, however, appeared unusually sullen.

  When our party arrived at the chosen camp site, our tents were already pitched, and everything was so well ordered that even Aubrey's valet Stephens, who was as critical as his master, found no fault. As for me, I was completely and blissfully content.

  Compared to my accommodations in India the previous year, complete with bath, dressing rooms, and swarming with servants, my tiny camp tent was ridiculously Spartan. Nevertheless, I had been taken with a whim to dispense with all the chattels that Aubrey had cultivated. The narrow camp cot, the tin bath, the little folding table, and my two suitcases took up all the available space; and though I drenched my bed with splashing and the soap found its way into the toe of my boot, the novelty of it all amused rather than irritated me.

  Once I settled down to nap on the narrow cot, however, I wished it wasn't quite so Spartan after all. I wondered with bemusement if a sudden movement in the night would precipitate me into the bath that stood alongside the cot. It was also very hot
. I longed for a punkah.

  "Sybarite!" I laughed at myself. "You need a few discomforts."

  After my nap, I bathed and dressed, forsaking my riding clothes for a dress of clinging jade-green silk. It was a favorite, in a color that suited me well, with a hemline that swung several inches short of the ankle. The gown was cut modestly in front, which was truly deceptive, as the back of it plunged indecently down to the dimples that hollowed just above my buttocks.

  I exited the tent, drawing a long breath and reveling in the scenery that was nothing short of enchanting in the twilight. The camp was spread out over the oasis—the clustering palm trees and the desert itself stretching outward in undulating sweeps as far as the eye could see, eventually leveling into the distant hills like a dark smudge against the horizon.

  I was here at last—the place I had longed for all of my life, yet I never knew until that moment how intense my longing had been. I felt strangely at home, as if the great, silent emptiness had been waiting for me, just as I had been waiting for it. It spoke to me softly with the faint rustle of the whispering sand, with the mysterious charm of its billowy, shifting surface that beckoned me to penetrate deep into its unknown obscurities.

  "You've been a confounded long time." Aubrey's voice shattered the spell.

  I was late of course, and Aubrey liked his meals punctually. I advanced to where he lounged on one deck chair with his feet propped on another.

  "Don't be such a bear, Aubrey. It's all very well for you. You have Stephens to lather your chin and to wash your hands, but thanks to that idiot Marie, I have to look after myself."

  Aubrey took his heels down from the second chair and pitched away his cigar. He then screwed his eyeglass into place with usual truculence and regarded me with patent disapproval. "Are you going to rig yourself out like that every evening for the camel drivers?"

  "I am not in the habit of 'rigging myself out,' as you so charmingly put it, for anyone's benefit but my own. You changed for dinner yourself. What's the difference?" I asked.