Sandstorm. Anne Mather

       CHAPTER THREE

      ABBY’S body was moist now, as she moved restlessly beneath the bedcovers, striving to dispel those images that threatened to destroy her newfound peace of mind. Rachid was good in bed, they were good together, she told herself, with enforced detachment, but that did not mean he was not equally good with someone else.

      A pain twisted in her stomach, and to disperse it she allowed the images to return. She remembered how appalled she had been when the drugging mists of their lovemaking had cleared, and she had to acknowledge to herself what she had done, what Rachid had done. She had wanted to escape him there and then, but his hands had secured her beside him, and in a calm but decisive voice, he had told her he intended to marry her.

      She had been at first incredulous, then hysterically amused, and finally tearfully reproachful. She told him he should not joke about so serious a matter, and in consequence he had become quite angry. He was perfectly serious, he insisted. He had thought of little else but her since he first laid eyes upon her, and this evening he had waited in proven impatience to tell her so.

      Abby recalled how doubtful she had been, how anxious to believe him, and yet so unwilling to accept that he actually loved her. She had brought up his avoidance of her at the previous day’s reception, and how she had cried herself to sleep the night before, and far from feeling ashamed of himself, Rachid had been quite delighted. He had attended the reception deliberately in the hope that he might see her, he said, and her reactions had been exactly what he had hoped for. Unfortunately, he had not been able to avoid his own responsibilities the following morning, and by the time he arrived at the hotel Abby had already left on the sightseeing outing Brad had arranged.

      Rachid’s words had both exasperated and flattered her. His sincerity was no longer in any doubt, and gradually she had started to believe him. He meant what he said, he insisted. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman, and by the following morning she was totally convinced.

      Brad’s reactions had been predictably aggressive. When he learned what had happened, he had been absolutely appalled, and far from wishing her well, he had told her she was a fool if she believed Rachid’s father would countenance such a marriage. He had almost persuaded her that she had imagined Rachid’s proposal, so that when she saw him again she had been cool and aloof, and nervously sceptical of his ardour.

      Looking back on it now, Abby realised how tenacious Rachid had been in his pursuit of her. Whether there had been a certain amount of jealous determination mixed in with his professed love for her, she could not be completely sure, but whatever his motivation, she had not been allowed to ignore him. And besides, she hadn’t wanted to. She had loved him, that was never in question, and it was only later that she had discovered his ideas of love and hers were vastly different.

      Even so, in those early days, he had been all she had ever dreamed of in a lover, and the weeks and months after their wedding had been the happiest of her life. Even his father had not been able to hurt her then, and Prince Khalid’s initial opposition to the marriage had melted beneath his obvious delight in his eldest son’s contentment. Abby’s own parents had had misgivings, too, but they trusted her and wanted her happiness above all things, and in the first flush of her relationship with Rachid, Abby had been idyllically so.

      With a groan, Abby buried her face in the pillow now, trying to expunge the agonies that memory could bring. She had gone far enough in her recollecting. She didn’t want to remember what came after. She didn’t want to think of pain and humiliation, and ultimately disillusionment. That was all over now, and she was determined it would remain so.

      The next morning she was pale and heavy-eyed when she entered her office and she was glad Brad was late in arriving. It gave her time to get busy at her desk, so that when he appeared she could greet him with an absent smile, as if absorbed with the quota schedules she was typing.

      Brad, however, was more astute than she thought, and his thoughtful appraisal deepened to a concerned regard when she barely lifted her face to his.

      ‘You look tired,’ he said, stopping in front of her desk and tapping its surface with his fingers. He was not a tall man, but he was stockily built, and his sturdy figure had a blunt persistence. ‘What time did you get home from Liz’s last night? I’ve told you before about burning the candle at both ends. You should listen to me.’

      Abby summoned a faint smile. ‘Honestly, Brad, you sound more like a mother than an employer! All right, so I’m tired. I didn’t sleep very well, as it happens. Does that satisfy you?’

      ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ retorted Brad dogmatically. ‘I asked what time you got home from Liz Forster’s. I know she was giving a party—you told me so yourself.’

      ‘Did I?’ Abby was finding it incredibly difficult to remember anything that happened the previous day before that fateful encounter with Rachid. ‘Oh, yes, so I did. Well, yes, I went—but I got home quite early. A-about ten o’clock, I think.’

      Brad studied her determinedly downbent head with veiled impatience. ‘And did you enjoy it?’

      ‘Enjoy it? Enjoy what?’ Abby looked up almost blankly.

      ‘The party!’ Brad replied forcefully. ‘Liz’s party! I asked if you—’

      ‘—enjoyed it. Yes, of course.’ Abby chewed on her lower lip. ‘Yes, it was all right. You know what Liz’s parties are like. Lots of food and wine and music. Good company—’

      Brad shook his head. ‘So why did you leave early?’

      ‘Is this an inquisition?’ Abby jerked the sheets of paper out of the typewriter. ‘Damn these things! I always have to do them twice.’

      Brad hesitated a moment longer, and then as Abby got up from her desk to marshall another batch of carbons, he shrugged and walked through the door into his own office. He was not appeased, Abby guessed, but short of demanding a résumé of her evening’s activities, he knew he was unlikely to get a satisfactory answer.

      The rest of his morning was taken up with meetings, and by the time he got around to dictating his letters that afternoon, he had other things on his mind. Besides, by then, Abby had applied a light blusher to her cheeks and erased the circles around her eyes with careful make-up, and her appearance evidently allayed any lingering suspicions he had. Since she had returned to work for him, he had adopted a kind of proprietorial interest in her affairs, and while she appreciated his protection, there were times, as now, when she felt the restraints it put upon her. She knew he had her well-being at heart. He obviously blamed himself in some part for her disastrous relationship with Rachid. But he was a bachelor, after all, despite the fact that he was in his forties, and she knew the girls in the office saw his interest in an entirely different light. She sometimes wondered if he was attracted to her in that way, particularly if he showed his impatience when one or other of the male members of his staff displayed any interest in her, and maybe her own abnegation of their overtures was partly to blame. But she had never confided the whole truth of her separation from Rachid to anyone, and although the facts were blatant enough, no one knew how emotionally enfeebling the break-up had been. She doubted her ability to enjoy a fulfilling relationship with any man ever again, and she was tempted to tell Brad he was guarding an empty shell.

      It was dark when she left the office that evening, even though it was only a little after five-thirty. Winter was drawing in, and already there was an icy chill in the air. The lamps of Marlborough Mews cast a mellow glow, however, and beyond, the busier thoroughfares were a mass of changing lights. Abby could hear the roar of the traffic and the impatient honking of car horns, and she couldn’t help a momentary pang of nostalgia. In Abarein at this time of the year, the weather would be just