The Weeping Desert (10 page)

John described the events leading up to the marriage ceremony and the unexpected passenger on the plane. Dr. Cameron listened intently. His mother had her hand over her eyes and John could not see whether she was taking it all in.

When John had finished, Dr. Cameron sighed deeply and thoughtfully.

“I don’t know how these comparative religions stand in the eyes of British law. This is something we shall have to find out,” he said. “But obviously, as far as the young lady is concerned, she considers that you are legally married to her.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” said John.

“I had such wonderful plans,” Mrs. Cameron sniffed.

“Khadija is just here on holiday, and that’s that,’ said John. “When I go back, she goes back to her father’s harem.”

“You may deprive her of another chance to marry one of her own race if you send her back,” said his father.

“Is that my fault?”

Dr. Cameron rose from the arm of his wife’s chair and went over to Khadija, who was waiting uncertainly and silently.

“Welcome, my dear. We must see that your first visit to England is a pleasant one,” he said. He took her small brown hand between his own, and patted it encouragingly.

Khadija looked up at John’s father, with his kindly, lined face and tired grey hair, and from that moment she was his slave. Here was a man with John’s height and build and features, but instead of John’s resentment and impatience, there was warmth and kindness. When Dr. Cameron spoke, she could shut her eyes and imagine it was the younger man.

“You will find it very quiet here,” Dr. Cameron went on. “But the guest room has a lovely big window overlooking the sea, and there are many pleasant walks.”

“I shall like that,” said Khadija shyly.

Dr. Cameron chuckled. “We might even give a little party for you. Er, nothing elaborate, Edith—I just thought a little sherry party would be nice. I’m sure it would do some of my patients the world of good to meet you.”

“It’s certainly going to do me the world of good to meet you,” said a crisp young voice from the doorway. A young man strolled into the room, hands in pockets, a lazy smile on his good-looking face. “I asked John to bring me a local souvenir but I didn’t expect this.”

“Greetings, James,” said John, nodding to his brother.

“Hello, intrepid traveller. How does it feel to be back among the salt of the earth after your year of exotic Arabian nights? What’s the matter? Have I said the wrong thing? Why all the gloom? Mother, you should be out in the kitchen killing the fatted calf. Or does Dad do that in his surgery?”

“This is John’s wife,” said Mrs. Cameron stiffly. “He’s got himself married out there in that terrible place.”

James sauntered over to Khadija and his keen glance did not miss the beautiful brown eyes behind the mask, nor the rounded womanly figure under the heavy clothes.

“On the contrary,” he said, intrigued. “I approve wholeheartedly. I hope I’m allowed to kiss my beautiful sister-in-law.”

He put his hand on the edge of her mask to lift it. Khadija reacted as if it had been an electric shock. She screamed and ran to John, flinging herself against him, her hands holding her mask against her face.

“What a stupid thing to do,” snapped John. “Khadija has lived nineteen years in the seclusion of the royal harem and has never taken her mask off before any man.” His features relaxed slightly as he remembered her sleeping, wrapped in a bath towel, the moisture glistening on her flawless face.

“A royal harem?” James drawled, his eyes alight with amusement. “This gets more and more interesting. Why, you old devil, John. What were you doing in a royal harem? Thought you went out there to dig for oil?”

“Khadija saved my life,” said John.

“And that’s exactly why we must all be very nice to Katie—er, this young lady, and not involve her in family quarrels. I thought you two would have grown out of it by now,” Dr. Cameron grunted. He took Khadija by the hand. “I’ll show you to your room, my dear. I’m sure you will like it. Perhaps you’d like to freshen up after your long journey, and then my wife will make some refreshments.”

“Hark at the old man. Sounds as if he’s fallen for your Arab piece.”

John had to stop himself from hitting his brother. It had always been like this; their boyhood had been one long fight. Now they sparred with words, but John longed to give his brother a good old-fashioned fistful.

There were heavy crashing noises coming from the hall.

“Sounds as if Khadija’s luggage has arrived,” said John, relieved to have a diversion.

It had indeed. The hallway was by no means small, but already Khadija’s cases were blocking the way into the surgery and the cloakroom. Mrs. Cameron stood shaking her head, appalled by this further disruption into her orderly life.

“My God,” said James.

“You’ll have to help me carry them up,” said John. “Those two are mine. Am I still in my old room in the attic, Mother?”

“Yes,” she said, in a small, stiff voice. “Nothing has changed. I’ve always kept your room exactly as it was.”

James began to hum
Hearts and Roses
under his breath. John was paying off the taxi driver and trying to get rid of him, but the man was reluctant to go.

“Young lady all right?” asked the taxi driver, dawdling on the front step. “Want me to drive ’er around?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I’ll ring you.”

“Here’s my card. That’s the number. Night and day service,” he grinned.

John returned to the crowded hall.

“Why does everyone think Khadija is such a joke,” he asked, lifting up two suitcases and tucking the paper parcel from the
souk
under his arm.

“Blame it on to the revival of
The Desert Song
,”
said James. “
The Red Shadow, Only a Rose,
and all that, plus a couple of old slave-girl movies, on the telly. Half of Pinethorpe will be watching you and your wife through their binoculars tonight.”

“She is not my wife,” said John, gritting his teeth as he hauled the heavy case up the stairs.

“All the better as far as I’m concerned,” said James. “Are you helping me with this luggage?” said John. “If not, you can go away. I find your remarks offensive.”

Khadija stood demurely in the guest room as John brought in her luggage. It was a pretty yellow and white room, with dainty sprigged curtains, an old-fashioned polished brass fender round the fireplace and a newly installed primrose washbasin in the corner.

“Give me your keys and I’ll open the cases for you, but you’ll have to unpack yourself,” said John. “Decide what you will need for the moment, and then I can put the cases up in the loft.”

Khadija moved the curtains aside. Market Hill led straight down to the sea front. It was not a busy place, but there were enough people walking about to make it look interesting. The beach was not too popular with holidaymakers, because it was an uncomfortable mixture of sand and grit and a pallid grey colour. People came to Pinethorpe if they were keen on walking, pony-trekking or golf.

This now was her moment to taste freedom—to walk down a street in daylight without a woman servant or her sister; to go which way she liked and look at the strange surroundings of this place which John called his home. She had never imagined that it would be like this. All her hours of television viewing had not really prepared her for the reality. But still she was anxious to begin more new experiences.

“Is it permitted that I am allowed to walk out in the streets in
daylight
?”
Khadija asked. She turned away from the window for his answer, her eyes bright with expectation.

John straightened up. “This is England,” he said. “You can do exactly what you like. Go out when and where you like.”

Khadija laughed, a little nervously. “Is it also permitted that I go out
alone
?”

“Of course. Pinethorpe is only a small place; you can hardly get lost. Besides, you speak excellent English and I’m sure all the young men will be falling over each other to help if you ask the way back to Glen Craven House.”

“I wish to go out now,” said Khadija.

“Now?”

“Now,” said Khadija, drawing herself up, to her full height. All at once, she was an Arab princess again. She was not used to having her requests questioned. And it was an adventure she could not wait to taste.

“All right. I’ll show you the way down to the sea.”

John took her to the front door and stood in the porch, giving her simple directions to follow. She was to go straight down Market Hill, and there ahead would be the sea-front road. She could go to the left or to the right, but she was to return the same way.

“And mind the traffic,” said John anxiously. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I came with you?”

“I wish to go alone,” she repeated.

Khadija walked carefully down the semi-circular drive, clutching her robe round her, for the wind from the sea was brisk. She could not believe that this was really herself, taking an unaccompanied walk in the daylight. She half expected Hatijeh to appear at her elbow and order her back.

She kept strictly to John’s directions, walking down Market Hill and marvelling at all the new sights. The many trees growing out of holes in the pavement, and the goods displayed in the shop windows, were an unending delight. Surely no one was ever hungry in a country with such an abundance?

But she missed the vastness of the desert. Here everything crowded round her: shops, houses, cars, pillar boxes, telephone kiosks and bus stops. Every yard of space seemed to be taken up with some sort of building or covered over with concrete. In Shuqrat, the parent desert was still beneath one’s feet in the dust and the stones, but here, mother earth was hidden under a vast tarmac blanket.

She lingered at the shops. She had never seen so many different kinds of food. It was a revelation. She stood and stared at the tempting displays of cakes and different kinds of strange bread in a baker’s window, unaware that people were glancing at her. She was an unexpected novelty.

John watched Khadija until she was out of sight, and then came in from the porch. “I hope she’ll be all right,” he said.

“Stop fussing,” said Mrs. Cameron. “She’s not a three-year-old.”

“You don’t understand how different it all is for her. She knows nothing of the Western world except what she’s seen on television or read in magazines.”

“She knew enough to hook herself a European husband,” said his mother.

“Oh, don’t let’s go over all that again. I’ve told you it’s some kind of mistake. We’ll sort it out.”

He was annoyed by the whole situation. Where was his pleasant holiday now—those idle hours fishing, the exhilaration of a rock face to climb? If he didn’t find an ally soon, he was not going to have a moment to himself.

He could see no help coming from his mother’s direction. Her face was stiff with disapproval and dislike. His father, with every good intention, certainly had no time to spare. James? He wouldn’t trust Khadija in his care for five seconds. He did not like his brother’s attitude towards Khadija at all.

“Mistake? That was no mistake, my boy,” his mother was rattling on. “A free holiday in England? A husband to foot all the bills? You’re going to find it a very expensive mistake, just you wait and see.”

“I’m going to unpack,” said John in exasperation.

“I’ve broken the news to Carol. I think the least you could do would be to go and see her.”

“Carol? What’s it got to do with Carol?” He swung round on his mother. “Broken the news to her. What do you mean? I haven’t died or anything.”

His mother stood, aghast. “Oh, you have changed,” she moaned. “You never used to be like this. You were always such a nice, quiet boy. I knew you shouldn’t have gone to that terrible foreign place!”

A girl in a white overall came in from the surgery door. She closed it behind her, smiled at John and held out her hand.

“Welcome home, John,” she said warmly. “It’s nice to see you again.”

John had to look twice at the pleasant young woman smiling at him to make sure it was Carol. Where had all the puppy fat gone, and that thick, ragged pony-tail? The young woman before him was neatly slim, with brown hair curling prettily round her ears.

“Why, Carol,” he said slowly, “this is a surprise.”

“Not really surprising,” said Carol. “You see, I work here at the surgery now. I’m your father’s receptionist.”

“That’s certainly an improvement,” said John. “The one before was a dragon. Even Father felt he oughtn’t to speak without permission.”

“Poor old Miss Pierce. She’s retired now,” said Carol. “I’m the new dragon. Well, how are you? I hear I must congratulate you. How very exciting.”

John searched her face for signs of anger or hurt. But she was simply looking interested and pleased to see him. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Carol had never been aware of his mother’s plans for them both.

“You tell her,” sniffed Mrs. Cameron. “I just can’t bear even to think about it any more.”

John thrust his hands deep into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. He could see that if he kept losing his temper, he would be heading for an early ulcer.