Daughter Of Hassan. Penny Jordan

the ‘Jourdan’ Corinne spoke of was her stepfather’s nephew, and yet surely there could not be two wealthy Arabs with that same unusual name.

      ‘Are you okay, Dan?’ Corinne asked her with some concern. ‘You’ve gone quite pale.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, collecting her bag and standing up. ‘But I ought to be going. I promised my parents I’d be in for dinner tonight.’ It was a lie, but all at once it had become imperative to learn more about her stepfather’s family, and the only person she could ask was her mother, or failing that, her stepfather himself. On the way home she wondered why she had never thought to question the lack of contact with her stepfather’s relatives before; perhaps because she had been away at school so much, so involved in her own life and her own contentment.

      She broached the subject over coffee after dinner. Her parents employed a live-in couple, Mr and Mrs Bennett, who acted as chauffeur and cook respectively, and once Mrs Bennett had removed the remains of their meal and they had retired to the drawing room, Danielle merely waited until her mother had poured the rich, sweet coffee her stepfather adored before asking her questions.

      ‘Danielle!’ her mother protested when Danielle asked why it was that they had no contact with her stepfather’s family.

      ‘No, Helen, she is right to ask,’ her husband responded, smiling at Danielle. ‘In fact I am surprised that she has not done so before now.’

      ‘I think I was probably too immature, too wrapped up in my own affairs,’ Danielle admitted honestly.

      ‘So, and what has prompted this sudden maturity?’ Sheikh Hassan queried, his eyes suddenly sharpening. ‘Could it have been Philippe Sancerre?’

      ‘Partially,’ Danielle admitted, mindful of her stepfather’s business relationship with Philippe’s family and not wishing to prejudice it by making him angry with Philippe. ‘But I think that living at home as I’m doing now has made me realise how isolated we are.’

      ‘Well, I can tell you the main reason,’ Danielle’s mother began. ‘Ahmed’s family did not approve of his marriage to me. Oh, they were quite within their rights,’ she added before Danielle could object. ‘After all, what did they know of me? Your stepfather has had to give up a great deal to be with us, Danny.’

      The reversion to her baby name made Danielle smile a little, her own eyes misting over as she saw the tears in her mother’s as she turned to her husband.

      ‘My family were wilfully and blindly prejudiced,’ he said softly. ‘And never for a moment doubt that I have not treasured every second of my life with you, Helen.’ His free arm came out to encircle Danielle. ‘The happiness the two of you have brought to my life has enriched it like rain to the parched desert.’

      ‘And now we shall be even happier,’ Danielle’s mother said with a smile. She turned to Danielle. ‘Hassan’s family want a reconciliation.’

      ‘Even Jourdan?’ Danielle could not resist saying a little bitterly.

      Her stepfather’s protective arm dropped and it seemed to her that her parents exchanged a look which excluded her totally; a look which made her blood run cold with a nameless fear.

      ‘What do you know of Jourdan?’ her stepfather asked her quietly.

      ‘Only that he didn’t want you to marry my mother; that he considers women to be animated toys designed specifically for his pleasure, and that when he’s finished with them he throws them aside like so many unwanted empty cartons.’

      ‘Jourdan is of the desert,’ her stepfather said, without making any attempt to deny her words. ‘He has its strength and endurance, and perhaps a little of its cruelty, but there is another side to him. No man can live as the hawk for all his life; there comes a time always when he needs the softness of the dove; when even the fiercest heart cries out for the tranquillity of the oasis. In Jourdan, it is true that this side is well hidden. I will not ask where you learned so much of my nephew,’ Sheikh Hassan added, ‘for I believe I already know the answer. It is not always wise to allow the hawk and the sparrow to grow up together, for the sparrow will always seek to taint the nobility of his fellow, knowing its lack in himself.’

      ‘Philippe is not a sparrow,’ Danielle protested, shocked by the cynical twist of her stepfather’s lips.

      ‘No? Were you aware that his father had approached me for your hand in marriage on Philippe’s behalf?’

      Even as she absorbed the formally old-fashioned words Danielle’s shocked face betrayed that she had not.

      ‘Danielle.’ Her stepfather’s arm round her shoulders comforted her distress. ‘You must not blame him too much. Philippe is a young man with expensive tastes, and as the daughter of an extremely wealthy man—and a very, very beautiful daughter, of course, Philippe has the sybarite’s love of beauty as well as wealth—a man who already has business connections with his father, what could be more natural than that his practical French mind should turn towards marriage?’

      ‘I thought he liked me,’ Danielle murmured bleakly. ‘I had no idea…’

      ‘But you did not love him? There had been no intimacy between you?’

      Danielle heard her mother’s small protest above the sharpness in her stepfather’s voice and regained enough of her normal calm independence to say sardonically,

      ‘Fortunately, no.’ She turned to her mother with a bleak smile. ‘How lucky you’ve been, darling. Two men have loved you—if all the men I meet are going to turn out like Philippe and Jourdan, I doubt if I’ll ever find one to love me.’

      ‘Jourdan? Why do you mention him?’ her stepfather demanded, while Danielle was still trying to come to terms with her own admission to herself. She did want someone to love her, and to love them in return. She was obviously not as independent as she thought, and not for the first time she wished that her parents’ care of her had not been quite so protective. She might feel just the same as other girls her age, but in many ways she was not, and she was forced to admit that her view of love had probably been too coloured by her stepfather’s obvious adoration of her mother. She knew that he was probably unique among his own race, but she was now beginning to wonder if he was not also unique among men in general.

      She gathered her thoughts hurriedly, aware that her stepfather was still awaiting her reply. Something about the look in his eyes made her lift her head proudly and say, ‘Isn’t it true that he’s betrothed to some poor girl who has to accept him in marriage whether she wants to or not; some girl who’s most probably kept in ignorance of her fate, and the manner in which her prospective husband conducts himself?’

      ‘You would condemn a man purely on the conviction of one other, who is known to be envious of him?’ her stepfather asked mildly. ‘I had thought better of you, Danielle.’

      ‘It wasn’t just Philippe,’ she retorted, resenting her stepfather’s knack of making her feel guilty, especially when she had nothing to feel guilty for.

      ‘Some friends of mine happened to mention him—quite by chance, they had no idea that I knew him. They were telling me about a girl he’d been involved with in Paris.’

      Her stepfather made an abrupt disdainful gesture. ‘A putain; a woman of the world who gives her body in return for gain…’

      ‘It doesn’t matter what she was,’ Danielle protested hotly, ‘she was still a person, a human being with feelings. If men were not prepared to buy then women wouldn’t sell…’

      It was plain that her stepfather did not agree with her.

      ‘A man has needs,’ he said frankly, ‘and when he can slake them nowhere else he will queue in the market-place and buy water. Of course, it will not have the fresh sweetness of water from his own private oasis; it will taste brackish and perhaps not refresh, but it is still water. I had thought you more generous, Danielle, than to condemn a man purely because he indulges a perfectly natural appetite…’