Текст книги "The Desert Blooms "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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His voice deepened with intensity. "It blooms, Pandora."

"I'm glad. You've worked very hard for that harvest." She felt a sudden rush of love for him. He cared so much, worked himself into exhaustion for the people in his province. How could he possibly think he was lacking in the capacity for emotion?

It was only in his personal life that he forbade warmth and caring. For the last two weeks she had been permitted past his defenses, and she had been filled with a delight that was close to euphoria. They had talked and listened to music. Taken long walks on the estate and in the bazaar. Ridden together, eaten together. She had even made the supreme sacrifice and had taken a stab at learning mah-jongg, a game that Philip was practically fanatical about. He had been surprisingly patient and, given a hundred years or so, she might even begin to like the damn game.

But none of it really mattered. All that mattered was the laughter and warmth between them. How wonderful it was to stand on equal footing with him at last. No longer a child or an enemy, but a woman he treated with surprising respect.

"What are you smiling about?" He sat down beside her, drawing up his knees and linking his arms loosely about them. His gaze of mock suspicion was fixed on her face. "I've learned through the years to be wary when you're particularly pleased about something."

"I was thinking that you're not nearly the chauvinist you pretend to be," she said lightly. "And that pleases me very much. I think you have more appreciation for women than you think."

"I have an appreciation for a certain few of your sex. I wouldn't want you to think I lack in discrimination. For instance, I find there are several aspects of your character that are admirably masculine."

"Masculine?" She repeated the word warily.

He nodded. "Determination, a sense of fair play, honesty. Given time, you might develop a good many others."

"Oh Lord, I spoke too soon." She covered her eyes with her hand. "Shades of Henry Higgins. But I'm no Eliza Doolittle, thank you. I think I brought myself up very well, and, if any further finishing is necessary, I'll do it myself too."

He snapped his fingers. "Independence. I knew I'd left out one of your laudable masculine virtues."

She shook her head. "Impossible," she murmured. "Utterly impossible."

His eyes were innocent as he said with deliberate misunderstanding, "Not impossible. It's improbable a woman should have such qualities, but not—"

"Philip!" she said warningly, and then threw back her head and laughed helplessly. "I give up. You'll never change."

"How perceptive of you to realize that. My ideas and responses have been set far too long to change now. They will bend a little, perhaps, but they won't snap."

It was a warning. A flash of pain pierced through the happiness that surrounded her like a glowing cloud. No, she wouldn't let herself worry about tomorrow. Today was too beautiful to spoil. Philip did care for her. He had enjoyed these last days as much as she had. In the last week he hadn't even mentioned her leaving. Perhaps he was closer to a breakthrough than he imagined.

"I wouldn't admit that if I were you. A set mind is a closed mind." She smiled. "And a closed mind locks out all kinds of intriguing impossibilities that might become possible"—she paused—"someday."

He shook his head. "Fairy-tale thinking."

"Maybe." She suddenly rose to her feet in one lithe motion. "And maybe not." She strode briskly toward the waiting horses. "I'm hungry, aren't you? I'm definitely ready for breakfast. I'll race you back."

He stood up and followed her at a more leisurely pace. "All this energy." He shook his head. "Where do you get it?"

She grinned at him as she mounted the chestnut. "I manufacture it at night. The elves have set up a magic spinning wheel in my room, and all night long I spin strands of energy to use the next day." The smile faded as she met his gaze. "But it happens only after midnight, when the rest of the world is asleep. You're invited to come in and watch. The elves won't mind." Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. "I won't either."

She saw his hand tighten on the saddle, and something flared hot and bright in his eyes.

Then his expression was once again veiled. He swung up into the saddle. "I don't think that would be such a good idea. Magic has a tendencyto disappear when disbelievers appear on the scene. You'd better continue your spinning on your own."

She mustn't let the rejection hurt so much. She knew he was wary of the effect she had on him physically. He had avoided touching her as if she were a plague victim. She could feel the tension in him whenever he brushed against her accidentally. She had thought, at first, that it was her imagination, that she was seeing her own desire reflected in him. But the signs were there, occurring too often to be mistaken. He wanted her. Why the devil wouldn't he give in and take her?

"Well, if you insist." She kicked the chestnut into a trot. "It's your loss. But you don't know what you're missing."

She was wrong. He knew exactly what he was missing, and that was the problem, he thought grimly. Perhaps this damnable abstinence would have been easier if he didn't know just how velvety her skin felt to the touch or how wonderfully tight she was around him as he moved. ... He felt the familiar heat begin to build In him and he checked the thought. He was having a difficult enough time resisting the emotional tumult of Pandora's nearness without risking a sexual maelstrom.

Pandora had reined in several yards away and was looking back over her shoulder In puzzlement. "What's wrong?" Her face lit with a teasing grin. "Having trouble keeping up, Philip?"

He started to laugh. His eyes were suddenly dancing as he spurred after her down the road. "That's an entirely subjective matter," he said solemnly. "There are any number of ways of looking at it."

She frowned. "I don't know what you mean." "Never mind. It's an in joke." He chuckled. "Or should I say, it's an up joke?" He had drawn abreast of her and was passing her in a cloud of dust. "What did you say about a race?"

* * *

The telephone call came when they were halfway through breakfast.

Pandora looked at Raoul in surprise. "For me? Who is it?"

"A Mr. Neal Sabine," Raoul said. "He's calling from Paris."

"Paris? What on earth is he doing in Paris?" she wondered aloud as she pushed back her chair. She was aware of Philip's sudden stiffening across the table from her.

"You're obviously going to jump up and run to find out," Philip said caustically. "You could call him back after breakfast."

"I'd die of curiosity before then. Besides, it might be important."

"What could be so important?" Philip's expression was forbidding. "You said you were through with Nemesis." His lips twisted. "Evidently that didn't include Sabine."

Oh heavens, Philip was going to be difficult. Why did this have to happen when everything was going so beautifully? Well, she'd just have to soothe him when she finished talking to Neal. She stood up. "Neal's my friend. He's done a good deal for me over the years. I'm never 'through' with friends," she said as she turned away. "I'll take the call in the library and be right back."

"Don't hurry." Philip took a sip of coffee, his expression hard. "We wouldn't want you to slight your 'friend' in any way."

She gave a helpless shrug. "I'll be right back," she repeated as she strode swiftly out of the breakfast room.

She returned a little over fifteen minutes later. There was a worried frown on her face as she sat down opposite him. She took a sip of coffee. It was cold. She made a face and set the cup down in the saucer and pushed it away.

"Well?" Philip asked with a cool smile. "How is your old friend?"

"Not so good." She took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I have to fly to Paris today."

His face showed both shock and pain before he wiped it clean of expression. "Really?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Philip, don't freeze me out like this," she said impatiently. "I've got to go. Neal, Gene, and Pauly are in Paris trying to put together a European tour. They have a new lead singer." She smiled fleetingly. "Neal said she has a great voice, but my legs are better."

"If they have a new singer, why do they need you?" She was going away. She was leaving him just as– He blocked the thought out and ignored the wild explosion of pain that seared through him. He kept his features carefully expressionless as he tried to fortify himself against the corrosive agony he knew so well.

"Dubois, the promoter, is giving them problems. He doesn't want to invest heavily in an unknown." Her face was earnest. "It's important that everything about the tour be first-rate. It can be very traumatic careerwise for a group to lose its lead singer. A triumphant European tour would give them the clout to ask for big bucks when they return to the U.S." She paused. "Dubois always liked me. He handled our first tour after Nemesis was formed. Neal thinks I can persuade him to take a chance on the new girl too. It's worth a try."

"Is it?" He pushed back his chair and stood up. "Then, of course, you must go. I'll tell Raoul to have the plane readied while you pack."

She felt a little shiver of panic run through her at the impersonal way he was speaking. "I have to go, Philip. It isn't as if I want to run off to Paris. I'll fly in today, see Dubois tonight, and be back tomorrow evening at the latest."

He shook his head. "No."

She went still. "What do you mean?"

"Don't come back. I don't want you here." There was suppressed anger beneath the coldness of his words. "I don't want you in my life. I've told you that before."

Agony ripped through her. "You do want me. I know you do." Her chin lifted defiantly. "I'll be back tomorrow night and everything will be the same. You'll see."

His lips twisted. "Don't count on it. You know I seldom keep a woman for more than a month. Be sure to take that pretty trinket I gave you in San Francisco. There won't be any more forthcoming."

"You know I don't want your damn gifts," she whispered. "Why are you doing this to me?"

A shadow of pain passed over his face. Then it was gone. "Don't come back," he said again. "You'll regret it if you do."

"I'll be home tomorrow evening," she said huskily. "I'm not going to let you do this to us, Philip."

"This is my home, not yours," he said as he turned away. "You're an outsider here. Remember that, Pandora." He didn't look at her again as he strode out of the room.

She closed her eyes, trying to fight back the waves of pain. Why? She had expected anger, even jealousy, but not this cold rejection. It was as if she'd touched a trigger that had set off a hidden land mine. She couldn't believe that the laughing man who had sat beside her on the cliff this morning could have changed in such a short time. No. She wouldn't accept it. That warm, gentle man was still there beneath the hardness. She just had to find him again.

She opened her eyes and stood up. The sooner she got this Paris business over with, the sooner she could start that search.

Her steps were quick and firm as she hurried from the room to start her packing.

Seven

It was already dark when the limousine pulled up in the courtyard the next evening. Philip's home resembled a gleaming palace from an Arabian nights storybook as the lights shone from the long, narrow windows and fell on the rich mosaic tiles of the courtyard. A palace that was remote and exotic and not at all welcoming.

Why had that thought occurred to her? Pandora wondered tiredly. She had always thought of the place as home, no matter how palatial and impressive it appeared to others. It must be because she was almost numb with exhaustion and so grimy that she bore no resemblance to the fairy-tale harem beauty who should occupy such an exotic palace.

She had wanted to change from these jeans and the tunic top before she saw Philip, but she had been too tired to bother. She'd had no sleep since she had left Sedikhan the morning before.

Dubois had been just as stubborn as Neal had suspected he would be, and they'd stayed up all night hashing out the tour details and getting the promoter to up the money. They had paused only for breakfast this morning, and the talks had continued until midafternoon. Dubois had been bullheaded, but he had acceded at last. Nonetheless, she had left for the airport feeling as if her nerves had been stretched on the rack. The scene that was waiting for her here would not help them any, she thought as she slowly climbed the steps. She had phoned from the airport in Paris to give her arrival time, and Raoul had rather sheepishly informed her that Philip was too busy to take the call.

It was Raoul himself who opened the front door and came out on the steps. She gave him a rather strained smile. "Hello, Raoul. Have you been sent to guard the gates? I'm not sure I can put up enough of a fight to make it worth your while at the moment."

"Those were not my orders." Raoul's voice held a note of warm sympathy. "I was only told to tell the driver of the limousine to wait, and then to ask you to join the sheikh and his guest in the library."

"His guest?" Not her father. Please, anyone but him. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "All right, Raoul, I'll go straight in. I was going to change, but I wouldn't want to keep him waiting." Her lips curved in a sad smile. "Thatwouldn't be either polite or kind, would it? I'm sure he's eagerly anticipating this interview."

He took an impulsive half step forward. "Miss Madchen, perhaps it would be better if you went back to Paris for the time being. You can always return at some later time, when the sheikh is in a better frame of mind."

"That bad, is it?"

"I've never seen him quite like this. It would be wiser for you to wait until his mood is a little less . . ."He shrugged helplessly. "It would be better to wait."

She shook her head. "I won't cut and run. I knew it wouldn't be easy when I came back to Sedikhan." Her lips tightened with determination. "The driver of the limo can wait all night. I still won't be using him."

Raoul stood aside to let her pass, his expression still concerned. "I don't think ..."

"Don't worry, Raoul. I'll be all right. The library, did you say?" She walked quickly down the long hall. The door to the library was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and strolled into the room, unconsciously bracing herself for what she would find there.

It wasn't her father who was sitting in the chair facing the door. It was a woman. An extremely beautiful woman, with silky, dark hair and olive skin, ravishingly complemented by her scarlet chiffon gown. Her lips were parted in a warm smile as she gazed up at Philip, standing by the chair.

She must look like a tousled street urchin in comparison, Pandora thought dully. "Hello, Philip," she said quietly. "I take it you have someone you want me to meet."

Philip was in dinner clothes, and looked as dark and dangerous as Oedipus at his most mettlesome. He turned to her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh yes. I really thought the two of you should meet. Come here. Pandora."

She went forward to stand beside him. "That shop in Marasef is boringly predictable," she said huskily. "Brunettes do look good in colors other than scarlet. I think you'd look beautiful in a soft pink, Miss . . .?"

"Lenat," Philip supplied. "Natalie Lenat." His eyes were narrowed on Pandora's face. "You've guessed that she's your replacement, then?"

"How do you do, Miss Lenat?" Pandora said wearily. "I'm sorry you've been drawn into this. You don't deserve it."

"I don't understand," Natalie Lenat murmured in bewilderment.

"Send her away, Philip," Pandora said curtly. "You're not going to discourage me by dangling another woman in front of my face."

"What makes you think she's here for your benefit? " Philip asked silkily. "Natalie and I are old acquaintances. We've enjoyed each other's . . . company several times before."

"That's in the past," Pandora said jerkily. "Not now. Not in the future. I'm your future, Philip."

"No," he said very softly. "You're the past, Pandora. Accept it."

She was shaking. Each word was stabbing her like needle-thin icicles of pain. "Don't do this to me," she whispered. "You know you don't mean it."

"Don't I?" There was a reckless smile on his lips. "Your bags have been packed. Raoul has put them in the car by now. You'll have to forgive the haste, but Natalie needed the closet room, didn't you, sweet?"

There was a touch of sympathy in the brunette's face as she started to rise. "Perhaps I should leave you alone."

Philip's hand was immediately on her smooth, bare shoulder, pushing her back into the chair. "No. Stay. I have a gift for you."

"A gift?"

"A very special gift." He took a step closer to Pandora, his hands sliding beneath her long silver hair. "Pandora won't need this any longer." He found the clasp of the medallion and released it, drawing the chain along her skin as he took the necklace off. It felt as if each link were cutting into her heart. "She's leaving Sedikhan."

"I can't take much more of this, Philip." She felt a fierce rage begin to smolder, burning away the pain like a mercifully cauterizing brand. "That's my medallion."

"Only as long as I chose to let you keep it," he drawled. "And I no longer choose to do that." He stepped behind the wing chair. "I wish to give it to my new Khadim." He put the medallion around Natalie Lenat's neck and held it there, without fastening the chain. "She has a lovely throat, hasn't she?"

"Damn you!" Pandora's dark eyes were blazing in her suddenly pale face. "Damn you to hell, Philip. Who gave you the right to be so cruel to me? You didn't have to love me, but couldn't you have been kind at least?" Her voice was shaking. "What happened? Did you get scared again that you might give a little of yourself to someone else? Well, don't worry. I'm not sure that I want you to give me anything any longer. I might get frostbite. I think you like that winter world you live in." She stalked to the door, paused and turned. "And if I happen to have a child, I don't want him to live in that winter world either. That should relieve you. You can have your barren little planet all to yourself. We won't bother you again."

Then she was gone. Philip found himself staring at the door with blind eyes, feeling as if he were waking out of a nightmare dream into a nightmare reality. She had left him. It was what he wanted, wasn't it? Then why was he feeling this wrenching pain?

"You don't really want to give me this, do you?" Natalie asked softly. "It was only a way of hurting her?"

"Yes, it was only a way of hurting her," he said dully. He slowly removed the medallion from around her neck with a feeling of intense self-disgust.

"I think you succeeded." She rose gracefully to her feet. "I believe you hurt her very much."

"So do I." He was suddenly nauseated as he remembered the look on Pandora's face. "I'm good at pulling wings off butterflies too."

"I think I should go pack." Natalie moved with lithe grace toward the door. "You do not want me here. It was all a game, as she said. Is that not so?"

"Yes," he said absently. He was still seeing Pandora's white face. "Of course you will be suitably rewarded for your time."

"Thank you. You've always been very generous." Her low voice was serene. "If you ever do really want me, you know I will come."

The door closed behind her.

He didn't want her. He didn't want any woman but Pandora. He would never want anyone but Pandora.

The knowledge struck him like a blow. Blind. My God, how blind could a man be? Blind and frightened, just as she had accused him of being.

He felt as if he'd been in a fever since the moment she had said she was going to Paris. The pain had been so shockingly intense that he'd automatically withdrawn into himself, throwing up barriers with frantic urgency. Why hadn't he realized what he was doing?

There was a soft knock on the door and it opened a moment later. "Shall I tell the driver he may leave now?" Raoul asked with an aloofness that signaled extreme disapproval.

"The driver?" Philip looked up swiftly. "The limousine is still here? But Pandora ..."

"Miss Madchen did not take the limousine," Raoul said. "She ran out the front door, but she didn't get in the car." He paused before adding accusingly, "I don't think she even saw it. She was most upset."

"I know that," Philip said. His lips were a thin line of pain. "Where did she go? Why the hell didn't you stop her?"

"I wasn't sure you would want me to. After all, you obviously desired her to leave."

"Where did she go?" Philip demanded. "I don't need you to turn the knife, Raoul. All I need to know is where Pandora went when she left here."

"She ran across the courtyard in the direction of the stables."

Philip muttered a low curse. He should have known she'd head for the haven of the stables. Then another thought occurred to him, and it stopped the breath in his chest.

"Oedipus," he breathed. "Oh, my God." He started for the door, fear a hard fist in his stomach. "Oedipus!"

* * *

She was running. The anger lasted only a few minutes after she left the study, and then the pain enveloped her in shimmering waves. She wasn't conscious of the tears streaming down her cheeks as she tore across the courtyard. She was only aware of the need to escape from that pain in any way possible. But there wasn't any escape. She knew that, even as she climbed the pasture fence and jumped to the ground on the other side.

Oedipus neighed softly. His dark coat shone in the moonlight with a silken luster. So beautiful. So powerful. So much like Philip, with his complexities and his remoteness. However, Oedipus wasn't remote tonight. He was warm and accessible as she threw her arms about his neck and buried her face in his mane.

"How about a run?" she said brokenly. "I need it. I want to outrun the wind tonight." Maybe she could outrun some of the pain as well. She slipped on Oedipus s back, and he stood like a statue until she nudged him forward. "Not the pasture tonight." She leaned far down and opened the gate, then urged him into a trot. "We need freedom, don't we?" In a few minutes she was away from the compound and on the road that led to the hills.

"Now." She was bent low over Oedipus's mane. "Run, boy!"

The wind was tearing at her hair as he stretched out at a blinding pace. She couldn't breathe, but for a little while she couldn't feel either as the scenery flashed by on either side of her. Oh Lord, how merciful it was not to feel. The moonlight shone on the road and she could see the hills looming dark in the distance.

The hills. She suddenly remembered sitting on the cliff overlooking those hills yesterday morning. Philip had been laughing and teasing her, his face lit with a rare warmth. She felt a bolt of pain rip through her. No, she couldn't go there now!

She tried to pull Oedipus in, but she had no reins. He was running faster now, covering the distance between the valley and the foothills with great speed. Then he was climbing, and she had to tighten her knees to keep from slipping off his sleek back. The cliff where they had stopped was much closer and she felt a sudden panic. She bent low, her arms encircling Oedipus's neck, pulling and trying to halt or break his stride.

The action only served to confuse him, and he suddenly reared, pawing the air. Her arms were torn from his neck and she felt herself slipping, falling. . . .

She struck the hard, rocky ground with a jar that knocked the breath out of her. For a moment she was only conscious of the struggle to get air. Then the pain in her lower back washed over her with an intensity that made her cry out. She was dully aware of a dampness between her thighs and a mist that surrounded her with ever increasing darkness.

She tried to lift her head and found she couldn't see any longer through the mist. How odd. It wasn't that dark tonight, she thought. Then the mists overwhelmed her, and she was no longer conscious of anything at all.

* * *

She was lying on something hard and unyielding, and the blanket that covered her was of rough wool. She heard Philip's voice fading in and out of the mists, but it was hoarse and rasping. She had never heard him sound like that before.

Yet when she forced her lids to open, it was undoubtedly Philip's face looking down into her own. His eyes were turquoise bright and glittering strangely. "My fault," she whispered.

He bent closer. "Don't try to talk. We have you back in the first-aid room. You're going to be fine." His hand, brushing a strand of hair from her temple, was trembling slightly. No, that must be her imagination. Philip was always rock firm and absolutely unflappable. But he was going to be angry. So angry. She must make him understand. "My fault," she murmured again. "Not Oedipus. I was stupid. It wasn't Oedipus."

A muscle in his jaw jerked. "No, it wasn't Oedipus's fault. I know that. Close your eyes and try to rest. Your father will be here soon, and we'll get you taken care of."

"My father?" She shivered suddenly. "Cold. I'm so cold, Philip."

"Hush, I know." His hand tightened on her own, as if trying to transmit his warmth to her. "It won't last long and then you'll never be cold again. I promise, Pandora."

Philip always kept his promises. She knew that. Yet even Philip couldn't perform miracles. How was he going to bring spring to a winter world? "My father doesn't know about spring." Her voice trailed away as her eyes closed again. "He doesn't know, Philip."

"Then well have to teach him," Philip said huskily. "I promised. Pandora. Just hold on for a little while longer and then I'll take over."