THE WARLORD'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER 3
Melisande had no opportunity to tell Henri about the arranged meeting with the Husseins because his duties kept him away that morning. By afternoon he had returned but was occupied with preparations for Hussein's arrival. She knew he would be present at the dinner, not as a guest but as protection for her family. Would he know about her father's plans for her? He would be forced to witness the shameful introduction of Jamal, whether he was forewarned or not, of course, but she did not want him to think that she had a hand in her father's machinations or that it was anything but abhorrent to her.
"We won't let this happen, you know," Melisande said to her mother, who had come to her suite before dinner. "We will run away before we let Baba sell me."
"Hush, daughter," Maysam said. "Someone might hear."
"I don't care."
Melisande sat before the vanity mirror in her bedroom, her mother standing behind her chair. Her mother's hands kneaded Melisande's shoulders, as if to relax the tension from her muscles. Melisande studied her parent's reflection. Over these past few weeks, the regal face seemed to have sprouted new age lines, and Melisande knew her relationship with Henri was the cause of them.
"You may not care what happens to you," Maysam said, "but I do."
Melisande frowned and put one of her hands over her mother's hand. "I'm sorry that you've been dragged into this, Mother. But I can't divorce Henri to marry someone else."
Maysam withdrew her touch, momentarily closed her eyes as if to hide tears, then turned away, saying, "Do not be late."
Melisande watched Maysam's reflection as she left and vowed that when she had children of her own, they would be free to choose their own destiny.
Lakshmi hurried in and rushed over to finish brushing Melisande's hair. "Sahiba said you are not to be late."
"No doubt she threatened you with punishment if I am?"
Lakshmi kept her eyes on her work, but a downward twitch at one corner of her mouth gave Melisande her answer. Usually it was her father who made such threats—and enforced them—not her mother. Her mother was firm with the servants but never menacing.
"Don't worry," Melisande told her. "I'm almost ready anyway."
Once finished, Lakshmi stepped back, and Melisande stood. "You look beautiful, sahiba. No man could ever reject you."
"Well, let's hope this one today proves you wrong."
Lakshmi gave her a sad, sympathetic smile, for her culture followed the same custom as Melisande's when it came to a daughter's marriage.
Melisande arrived in the dining room before her father and their guests, as ordered. Her mother was there also, quietly instructing the staff on last-minute details. The table was set with the finest service, silverware and glassware gleaming. A centerpiece with fresh-cut roses and jasmine provided an explosion of varied colors and filled the room with a heady aroma. Lit tea lights floated like lily pads in small, shallow porcelain bowls at intervals on the table.
Where would Henri be stationed during the meal? Melisande expected he would be in the dining room, near the doors. But perhaps her father would not want his mistrust of Hussein to be that obvious, and Henri would remain just outside the dining room. A part of her wanted him to be where she could see him, not because she cared about any threat from their guests but because she hoped to draw fortitude from his mere presence and an occasionally stolen glance. The other part of her hoped he would not be in the room. Then he would not have to witness the shameful charade. And if the Husseins were foolish enough to insult her in any way, there would be no risk of Henri saying or doing something regrettable to defend her.
For a selfish moment she found herself hoping Hussein would end her father's life, but then she chastised herself for such a horrible wish. Besides, even if her father were to die, she would then be under the thumb of one of her uncles.
Male voices drifted to her from the hallway, and she involuntarily gave a short gasp, turning. Her mother drifted to her side, barely noticed as Melisande held her breath. She prayed the Husseins would find her unappealing. Perhaps she could think of ways to displease them without incurring her father's wrath. But what? Her thoughts raced in desperation.
"It will be all right, daughter," her mother murmured, giving her a quick squeeze against her side and a kiss to her head.
The doors opened, and in walked her father and the Husseins. Maysam glanced pointedly at Melisande and stepped forward to greet their guests, a convincing smile on her face.
Abdul Hussein was a tall man, dark of hair and eye, bearded, handsome in a clean-cut way, as if he were a businessman who worked in some city high rise building. He carried himself with a certain rigidity, as if his back bothered him, or perhaps it was the precise tailoring of his clothing that restrained him. The blue of his silk blend attire was so pale that it was almost gray. He wore a white shirt whose collar was all that could be seen. Over that was a long shirt, large silver buttons running the length of it. The jacket of the same length was even paler blue, with white embroidered designs, and completed with a pale gray silk handkerchief in the breast pocket. His pants, also blue, tapered just above pale-brown loafers.
Jamal was a smaller version of his father, but he wore more colorful clothing, equally well-tailored, with bold reds and golds, trimmed in black to match his pants. He stood a couple of inches taller than Melisande, though he was two years younger. His sharp eyes had sought her from the moment he had entered, and as he drew closer, Melisande could see by the spark in his brown eyes and the slight lift of his mouth that he approved of what he saw. She quickly looked away from him to his mother, who wore a conservative dress the color of faded sunflowers, with small orange and black embroidery on the cuffs and collar. She looked much younger than her husband, so young that she could not possibly be Jamal's birth mother. What had happened to Jamal's mother?
As Siddig made the introductions, one of his bodyguards who had escorted the party left the room. The one remaining reached to close the double doors from inside, but before he did so, the man who had left was replaced by Henri Ducard. He took up his station to one side of the door, opposite the other bodyguard, his arrival so smooth and unobtrusive that only Melisande took notice.
Her gaze reached beseechingly to him, and while he briefly met her stare, his face was immobile, expression dutiful. He showed no surprise over Jamal's introduction, no outrage. As head of security, he would have been briefed on the visitors, of course, but did he know the purpose of this dinner? Look at me, my love. Look at me! she wanted to shout. This wasn't my idea!
"Daughter," her father's terse beckon broke through her haze.
She realized she had failed to acknowledge Jamal after her father had introduced him, and everyone was waiting on her response, so she stammered, "Pleased to meet you."
Her father scowled at her from slightly behind Jamal. "Come. Let us sit. I hope we will all know one another better by the end of the evening."
While Siddig sat at the head of the table, Maysam sat to his right, with Melisande to her right. The Husseins sat across from them, Jamal opposite Melisande. Conversation initially flowed stiffly between the two older men, but by the time the second course was served, the discussion progressed freer. Abdul bragged about his son's high grades at the Institute of Technology in Delhi where he was studying engineering. Jamal seemed proud of his accomplishments but squirmed slightly in his seat as his father droned on about him.
"I want to go to university, too," Melisande said, her first offer of discourse since the meal had begun.
The two older men instantly stopped chewing and looked at her with disapproval. Jamal's mother appeared shocked, her gaze flashing between Melisande and Maysam, as if disbelieving what she had heard.
Siddig quickly said, "My daughter has few flaws, but she does tend to daydream a bit too much."
Melisande felt hot color rise to her cheeks. Before she could respond, her mother briefly but forcefully squeezed her hand beneath the table in warning.
Jamal, however, seemed bemused by Melisande's remark. "You want to attend university? Whatever for?"
"I want to be a lawyer, a human rights lawyer."
"A lawyer?" Jamal's mother said, then barked a derisive laugh.
"Yes," Melisande said, pleased that she had shocked them and hopeful that her value had been diminished in their eyes. "I want to specialize in women's rights."
Abdul also laughed. "Well, Siddig, it appears your daughter daydreams more than 'a bit.'"
"Melisande is an intelligent woman," Maysam said. "I would think that an admirable quality, not one for which she should be derided."
Abdul's grin vanished, and he flushed slightly, more from anger at Maysam's rebuke than from embarrassment.
"My wife is sensitive," Siddig quickly interjected. "We have but one daughter," he glanced pointedly at Maysam, "and one child, so she is justifiably over-protective."
Melisande felt the barb directed at her mother as acutely as if it had been directed at herself.
Siddig changed the subject to politics, shutting the door on further discussion of Melisande's independent nature.
For the rest of the meal, Melisande said little, and Jamal seemed reluctant to direct anything her way. His mother tried once or twice to open a discussion between them but had little success beyond brief questions and answers. Time dragged on, and Melisande felt the meal would never end. Occasionally she stole glances at Henri, but only once did he meet her gaze, and then only for a brief moment, and she could interpret nothing from it.
When the meal finally did end, Siddig and Abdul excused themselves and left to retire to Siddig's office. Henri Ducard left with them, leaving only one bodyguard. Melisande was unsure if she felt relief or disappointment as he departed.
"Jamal," his mother said, "perhaps our hostess might suggest a place where you and Melisande may spend some time together, someplace nearby."
"Of course," Maysam said. "The reception room is just through that side door. Daughter, why don't you show Jamal the artwork there? I'll have some tea sent over."
Jamal stood but hesitated when Melisande remained seated a moment longer before slowly standing. Then, as the two moved across the dining room, Jamal's mother called, "Leave the door open."
He glanced back at her with what Melisande interpreted as slight annoyance.
Melisande led him into the next room, a small space with comfortable furniture and muted tones, its windows letting in the day's dying light. She wished there was a veranda so she could step outside and get some air, but then her lips twisted ruefully, for there was no way Jamal's mother was going to let them that far out of her sight.
Jamal remained standing until Melisande settled at one end of a large, pale green and gold sofa, then he sat at the opposite end, appearing as uncomfortable as she, looking everywhere but at her.
"Would you like me to tell you about the paintings?" she asked, gesturing around the room at the framed artwork.
An almost shy smile drifted to his lips. "Not particularly. But if you want to—"
"No, not really." A small, relieved smile almost followed. "I'm afraid my father is more of the art lover. Well, maybe not an art lover; more like someone who covets owning valuable property."
An awkward silence. Perhaps Jamal was wondering if her father viewed him as a valuable piece of property, then he said, "The meal was very good."
"Thank you." Melisande clasped her hands in her lap, not knowing what else to do with them.
"Do you really want to go to university?" he asked.
"Yes, of course. Very badly."
"Which university? Do you have one in mind?"
"Yes. It's in America. Harvard law school."
"America? Have you ever been there?"
She laughed sardonically. "I've never been anywhere except to Jodhpur or Jaipur to shop. And never on my own, of course."
He frowned.
"Have you been there?" she asked, thinking of Henri's descriptions of the many times he had been to America, mainly prior to working for her father.
"Once. Baba took me with him to New York City for a business meeting."
"What was it like?"
"Like nothing I've ever experienced. It's a whole different world. Tall buildings for as far as you can see. Being on the streets is like being in narrow canyons. So much noise. So many people and cars. But even with all those people around me, I felt…I don't know…alone, isolated. People looked at me accusingly, like I had done something wrong. They were very rude. Well, except for the men my father met. Some of them were Arabs, a couple of them were Americans. They treated Baba with respect. Of course, there was money involved, so that always makes men respectful."
"Is that why your father is respectful of mine?" The question slipped out before she could restrain her mild sarcasm.
Jamal's face reddened slightly.
"Well," she stumbled on, "maybe not because of money. But something they consider valuable—me."
When he remained silent for a moment, shame crept in upon her. Not shame because she felt dishonest in her words but because perhaps she was being unfair to Jamal. Maybe he was as trapped in this arrangement as she was.
Just then, a servant arrived with the tea service. After pouring a cup for each of them, she quickly left.
"I don't mean any disrespect to you or your family," Melisande insisted, blowing gently on the hot tea before taking a sip. "I'm merely stating the facts of my situation, as I perceive it, seeing as I have no say in this matter otherwise. But what about you? Is this what you want?"
"As with you, what I want isn't important in most family matters."
"Maybe I think it's important." She sat closer to the edge of the sofa, hoping to encourage him to be honest. If he was against this marriage arrangement, she could use that as ammunition in her debate with her parents. "Is there someone else you would like to marry? Maybe someone your parents don't approve of?"
He blinked hard, as if alarmed that she knew something intimate about him. "Well," he stammered, "not right now. I mean, there was, but that was a year or so ago."
Intrigued, she smiled and leaned slightly closer to him, glancing back toward the dining room and lowering her voice even more. "What happened?"
He, too, flashed a look toward the open door, hesitated.
"You can tell me," Melisande urged. "I won't say anything to anyone." She set her cup aside.
Ignoring his own tea, Jamal rolled his lips together for a moment, something crossing his face, deep emotions. When he spoke, his voice was even quieter than before. "There was a girl…she was the daughter of one of my father's business associates. We fell in love, but she was already promised to someone else."
"But she wasn't married at the time?"
"No."
"So obviously she didn't love the man she was promised to."
"She didn't."
"Was he cruel?"
"She didn't say, maybe to spare my feelings, or maybe she was afraid I would do something rash." A smile played upon his lips. "She was beautiful and kind."
"What was her name?"
"Amira."
"Has she married?"
"Yes, six months ago."
"Do you ever get to see her? I mean, does she live near you?"
"No."
"No, she doesn't live near you, or no, you never get to see her?"
Another pause, this one with the slight weight of suspicion. Did he wonder if he was being set up? Finally he said, "She doesn't live near me."
Nothing further. She did not press him, especially because she suspected from his obvious unease that he still saw Amira. As a way to draw him out, she considered hinting at her own interest in someone other than her father's candidates but decided it was too risky.
"I understand tradition," she said. "But don't you think some of it is too old-fashioned? Shouldn't we be able to make our own choices?"
Jamal frowned. "Baba says I will understand better when I'm older and when I've been married a while."
"Do you believe him?"
He shrugged one shoulder, stared at the floor.
Melisande gathered her courage, sat a little closer so she could almost whisper. "What if we told our parents after today that we both agree this isn't the right thing to do?"
"What would be the point? They would just find someone else for us, then. We would be right back where we are today."
"It would buy us some time."
"Time?" He frowned at her, making her immediately regret her suggestion. "What good will time do? For me, it's already too late. Amira belongs to another man." Then his eyebrows lifted in realization. "You are in love with someone? Is that what you mean by buying time?"
Melisande quickly hushed him, a cold feeling seeping into her. "No, of course not. I just mean…we could have our freedom a bit longer. Maybe in time I can convince my father to let me marry whom I choose." Of course she did not believe it, but she needed to cover her slip.
"I don't know your father, but I know mine, and he will never change his mind, especially when the woman I marry will benefit him, like it would with us—you and me." He forced a smile. "Maybe we would be a good match, after all. We just don't know, do we?"
She blushed and looked away.
"It won't hurt to get to know one another better," he continued. "You are an interesting girl…I mean, woman. And very beautiful."
Melisande's hand clenched the fabric over her thigh, her breath catching. No, this felt so wrong, hearing someone besides Henri compliment her. The thought of spending more time with Jamal made her feel as if she were betraying Henri. True, Jamal seemed pleasant enough, not arrogant as she had expected, but she did not want to give him any false hope of them being anything more than forced acquaintances. And if she saw more of him just to appease her father, she knew it would pain Henri.
"Thank you," she said in response to his compliment, blushing slightly. A clumsy pause followed until she grasped upon an innocuous topic of conversation by asking him to tell her more about America.
In time, their mothers joined them. For the next hour, Melisande had to endure the banal conversation of Jamal's mother, who only rarely paused for breath and who irritated her by often interrupting her mother. Somehow her mother gracefully bore it all. Jamal sat without speaking unless one of the older women asked him a question or for an opinion. Melisande found herself feeling sorry for him, stuck with three women. But soon their fathers returned, and Siddig invited Jamal to accompany him and Abdul to see his prized falcons. The young man nearly bolted from the room.