Three Daughters: A Novel (44 page)

“Terrific. What’d you shoot, your teddy bears?”

“Very funny. Targets.”

“And when did you become the big killer of lambs?”

“Nine.”

“And you loved every bloodthirsty minute?”

“Oh, no. I hated it. I had nightmares over it.”

“That’s a relief,” he said, vindicated. He lay down again and she could hear him arranging his skimpy cover.

Again there was silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a gun?” she said accusingly. “You pretended to be afraid of mine when all along you could have brought out yours.”

“That’s right!” He sat up as if she had just proved a crucial point. “You never ordered me to put my hands up and you never asked if I had a gun. Two mistakes. That’s what should have been on your mind, not fixing me the meal of a lifetime. Suppose it hadn’t been me? Suppose it had been a real thief?”

“Who said you were in charge of my welfare?” Her voice was unexpectedly loud and one of the dogs cocked its head, looked from one to the other, and growled mildly.

“Huh. That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You were determined to be responsible for mine. Remember?”

He had her. “
C’est bien
,
” she said crossly.

“She speaks French, too!” He lay down again with a sigh.

She knew she wasn’t going to go to sleep, but what was the use of arguing with him? He was right—she had been careless, but only because it was obvious he wasn’t a thief, and she wasn’t about to admit that. “What does it matter? You didn’t kill me and in the morning you’ll be on your way.”

She waited for him to keep arguing over her safety, but he was silent.
Please say something more.
He was breathing steadily. She would have liked to talk to him all night.

She awoke first and stopped to study his pale sleeping face. The brows and jaw and mouth were those of a man, yet his early-morning pallor made him look innocent. There was a deep sculpted niche right above his mouth that she hadn’t noticed. Ultimately, it wasn’t his looks that intrigued her as much as his openness. He was free to do or think anything he liked.

The thought that in a few minutes he would go on his way and leave her alone made her feel desolate. The fact that he had been concerned about her safety and indignant over her carelessness made her peculiarly happy. But that wasn’t the whole of it. She felt the stirrings of sexual longing. In the night she had put her arms around herself, idly caressing her own shoulders, but she had wished it were his hands on her.

He moved and she jumped and went to revive the fire to make breakfast. If he was going, let him go quickly.

“Good morning. What are you making that smells so good?” She was moody out of self-defense and kept her head down, stirring the little pan of batter. He turned slowly and took a deep, appreciative breath, then pointed to the tent. “That was our shelter? Without the fire we would be stiff by now.” He sat down and she handed him a filled cup and a bread cake smeared with honey. “Thank you.” He squinted and took a good look at her. “Are you angry with me? Did I say something to offend you?”

“No. I’m trying to feed you quickly. You wanted to be on your way early, didn’t you?”

“I don’t want to be, but my parents will be worried.”

“I’m sure.” She pursed her lips, determined not to say anything she’d regret. What she wanted to say was,
Please don’t leave me.
She made herself busy well away from the tent, but he came looking for her.

“You’re a remarkable girl.” She shrugged. “Can I do anything for you before I leave?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t know. I thought you might need help rounding up the sheep.” He looked out over the flock and shook his head. “You really know how to keep them together.”

“The dogs do most of it.” She went and took a canteen out of an elaborate fitted backpack that straddled the donkey.

“That holds all your possessions?”

“Yes. My father had it sent to me from Switzerland. Everything fits in. They do a lot of camping in the Alps, I guess.”

“Yes, they do, but it’s recreational. Nothing like this.” Her eyes veiled over. “I’d better be on my way.” He put out his hand. “Thank you for everything.”

“Here. Take this canteen. You’ll need it. I have plenty of water.”

“Thanks again.”

“It was nothing,” she said coolly.

“Oh, yes, it was.” He took one of her hands in both of his. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you to leave, too. This is no place . . .” She shook her head to stop him. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You don’t. You may choose to”—she didn’t answer—“but there are other ways to gain self-reliance.” Seeing she was very sober, he smiled. “We could run away to London. Jump on my horse.” She gave him a fierce look. “Well, you wouldn’t dissolve, you know.” She remained silent. “Sorry. It sounds as if I have no faith in you, but that’s not true.” He let go of her hand and she watched him mount his horse and start off.

When he was well out of sight, she sat down with the extra bread cakes and fed the crumbs to one of the dogs. Tears came into her eyes and spilled over the animal’s mangy fur. Two other dogs tried to nudge their way onto her lap. She still had six days before another shepherd would come and relieve her. There would be many hours to figure it all out—why she felt so horribly disappointed to see him leave. She looked around at the overwhelming monotone. Brown everywhere.
You don’t have to stay here.
It was a silly thing, but until he said it, she had never considered that she had a choice.

The
directrice
of
L’École Française
was little over five feet tall but no one would have believed it. Two attributes gave the illusion of height. She wore only white or black dresses or suits, simple high-heeled pumps, one important piece of jewelry, and a disarming loose chignon on top of her head.

More effective than her fashion sense was her insight into human character. She knew when to go with the moment and when to stick to the letter of the law. This afternoon, she had decided—rather impetuously—to go with the moment.

“Yes, monsieur.” She stared appreciatively at the handsome young man. He was freshly shaved and his shirt was crisply ironed and his tie knotted just right. “How may I help you?”

Before he spoke he gave her a generous smile. “Madame.” He lingered over the word. “I would like your permission to have a visit with my cousin. I’m here only for two days and I’d be sorry to miss seeing her.”

All her sensory antennae went up. “It doesn’t seem too much to ask.” She returned his smile. “Who is your cousin?”

The young man curled in his broad shoulders and took a significant breath. “The most beautiful girl in your school. The girl with the green eyes.” He smiled and looked wistful, as if he were being poetic, when she knew damn well he was being devious.

Eh bien
, she’d help him out. “Ah, you could only mean one girl . . . Nijmeh.”
I should have known—he looks delirious.

“Yes, but please, if you could just not say anything to Nijmeh just yet. I’d like to surprise her.”

“Aha . . . yes.” This whole thing smelled higher than a week-old fish, but it was audacious. And inventive.

“If I wanted to take her for a cup of tea, would that be against school policy, madame?”

The
directrice
pursed her lips and made a little noise to indicate that it was a foolish question. “Why would anything as civilized as a tea between two caring cousins be against school policy? Our senior girls must only sign out properly and return before six, when we have our own supper. Of course, I’m assuming that you will be discreet and not expose her to anything deleterious.” Her look warned him of unspoken horrors should he renege on this promise.

“Of course. And I’ll see that she’s back at the proper time. Please, not a word about who is here to see her.”

“Not a word.”

On her way to find the most beautiful girl in her school, she peeked out the window and noted the license plate on the sports car parked in front. Ah . . . Saad. She even knew the family. So much the better. She hurried down the corridor in search of Nijmeh.

“You! Oh!” She put a hand to her lips and he was afraid she might scream, so he put his hand over her mouth and wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug. “Don’t say anything just now,” he whispered in her ear. “I told the
directrice
I am your cousin from abroad. I’m sure you have many questions, which I will answer in due time. I’ve had great difficulty finding you. My God, wait till you hear! I didn’t know your name—that was stupid! So I had to bluff my way through every private school in the area. This country’s crawling with private schools. The
directrice
says I may take you out to tea, so let’s get out of here before she changes her mind. I have so much to say to you. I’m going to remove my hand now but you must promise not to scream. Promise?” She nodded and he removed his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

He guided her out with his hand under her arm and opened the door to the car. “Act friendly—she may be watching out the window. If I had been in her position, I wouldn’t have done what she did. I would have called the police.”

“How do I act friendly?”

“Just keep smiling and look happy to see me. That would be the normal thing.”

“I am happy to see you.”

He put the car in gear and roared out the driveway, scattering pebbles. She kept her eyes fixed on his profile while he drove out on the road that led north.

“No,” she squealed, grabbing his arm. “Don’t go this way. It’s the way to my house.”

He nodded, executed a sloppy U-turn, and drove in the opposite direction. He picked up the Street of the Prophets and sped past the developed neighborhoods until he reached a lonely stretch of road. “Did you say you were happy to see me?”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off his face. “Oh, yes.”

He grinned in private appreciation of his success. “That’s a relief . . .” His voice wound down and he spoke slowly, tracing the line of her jaw with his finger.

“Since I left you . . . God, it seems like such a long time ago—I’ve thought mostly of you. I thought I probably wouldn’t see you again because the chances you would survive that adventure seemed minimal. But you did.” He waited for a look of contempt, but her eyes were wide—a green so unusual he stopped talking a moment to appreciate them. “I didn’t know your name or what school you attended. I figured out that it had to be a secondary school and one that taught French, so I didn’t try the German or Italian schools. That only left about fifty others.”

“But how did you know who to ask for?”

He put the car in gear. “That was my least favorite part of the charade, I can tell you. I had to assume an oily, man-of-the-world look and ask for—now don’t be disgusted . . . remember I had everything against me—‘the most beautiful girl in the school. The one with the green eyes.’ Two of the principals became very agitated and thought they had an imbecile or worse on their hands. One chased me out of her office with a broom and ran after me all the way to the car.” Nijmeh began to laugh and he joined her. They were laughing so hard he stopped the car again.

“But what about Madame? She knew it was me?”

“Right away. I had to control myself and keep from picking her up and throwing her in the air out of sheer gratitude. She said, ‘Ah . . . you could only mean one girl, Nijmeh.’ Your name is Nijmeh . . . star.” His eyes sparkled with satisfaction. “Remarkable. I’m going to call you Star.”

“And you? I still don’t know your name.”

“I’m James.” He turned in his seat and put his arms around her. He kissed her gently, pulled away, then kissed her again, a deeper, hungry kiss that she returned with such intensity that he became uneasy. She wasn’t some English popsy, eager to be felt up. Her open response to him was innocent. What girl in her right mind would wind herself around his arm without any coyness? “We don’t have much time. It’s already five and I need twenty minutes to get you back. I wouldn’t let Madame down by being late. I owe her a lot.”

She tightened the stranglehold on his arm, as if it were keeping her from spilling out onto the road. “I wanted to run after you when you left me that morning. It’s all such a mystery. But I had never felt so happy in someone else’s company. I wanted to sleep in the crook of your arm. Is this too bold? I don’t care. Remember, you sat up in the middle of the night and yelled at me for not making you put your hands up?” She rubbed her cheek against his arm. “You were so matter-of-fact. As if we’d known each other for years.”

“And I was right, too,” he said indignantly. “How could your father have let you do such a thing?”

“Hasn’t your father wanted you to carry on the family tradition?”

“Not my father. He went to school in Massachusetts. In the United States. He’s not a nationalist.”

She scrunched up her brow. “Mine’s the opposite. He wouldn’t approve of my seeing you, so we’ve got to be very careful.”

“I’m not so bad.” He smiled. “I’m about to enter law school. He’d like that, wouldn’t he?”