Sandstorm by Anne Mather Page B

find her father had some sympathy with his cause, and since it was she, and not Rachid, who wanted to dissolve this marriage, Professor Gillespie was loath to give her his support.
    She decided to wear trousers, as a deliberate assault on his ideas of femininity, the masculine attire strengthening her determination to show her independence. Black velvet pants accentuated the length of her legs, and the matching jerkin she wore with them concealed the revealing curves of her body. The long silky hair was coiled into a knot on the top of her head, and a velvet cap with a swinging tassel completed the image of staunch emancipation. Only as she walked was her sex unmistakable, the provocative swing of her hips proclaiming her womanhood.
    But Abby, examining her reflection before she departed, was unaware of this betraying trait, and she was well pleased with the picture she represented. It was sombre, she thought, but that was how it should be, and if her stomach muscles tightened at the thought of how appropriate her appearance was in the circumstances, she determinedly thrust the feeling aside. At least Rachid should be in no doubt that she meant what she said, she decided with satisfaction, and throwing her sheepskin jacket about her shoulders, she went downstairs.
    Fortunately, her father had a dinner engagement himself that evening, and as he had departed before her, she was not obliged to explain her destination. She felt a little deceitful, keeping it to herself, but she knew if she told him the truth it would only arouse hopes she could not possibly fulfil. So far as her father was concerned sha and Rachid were finished, and tomorrow she would explain, after her husband had left for Abarein.
    She took a taxi to the hotel and entered the lobby, not without a certain amount of trepidation. It was impossible not to feel apprehensive where Rachid was concerned, and besides, her surroundings alone were intimidating enough. He always stayed at the most exclusive hotel in London, and she was glad the velvet suit had been bought in New York and would therefore pass muster among so many glitteringly gowned and jewelled escorts. For herself, she wore little jewellery, only a thin gold chain around her neck, and the slim gold watch Rachid had bought her at Cartiers. The extravagant necklaces and bracelets he had bought had been left behind when she returned to England, and as she had never worn a lot of jewellery, she didn't miss them. All the same, her head turned as diamonds and sapphires and emeralds sparkled on ears and wrists, and she felt like the slender boy she resembled, wide-eyed in the cave of Aladdin.
    There was no sign of Rachid, however, and as it was already after eight o'clock she approached the reception desk. Perhaps he had been unavoidably detained, she thought hopefully, or maybe he had had to return to Abarein at short notice. Still, she knew in those circumstances he would have contacted her, and her nerves were sketched tautly as she crossed the cushioned pile of the carpet.
    The receptionist was female, and more inclined to be generous to members of the opposite sex. One look at Abby's pale, luminous face was enough to convince her that this was no effeminate boy but a slim and beautiful woman, and her lips tightened perceptibly as she asked if she could be of assistance.
    'I have an appointment,' said Abby uncomfortably. 'With—er—with Prince Rachid. He is staying at this hotel, isn't he?'
    The girl frowned. 'You are‑' she consulted a pad in front of her, '—Princess Hiriz?'
    Abby felt herself colouring. She wanted to say, no, her name was Abigail Gillespie, but that would have been a deliberate distortion of the truth. Besides, the receptionist's expression was such that she almost enjoyed acknowledging her identity, even if it did evoke certain raised eyebrows.
    'You are?' The girl was clearly taken aback, but she recovered herself quickly and went on: 'I'll get someone to escort you to Prince