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the possibility that I might get married again,' she said, handing him the plate of sandwiches. 'But whatever happens, it's my decision.'
    Professor Gillespie took the plate, but he was still uneasy. 'Abby, men are not like women,' he insisted, as they walked back to the warm security of his study. 'Don't you think you're being a little unrealistic?'
    Abby took a deep breath. 'I thought you were supposed to be on my side.'
    'I am, I am.' Her father sought the comfort of his armchair with a troubled expression engraving deeper lines beside his mouth. 'But I must admit, I expected something different from Rachid, and his attitude definitely restores a little of my faith in him. Abby, in his country, it must be extremely difficult to sustain continuity without a direct descendant. He's the eldest son, perhaps unfortunately, and it's his role to beget an heir.'
    'Beget! Beget!' Abby gave a groan of exasperation. 'Honestly, Dad, you're beginning to sound like the first book of Genesis! Rachid's brother has two sons already. Isn't that direct enough for you?'
    Her father hesitated. 'If Rachid divorced you, there's, every possibility that he could find a wife who would produce him a son,' he commented mildly, and Abby realised she had spoken as if she was still in the picture.
    'As you say,' she agreed shortly, picking up .a sandwich. 'And as far as I'm concerned, I wish he would do just that.'
    Later that night, undressing in the quiet isolation of her room, Abby wondered what she would do if Rachid divorced her. It was all very well, talking blandly of getting married again, but somehow she knew that was most unlikely. Her experiences with Rachid had left her badly scarred, and where once there had been warmth and tenderness, now there was just a cold hard core of bitterness and resentment. She doubted any man could breach the defences she had built around herself, and she didn't really want anyone to try. It was better to be free, and independent, as she had told her father. Better not to love at all than to go though the pain and turmoil of those last months with Rachid. She was safe now, immune from the arrows of distrust and jealousy, secure within the shell of her own indifference. She had no desire to expose herself again, to lay open the paths to vulnerability and suffering. If she ever did allow another man into her life, she would make sure her involvement was not emotional. Emotions caused too many tortured days and sleepless nights.
    Nevertheless, for the first time in months she found herself viewing her own body with something other than dissatisfaction. For so long she had regarded herself with discontented eyes, finding the lissom curves of her figure less than gratifying. She had seen no beauty in the swelling symmetry of her breasts, in the narrow waist and gently rounded thighs, that hinted of the sensual depths Rachid had once plumbed. All she had seen was a hollow vessel, lacking the essential constituents which would have made her a whole being. She was that most pathetic of all creatures, a barren woman, and all the allure and enticement of her body went for nothing beside such an elemental deficiency.
    She twisted restlessly, turning sideways, looking at the pale oval of her face over her shoulder. On impulse, she reached up and released the coil of hair at her nape, and shards of silk fell almost to her waist. Her hair was one thing she would not change, straight and silky, and moonbeam-fair. Rachid had loved its soft fragrance, had liked nothing better than to bury his face in its lustrous curtain, and it was pure indulgence that she had not had it cut when she left Abarein. It was really too much for a working girl to handle, but it was her one extravagance, and she was loath to destroy it.
    Now, spreading smoothly across her shoulders, concealing the thrusting peaks of womanhood, it accentuated her femininity, and she reflected sadly on the fates that had given her so much, yet denied her so much