Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(65)

“His name is Haytham Querashi. He's twenty-five years old. He's been to university—”

“As if that makes him a good candidate for husband,” Rachel said bitterly. “I suppose he's got lots of money as well. Your dad would go in big for that. Like he did with Yumn. Who cares what sort of monkey crawls into your bed just so long as Akram gets what he wants from the deal? And that's it, isn't it? Isn't your dad getting something as well? Tell the truth, Sahlah.”

“Haytham will work for the business, if that's what you're asking,” Sahlah said.

“Hah! See what they're doing? He's got something they want—Muhannad and your dad—and the only way they can get it is to hand you over to some oily bloke you don't even know. I can't believe you're doing it.”

“I have no choice.”

“What d'you mean? If you said you didn't want to marry this bloke, you can't tell me your dad would make you do it. He dotes on you. So all you have to do is tell him that you and me, we've got plans. And none of them have to do with marrying some twit from Pakistan you've never even met.”

“I want to marry him,” Sahlah said.

Rachel had gaped at her. “You want …” The immensity of the betrayal cleft her. She hadn't ever thought five simple words could cause such pain, and she had no armour to protect herself from it. “You want to marry him? But you don't know him and you don't love him and how can you begin to live such a lie?”

“We'll learn to love,” Sahlah replied. “That's what happened for my parents.”

“And is that what happened for Muhannad? What a joke! Yumn's not his beloved. She's his doormat. You've said so yourself. Do you want that to happen to you? Well, do you?”

“My brother and I are different people.” Sahlah had averted her head when she said this, and a length of her dupattā shielded her from view. She was withdrawing, an action that made Rachel want to cling to her even harder.

“Who cares about that? It's how different your brother and this Haybram—”

“Haytham.”

“Whatever he's called. It's how different your brother and he are to each other. And you don't know if they're different at all. And you won't know that, will you, till the first time he smacks you a good one, Sahlah. Just like Muhannad. I've seen Yumn's face after she's had a good one from your wonderful brother. What's to prevent Haykem—”

“Haytham, Rachel.”

“Whatever. What's to prevent him from doing you the same way?”

“I can't answer that. I don't know the answer yet. When I meet him, I'll see.”

“Just like that?” Rachel asked.

They'd been in the pear orchard beneath the trees, canopied in mid-spring by fragrant blossoms. They'd been sitting on the same teetering bench that they'd sat upon so many times as children when they'd swung their legs and made plans for a future that would now never come. It wasn't fair to be denied what was rightfully hers, Rachel thought, to have snatched from her the one person she had learned to depend upon. Not only was it not fair, though, it also wasn't right. Sahlah had lied to her. She had played along with a game that she'd never intended to complete.

Rachel's sense of loss and betrayal shifted slightly, like ground growing used to a new position once an earthquake has done its work. A budding of anger began to grow within her. And with anger came its companion: revenge.

“My father's told me that I can decide against Haytham when we meet,” Sahlah said. “He won't force me into a marriage if he sees I'm unhappy about it.”

Rachel read her friend's meaning behind the words, however Sahlah sought to make them appear. “But you won't be unhappy about it, will you? No matter what, you're going to marry him. I can see that in you. I know you, Sahlah.”

The bench upon which they sat was old. It rested unevenly on the ground beneath the tree. Sahlah picked at a splinter on the edge of the seat, raising it slowly with the smooth crescent edge of her thumbnail.

Rachel felt a rising sense of desperation accompanying her need to strike out and wound. It was inconceivable to her that her friend had changed to such a marked degree. They'd seen each other only two days previous to this conversation. Their plans for the future had still been in place. So what had happened to alter her so? This wasn't the Sahlah she'd shared hours and days of companionship with, the Sahlah she'd played with, the Sahlah she'd defended before the bullies of Balford-le-Nez Junior School and Wickham-Standish Comprehensive. This wasn't a Sahlah she'd ever met.

“You talked to me about love,” Rachel said. “We talked to each other about it. We talked about honesty too. We said that in love, honesty comes first. Didn't we?”

“We did. Yes. We did.” Sahlah had been watching her parents’ house as if she were worried about someone observing their conversation and the passion of Rachel's reaction to her news. She turned to Rachel now, though. She said, “But sometimes complete—absolute—honesty isn't possible. It isn't possible with friends. It isn't possible with lovers. It isn't possible between parents and children. It isn't possible between husbands and wives. And not only isn't it always possible, Rachel, it's not always practical. And it's not always wise.”