The Pirate by Harold Robbins

He fished in his jacket pocket and came out with a package of cigarettes. He held them toward her. “Do you smoke?”
    She shook her head.
    He lit one and drew a deep breath. He let the smoke out slowly. “It’s kind of old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “In America I almost forgot how we do things.”
    “I always wanted to go abroad,” she said. “But my father wouldn’t let me. Did you like it?”
    “Yes,” he answered. “People are simpler there. Most of the time you know exactly what they are thinking.”
    She hesitated. “Did you have a girl there?”
    “Not one special girl. But we had lots of dates. And you?”
    “My father is very strict. I wasn’t allowed out much. There was even a fight when I wanted to go to the college.”
    They fell silent again. He looked at the glowing tip of his cigarette. This time it was she who spoke first. “You have blue eyes.”
    “Yes,” he said. “My father says it goes all the way back to the holy wars. Ever since then blue eyes show up in the family now and then.”
    She turned away and looked out to the sea. Her voice was very low. “I must be a great disappointment to you after all the Western girls you have known.”
    “That’s not true,” he said quickly. “I could never take them seriously. They’re too empty-headed. Not like us.”
    “Still, they’re very beautiful. They’re tall.”
    “Maryam,” he said.
    She turned toward him.
    “You’ve very beautiful too.”
    “I am?” she asked. “Do you really think so?”
    “I think so.” He reached for her hand. “Would you still like to go abroad?”
    “Yes.”
    He smiled. “Then we’ll go to Europe on our honeymoon.”
    And that is what they did. Married at the end of July, they spent the month of August traveling the Continent. When in September Baydr brought Maryam back to Beirut and left her to return to school in America, she was already pregnant.

CHAPTER 10
    Dancing had resumed on the upper deck when the guests wandered back after dinner. As usual, Baydr had disappeared as soon as the food was served. It was his habit to hold his meetings while everyone was eating so that by the time they were finished he would come out again and join the party. In that fashion he would not be missed.
    Jordana joined one of the tables and seated herself so that she could watch for Baydr’s reappearance in the salon. He was still strange to her, even after nine years of marriage. There was something about him she would never understand. At times it seemed as if he were completely unaware of her and then, suddenly, out of nowhere, he would bring her up short and she would realize that there was very little about her that he was not aware of.
    Like tonight. She had seen the Van Cleef box on the pillow but for some perverse reason which even she did not fully understand, she had decided not to acknowledge it. Perhaps it was just that she could not excuse his comings and goings with another gift. Unlike American men she had known, she could not manipulate him with guilt. He was the way he was and there was nothing anyone could do about it. His reaction was direct and simple. The savage roared out of the darkness within him.
    It was her own reaction that surprised her. There was something comforting in his violence. It was as if she had been a child provoking a parent into punishment so that she could be reassured of his love. Her own guilts were clarified and she began to think of ways to win back his pleasure.
    No sooner had the door slammed behind him than she rose and looked in the mirror. His handprint was turning bright on her cheek. She pressed the button for her secretary and asked for an icepack, then sat in her room for over an hour holding the cold pack to her face until the swelling was gone.
    It was then that she decided on her costume. She would be a Muslim wife if that was what he wanted. A wife, a houri, a slave. Wasn’t that what Allah promised when they entered the gates of