Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [6]
Armand was suspicious of friendship. The only person he trusted was Fouad Khan, the right-hand man whom he’d imported from Akramshar many years previously. Fouad knew all his secrets and kept them to himself. He was Armand’s sounding board and confidant, always there to do his bidding.
Fortunately or unfortunately for Armand, he was the King’s ninth son, and therefore considered not at all important. So when his American mother – Peggy – a former Las Vegas dancer – had begged to take her son back to America at the age of eight, the King had offered no objections. King Emir was bored with the leggy American redhead and her strident accent. Happy to see her go. And much as Peggy had enjoyed the adventure of living in a harem and being lavished with expensive gifts – enough was enough, and she knew it was time to return to civilization. At twenty-six, the rest of her life was ahead of her, and she planned to live it. The King’s only request was that the boy be returned every September to Akramshar so that young Armand could celebrate the King’s birthday – the most important day of the year in Akramshar.
Peggy complied. The cash pay-off she received was compensation enough for her to do anything the King required.
So Peggy and her son relocated to New York, and Armand soon adapted to the American way of life. It didn’t take him long to love everything about America. The endless TV shows full of fun and adventure, the violent action-packed movies, the loud vibrant music, and the girls. Ah yes, especially the girls, who were far more forward than the girls in Akramshar.
Every September his mother dutifully put him on a plane back to Akramshar, and for several weeks he played the role of a young Prince, mingling with the half-brothers and -sisters he barely knew any more. They failed to get along.
The juxtaposition of his two lives was exciting; it made him feel special, different from the other kids who attended the same private school in Manhattan. He was a Prince, and they were nothing. He felt superior to all of them.
At the age of thirteen, on one of his yearly visits to Akramshar, his father had taken him to one side and informed him it was time he became a man. Immediately one of the King’s minions had ushered him into a room where two prostitutes lounged on a bed waiting for the young Prince.
The following experience with the two older women left an indelible impression on Armand. Although he’d fooled around with girls at school, this encounter was quite different. The prostitutes – one Russian, one Dutch – were in their twenties and heavily made-up. They wore sexy lingerie and high-heeled shoes, and they introduced him to a variety of sexual acts, some of which he enjoyed, some of which disgusted him. When they felt he was fully initiated, they informed him that all sexual acts should be paid for. Not that they were asking him for money – the King’s people had already taken care of them – it was simply something they thought he should be aware of. ‘Women have to be paid for sex,’ they said, exchanging amused glances. They were words of wisdom he never forgot.
Emerging several hours later, his older brothers had jeered and laughed at him. He’d ended up fighting one of them, and gotten a broken nose for his trouble. He hated his siblings; they were all jealous of him because he was different.
His mother – an extremely striking redhead – remarried a month after his eighteenth birthday. This time Peggy chose wisely, she married Sidney Dunn, a very successful investment banker twenty-five years her senior.
Armand respected Sidney; he felt he could learn a lot from the old man, and learn he did. Instead of college he chose to go to business school, and Sidney was always there with his wise counsel.
On Armand’s twenty-first birthday the King summoned him to Akramshar