helicopter turn into a roaring ball of fire that reduced his son, Mustapha, to a twisted black crisp.
During the following three years, Abdullah, racked by grief and guilt, had rarely appeared in public, until he met Lili. For the next year, Pagan remembered, Lili and Abdullah had been inseparable, until Lili had suddenly returned to Paris and her career.
Pagan looked across the narcissi and rosebuds on the restaurant table to Lili, the only white woman that Abdullah had ever openly taken to Sydon. Suddenly, Pagan remembered Abdullah’s arrogance and the commanding voice which masked his apprehension and, sometimes, fear. Lili had had what Pagan had never been allowed—and Lili had turned it down; she had walked out on Abdullah.
Pagan couldn’t resist mentioning it. She said, “If we’re talking of humiliation, we must remember that you humiliated King Abdullah.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Lili, “he didn’t feel humiliated when his Western Whore went back to the West.”
Again, Pagan couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you leave him?”
“I was kept in a gilded cage, his courtiers spied on me, they didn’t trust me. I was an infidel and there was no possibility of his marrying me, because Abdullah needs a wife—perferably a Moslem wife—to provide him with heirs, and my … shall we say my ‘exotic’ past rendered me unsuitable wife material. In a word, Pagan, I was not respectable enough for the job.”
“But immediately after you left, he adopted his only blood kin, his nephew, Hassan, as his heir, so it doesn’t look as if he intends to marry again. Haven’t seen a word about him in the gossip columns lately.”
“He’s too busy with his civil war.”
“No, Lili, it isn’t a civil war. Abdullah’s army is fighting the communist-backed guerrillas in the Eastern Hills of Sydon.”
Lili gave Pagan a sharp look. “I know that, but most people don’t realize how complicated the political situation is in Sydon at the moment. You seem to know a lot about Abdullah.”
“We were all at school in the same little town in Switzerland. Abdullah and I used to be pretty good chums.” Pagan thought she needn’t tell Lili more than that.
Lili threw a quick look of reassessment at Pagan; she noticed the Englishwoman’s long legs, tucked awkwardly around the table legs, the mahogany-colored hair that fell carelessly around her pale blue eyes, and the beautifully cut tweed jacket, with a man’s cream-silk handkerchief flopping out of the breast pocket. Lili asked, “What happened to you after Switzerland, Pagan?”
“Something nasty happened to me. I married Mr. Wrong and then found out that he didn’t really love me, he was just after me for my money. Funny thing was, I didn’t have any money. I’d inherited my grandfather’s estate in Cornwall, but it was mortgaged to the hilt. Robert never forgave me for not being rich. I cheered myself up with vodka, which blotted out the reality of Robert, and eventually ended up a drunk most of the time.” She raised her glass of Perrier. “You see before you a card-carrying member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I can assure you that I know about humiliation, because I wasresponsible for my own humiliation.” She took a sip of water. “Kate saved me. Kate’s always been my best friend since we were at school together. She took me over and wouldn’t let me give up. I’ll never forget what she did for me.”
Lili, who hadn’t touched her avocado and salmon salad, said wistfully, “There’s something about the four of you that I can’t put my finger on, something warm and protective. I could almost feel it when we were in the room together.”
Pagan finished her last forkful of mushrooms. “That’s friendship. Since we were in Switzerland together, we’ve helped each other through thick and thin—or sick and sin as Maxine calls it.” Like most French people, she pronounces ‘th’ as ‘s.’ ”
“Don’t tell me that Maxine knows about
During the following three years, Abdullah, racked by grief and guilt, had rarely appeared in public, until he met Lili. For the next year, Pagan remembered, Lili and Abdullah had been inseparable, until Lili had suddenly returned to Paris and her career.
Pagan looked across the narcissi and rosebuds on the restaurant table to Lili, the only white woman that Abdullah had ever openly taken to Sydon. Suddenly, Pagan remembered Abdullah’s arrogance and the commanding voice which masked his apprehension and, sometimes, fear. Lili had had what Pagan had never been allowed—and Lili had turned it down; she had walked out on Abdullah.
Pagan couldn’t resist mentioning it. She said, “If we’re talking of humiliation, we must remember that you humiliated King Abdullah.”
“No, I didn’t,” said Lili, “he didn’t feel humiliated when his Western Whore went back to the West.”
Again, Pagan couldn’t resist asking, “Why did you leave him?”
“I was kept in a gilded cage, his courtiers spied on me, they didn’t trust me. I was an infidel and there was no possibility of his marrying me, because Abdullah needs a wife—perferably a Moslem wife—to provide him with heirs, and my … shall we say my ‘exotic’ past rendered me unsuitable wife material. In a word, Pagan, I was not respectable enough for the job.”
“But immediately after you left, he adopted his only blood kin, his nephew, Hassan, as his heir, so it doesn’t look as if he intends to marry again. Haven’t seen a word about him in the gossip columns lately.”
“He’s too busy with his civil war.”
“No, Lili, it isn’t a civil war. Abdullah’s army is fighting the communist-backed guerrillas in the Eastern Hills of Sydon.”
Lili gave Pagan a sharp look. “I know that, but most people don’t realize how complicated the political situation is in Sydon at the moment. You seem to know a lot about Abdullah.”
“We were all at school in the same little town in Switzerland. Abdullah and I used to be pretty good chums.” Pagan thought she needn’t tell Lili more than that.
Lili threw a quick look of reassessment at Pagan; she noticed the Englishwoman’s long legs, tucked awkwardly around the table legs, the mahogany-colored hair that fell carelessly around her pale blue eyes, and the beautifully cut tweed jacket, with a man’s cream-silk handkerchief flopping out of the breast pocket. Lili asked, “What happened to you after Switzerland, Pagan?”
“Something nasty happened to me. I married Mr. Wrong and then found out that he didn’t really love me, he was just after me for my money. Funny thing was, I didn’t have any money. I’d inherited my grandfather’s estate in Cornwall, but it was mortgaged to the hilt. Robert never forgave me for not being rich. I cheered myself up with vodka, which blotted out the reality of Robert, and eventually ended up a drunk most of the time.” She raised her glass of Perrier. “You see before you a card-carrying member of Alcoholics Anonymous. I can assure you that I know about humiliation, because I wasresponsible for my own humiliation.” She took a sip of water. “Kate saved me. Kate’s always been my best friend since we were at school together. She took me over and wouldn’t let me give up. I’ll never forget what she did for me.”
Lili, who hadn’t touched her avocado and salmon salad, said wistfully, “There’s something about the four of you that I can’t put my finger on, something warm and protective. I could almost feel it when we were in the room together.”
Pagan finished her last forkful of mushrooms. “That’s friendship. Since we were in Switzerland together, we’ve helped each other through thick and thin—or sick and sin as Maxine calls it.” Like most French people, she pronounces ‘th’ as ‘s.’ ”
“Don’t tell me that Maxine knows about
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