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to their religion, and that Sami really ought to wear niqab, the full face veil, Sami had finally found the courage to introduce him to Farid, her fiancé. The couple hoped that Walid would be happy to pass his troublesome ownership of his sister to a husband.

      This had been a tactical error. The secrecy of it, her brazen determination to make her own choice, outraged Walid. It violated his right as her protector and guide to choose a good husband for her. Farid al Muntazer, though a Muslim, did not meet with his approval.

      Samiha should marry someone from back home. Someone connected to them. Family.

      ‘But Salah’s your cousin!’ Desi had protested, scandalized.

      In her distress, Sami had turned to Desi as naturally as breathing. They no longer lived on the same street, but there were ways of keeping in touch that were almost as good as walking home from school together. Wherever Desi was in the world, the two friends always spent a couple of hours a week on the phone.

      ‘All the better!’ Sami informed her bitterly. ‘The old ways are best, you see!’

      ‘They’re crazy! Sami, you can’t give in to this!’ The idea filled her with primitive horror. Sami and Salah, married? It couldn’t be allowed! ‘You’re twenty-seven! It’s none of their business who you marry. You’ve got to refuse!’

      ‘I am refusing. But my mother is being very weak. My brothers keep telling me how lucky I am, can you believe it? Salah’s got everything—he’s rich, handsome, Prince Omar’s right-hand man.’

      ‘I don’t care if he’s Prince Omar himself. He’s your cousin!’

      ‘If he were Prince Omar himself, Des, he wouldn’t be my cousin.’

      ‘That’s what they call gallows humour, is it?’

      ‘I knew there was a word for it.’

      ‘What can you do to make your refusal stick?’

      ‘I know what I can’t do. I can’t marry anyone but Farid. I’ll drink bleach first. But Walid is pretty crazy right now, and Arif is right behind him. Full-frontal confrontation is probably not a good idea.’

      ‘Can you just tell Salah himself? He must think you want this. Surely if he knew—’

      ‘Maybe, but, Des, I’m actually scared to risk it. I don’t know what his reasons are. Maybe he needs a Canadian passport or something.’

      ‘What? He’s a Cup Companion! Why would he need—’

      ‘Des, I can’t risk telling Salah!’ Sami protested in a tight voice. ‘I don’t know what’s in it for him! If he told Walid…’

      ‘Do you really think Salah would—’

      ‘I don’t know who to trust!’ Sam cried, and Desi suddenly realized how close her friend was to outright panic. When your own brothers could turn rabid, what was safe?

      ‘Oh, I feel so useless! I wish I could help!’

      ‘Des, you’re the only one who can.’

      Her heart had started to pound right there. ‘Me? What—’

      ‘It’s no good challenging the noble protectors of Islamic purity head-on. I figure I have to start from the other end.’

      ‘I’d be very happy to kneecap them both for you, Sam, but I think it’s actually illegal.’

      ‘Not that end.’

      Desi’s heart seemed to feel she was trying for the thousand-metre world record.

      ‘You want me to kneecap…Salah?’

      ‘That’s the one! Do you think Salah ever got over you, Desi?’

      ‘Yes,’ she said crisply. ‘Without a doubt. In ten years he hasn’t lifted a finger in my direction.’

      ‘He hasn’t married, either.’

      ‘Clearly the women of Central Barakat are not stupid.’

      ‘I don’t think he ever really got over you. And that was then. Look at you now. Did you see what Every-woman called you this week? Hang on a sec, I’ve actually got it here.’ There was the sound of rustling paper, then Sami started reading.

      ‘“Perhaps the most iconically beautiful of all the supermodels on the world scene today, Desirée Drummond—Desi to everyone caught in the intimacy of that smile—projects the haunting vulnerability of a woman who has never learned to hide her heart.”’

      ‘How wrong can one sentence be?’ said Desi.

      ‘Whatever reasons Salah’s got for wanting the marriage, I bet if he thought he stood any chance with you…’

      ‘Along the lines of an icicle’s chance in hell…’

      ‘…he’d walk away from this deal so fast we’d see smoke at his heels.’

      The bottom fell out of Desi’s stomach. She tried to laugh.

      ‘Sami, I haven’t seen Salah in ten years!’

      ‘Yeah, but he’s seen you! Your face is everywhere, isn’t it? You can bet he hasn’t forgotten.’

      Her face on a magazine cover would only serve to remind him of why he’d rejected her, but Desi couldn’t embark on that now.

      ‘You aren’t dating anyone, are you? I wouldn’t ask if you were involved with someone. At least—I hope I wouldn’t,’ Sami admitted with disarming honesty.

      ‘Are you joking me, Sam?’

      ‘Des, all you’d have to do is—let him think there’s a chance. Talk about those carefree summers on the island. Remind him how you used to hero-worship him. You know you can do it.’

      Desi took a deep breath, and reminded herself that Sami hadn’t been there. And afterwards she’d told no one, not even Sami, all of it.

      ‘Oh, Sam…’ she began pleadingly.

      ‘Des, I know it’s a terrible thing to ask. But this is the rest of my life, and you’re my only hope. Just think if your father wanted to force you to marry—Allan, say.’

      Her cousin Allan was a blameless stockbroker in Toronto, but Desi shuddered.

      ‘I understand. You know I understand. But honestly, Sam—’

      ‘All we need is some excuse for you to visit Central Barakat. Could you be looking for locations or something?’

      ‘Models don’t scout locations. Anyway, even if I did visit, why should I run into Salah? The country’s not that small.’

      ‘After all your family did for him all those years! Of course you’d get in touch and ask for his help! Wouldn’t you?’

      ‘When pigs fly,’ Desirée said grimly.

      ‘But why? Of course you’d call him! Harry did, when he was over there. Salah treated him like royalty, he told me.’

      ‘Sam, if I did go, if I did see him, it wouldn’t do any good. Ashes are ashes. They don’t stay warm for ten years.’

      ‘They do. Salah used to act as if…’

      She would not ask. She didn’t care how he used to act.

      ‘As if what?’ Desi blurted.

      ‘As if his heart was broken, I guess. For years when I mentioned your name he’d stiffen, the way people do when they’re protecting a sore spot.’

      ‘I’d be happy to think Salah suffered, but I think it was probably gas.’

      ‘Hey—that’s it!’ Sami said. ‘Two birds with one stone! Think of how sweet revenge would taste.’

      ‘It’s