I was drawn to Langham, though I couldn’t begin to untangle what my attraction consisted of. So I did as I had been brought up to do at the inn: to watch, to listen, to needle out the information I needed to ensure my safety. I began to linger in corridors and doorways obsessively, hoping to catch a fragment of conversation. I dropped whatever I was doing when the telephone rang, hoping to beat Bouzid to it and hear who was calling. I never did. He was too conscientious for that. It did not stop me from trying to wrangle information from him, especially when I found out that he – for all his stoicism – had a sweet tooth. After that, I bought the best sweet pastries from the medina in an attempt to win his trust.

Much good it did me. He told me some things, true; where to find the best olives, and who Lady Bailey paid for opium, which diplomats brought their mistresses to dinner rather than their wives and who could be relied upon to cause trouble at parties. But on the subject of Langham, he was resolutely and frustratingly silent. What was it, that made him dust the sugar from his hands and leave the kitchen, whenever I asked a question about the man we worked for? Had Langham also made him swear loyalty? Perhaps Bouzid had sworn and meant it, unlike me. I still did not know whether I was capable of loyalty.

Perhaps Lady Bailey’s words had some impact on Langham after all, for I saw even less of him, and began to wonder if he was avoiding me. His absence affected me almost more than his presence. The heat from our encounter by the pool hadn’t yet left my body, and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t ignore it.

Too dangerous, I thought, in an attempt to silence it. Langham thought I was a boy. If I went too far, if he found out the truth, what then? Every night, I found myself reliving the encounter on the terrace in my mind, until I had to open my eyes and read a chapter of The Gentleman’s Guide to distract myself.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it, and one day, having heard the gate close behind Langham, I crept up the stairs into his room. Even before I pulled the wardrobe door open, I knew what I would find. The bloodstained suit was gone. In its place, coiled like a snake, was the green silk tie. A taunt? An invitation? I took it up with shaking hands, and returned to the kitchen.