Amira silently thanked God for the extension of Philippe’s stay. It would give her another chance to talk with him, she was sure. She needed his thoughts, his advice. She needed him, she realized, to make her decision for her.

It didn’t work out that way. She spent most of Saturday helping Zeinab move out. There was a great outcry about a pair of earrings that Zeinab was sure she had left on her dresser. After an exhaustive search, they were found in her jewel box.

Philippe was at the palace all day. He returned at dark looking worn, and went to his room to rest. Ali left for some appointment and later called to say that Amira and Philippe should dine without him. They sat together at table—again shocking the servants, Amira knew. Philippe had no appetite. He drank a glass of wine while she ate. They exchanged small talk. There was nothing left to say except the word Tabriz. It hung unspoken in the air. She couldn’t say it. Not yet. Karim was brought in from the nursery. He sat in Amira’s lap, then slid down and toddled around to be bounced on Uncle Philippe’s knee. In the middle of this activity, Ali arrived, buoyant and loud. Had he been drinking?

“What a domestic picture!’’ he laughed. “I thought I had wandered by mis- take into the house of a rich European and his beautiful young wife and child.”

“It might be,” said Philippe, “but where is the rich European?”

Ali laughed again. “I have something for you, my friend,” he said. He left the room and came back with a gift-wrapped box. In it were a beautifully made thobe and ghutra, and a black agal with solid-gold fittings. “First there was Lawrence of Arabia,” Ali observed. “Now there can be Philippe of al-Remal.”

Philippe brought out presents in return. For Ali, there was a leather flight jacket, an exact and expensive replica of those worn by American pilots in the Second World War. For “the house”—since it would be improper to give anything directly to Amira—there was a brace of miniature doves exquisitely carved in ivory.

It was a pleasant moment on the surface, but the hypocrisy of it made Amira want to scream. Why couldn’t she just say what she wanted to say: “I’m leaving and I’m taking Karim.” Why couldn’t Philippe step up and add, “And don’t try to stop us, my friend.”

Because of the consequences, of course, which would be terrible. But still, living a charade was maddening.

The little celebration was brief by Remali standards. Philippe was clearly exhausted, and Ali announced that he himself would need to rise early for yet another appointment. “But certainly, I’ll be back in time to see you off, my friend.”

Philippe, mumbling thanks and apologies, trudged off to bed. After a few minutes’ play with Karim, who was cranky with sleepiness himself, Ali, too, went upstairs.