“But all is well, Highness?” Philippe asked seriously. “No problems?” His eyes cut deep.

“Nothing to speak of, doctor.”

“Please,” said Ali, smiling again. “Enough of these formalities. Aren’t we friends? First names from now on.”

Philippe made a Gallic gesture of willing agreement. Amira said nothing, her assent to her husband’s wish taken for granted.

“Philippe was telling me,” Ali continued, “about the shah’s big bash. He thinks ours will be better.”

“You were there, Philippe?” He had never mentioned it to her. The shah of Iran’s 1971 extravaganza at Persepolis, celebrating the twenty-five-hundredth anniversary of the Persian Empire, had been the talk of the world.

“Not as an invited guest,” said Philippe modestly. “I was merely part of the Pompidou entourage.”

“Give us your impressions,” prodded Ali.

Philippe shrugged. “It was de trop, of course. Actually, what reminded me of it was the Bedu camp I saw on the way here from the airport. That is the real thing. The shah set up tents, too: tents designed by Jansen. Two bedrooms—Porthault sheets. Marble baths. Of course, all of that was for the elite. Most of us were housed in Shiraz, forty miles away.”

“My father was in one of those tents,” said Ali. “He agrees with you that it was de trop. Yet, many people, even today, speak of the thing as the last step to Paradise.”

Philippe shrugged again. “Tastes differ. Certainly, it was a good show. The entire Iranian army costumed and coiffed like Persian soldiers of old. Every kind of entertainment, never a dull moment. One ate reasonably well, too: the shah brought in the full staff of Maxim’s.”

“Let me ask you, my friend Philippe: Do you know what the shah spent on his little circus?”

“I’ve heard the sum of three hundred million dollars tossed around.” “That is approximately correct. But in all the time you were there, did you ever hear a single sura of the Koran?”

“Since I’m not of the faith, Highness—” “Ali.”

“—Ali, I wasn’t paying much attention to such things. But no, I don’t believe I did.”

“Neither did my father. And to this day, he says that the shah’s irreligion will be his undoing.”

Philippe nodded. “It may be. As for me, I found it hard to enjoy the festivities for other reasons. I had just spent several weeks in the Sahel—the U.N. had asked a group of us to look into the medical situation there. There was little we could do. The drought was at its worst then, if you remember, and people—children especially—were dying like flies. After that, it was difficult to appreciate the offer- ings of Maxim’s.”

“Of course, of course,” said Ali vaguely. Amira could tell that he saw no connection between the chronic problems of sub-Saharan Africa and a vast party hosted by the occupant of the Peacock Throne.