“Bonjour.”

“Is this Paris?” said a man’s voice in heavily accented French. “This is al-Remal.”

“Peace be with you,” said the man in Arabic. “Please hold for Paris.” There was silence, then a dial tone.

“Good God!” She almost threw the receiver at the wall. Billions of dollars in oil money, and the phone system was a joke. Two companies, one Belgian, the other French, had built it. Rumor said that Malik had helped broker the French contract and had harvested a none-too-small fortune in commissions. If so, Amira could, at this moment, happily have broken his neck.

The phone rang again. “Operator, I was cut off—” “Little Sister? Is that you?”

“Malik, I was just damning you to hell, God forbid.” “What? Speak up, can you?”

“I said—never mind. How are you? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, not at all. I have news for you—good news. And a favor to ask.” “Tell me.”

“Little Sister, I’m married!”

“What! My God! When? Who is she?”

“She’s a wonderful woman. French. Just a few days ago. Four days. I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’ll be a wonderful mother for—for the children we hope to have.”

She understood his caution about mentioning Laila. Anyone—the opera- tor, a servant, even Ali or Faiza—might be listening on the line.

“I don’t know what to say, Brother. My God! It’s wonderful news. God’s blessings on you both. It’s just such a surprise. You’ve told Father, of course.” There was a brief silence. “Well, Little Sister, that brings me to the favor.

No, I haven’t spoken with him. I know, I know: it’s not right. But to tell you the truth, I was afraid he might try to forbid it. For one thing, she’s Christian.” “Ah.” That might indeed be a problem—but not nearly as bad as presenting Omar with his only son’s marriage as a fait accompli.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call him. I’ll call him today. He’ll erupt, of course, but that’s all right. What I need is for you to help Farid calm him down before we actually arrive.”

“And when will that be?” “This weekend, God willing.’’ “This weekend?’’

“I know it’s not much time, but the sooner the better, don’t you think? I’m calling Farid the minute we hang up. You know how he can twist Father—like a goldsmith braiding wire. He’ll take care of it, don’t worry. All you need to do is back him up—you know, the tactful remark at the right time. He’s like anyone else in al-Remal—the opinion of someone in the royal family carries weight, even if it’s his own daughter.’’

Amira sighed. “I’ll do what I can, Brother, as God allows.”

“Thanks, little Sister. I … it hasn’t been easy, you know … for me to find someone.”