Amira was not cheered. Miss Vanderbeek was one of the best parts of her own childhood, and somehow she did not want to give her up, not even to a child that she might bear. Tears slipped from her eyes and onto her dress. The Dutch woman held out her arms, and as Amira shared her embrace, she thought once again that everyone she loved seemed to go away.

O

Downstairs, in the main salon, Amira’s aunts were whirling like dervishes, trying with a flurry of activity to hide the fact that they didn’t quite know how to entertain the foreigners. At their bidding, a rapid parade of refreshments appeared. In lieu of Coca-Cola, which, along with many other American products, was on the Arab boycott list, they offered pomegranate juice mixed with water, followed by roasted chick peas, candied almonds, salted pistachios, and chewy Turkish delight.

As soon as Amira appeared, she was thrust at the French contingent— headed by no less a personage than Madame Gres herself. “You honor our house, madame,” Amira said. “I hope your trip here was a pleasant one?” “Most pleasant, ma’mselle,” the designer replied.

“And your accommodations, are they comfortable?”

“Very comfortable. Thankfully, the Intercontinental has strong air- conditioning and a large swimming pool. My staff made good use of both as soon as we arrived last night.”

“I’m sorry we have no air-conditioning here, Madame Gres, but my father believes it to be unhealthy.”

“Ça va, ma’mselle. Please don’t concern yourself. Now if you are ready, I would like to present the group of wedding dresses I have selected for your consideration.”

The large high-ceilinged room had been cleared, except for a row of chairs and some small marble tables. Amira seated herself on an upholstered armchair; her aunts positioned themselves on either side. Flanked by her personal assistant and two female fitters, Madame Gres stood at the doorway to the dining room, which, for the moment, was serving as an informal changing room for the three models who’d accompanied her.

At a signal from her, the assistant turned on a cassette player, and the strains of Mozart’s chamber music filled the room. A moment later, the models appeared, wearing fairy-tale gowns of silk and satin and lace.