“It is the guest who honors the house,” Amira replied, also convention- ally courteous.

“No, no,” Ali laughed. “This is not a school for diplomats. Tonight, doctor, we are doing things à la mode de l'ouest. Please call me Ali, and my wife Amira.”

A Gallic shrug and a smile of helpless acceptance. “Ah, well, then you must not call me doctor, but Philippe.”

Champagne was served, as was Ali’s custom with foreign visitors. “Tell me, Philippe, how is my father?”

The doctor smiled. “The king’s problem is one I can do nothing about. Meaning no disrespect, but he eats like a gourmand run wild in a forest of three-star restaurants—and he’s not a young man anymore. I’m told he listens to you—perhaps you can persuade him to exercise more moderation. Certainly, he pays no attention to my advice.”

Ali threw up his hands to indicate his helplessness in this situation. “My father might consider my opinion on some matters, but not when it comes to food. But he has an iron constitution, Philippe. He’ll be around long after you and I have gone; I’m sure of it.”

Dinner—especially prepared by the palace cook in Philippe’s honor— began with foie gras that had been flown in from Strasbourg, followed by quail stuffed with wild rice and a salad of baby greens lightly dressed with champagne vinegar and delicate sesame oil.

“My compliments on a delectable meal,” Philippe said to Amira. “I don’t believe I’ve enjoyed anything as much in years.”

“You are too kind, Philippe, but I don’t deserve your compliments. It was our cook, Fahim, who prepared the meal.”

“Nevertheless, it is you I thank, for I am certain it was your guidance that inspired his efforts.”

Amira blushed, lowering her eyes.

“Ali tells me you’re taking university-level correspondence courses, Amira. Have you found a particular interest yet?”

“No. I’m enrolling in a general program, some literature, some history, some science, some philosophy. But I feel as if I’m still shopping. That’s what it’s like, in a way—like being in some wonderful store where there’s so much to buy that you can’t make up your mind.”

Philippe smiled warmly, his blue eyes crinkling as they looked directly at her. “What a marvelous attitude, Amira. I hope you always feel that way. And as far as a specialty, well, there’s plenty of time.”

Amira basked in the glow of his approval. No one had ever taken her so seriously before. She liked his assumption that she would be continuing her education, even finding a particular specialty.

Over dessert—an Arab-style crepe stuffed with cream and drizzled with rosewater syrup—Ali spoke of Philippe’s well-known diagnostic skills. “I’ve heard you described as a medical Sherlock Holmes.”