There was mineral water in a cut-glass carafe, and a bowl of fruit on the table, not to mention a vase of fresh flowers. I hadn’t eaten much for lunch. Munching an apple (did they grow apples in Egypt? Did Larry have them flown in?) I wandered out onto the balcony.

I couldn’t see the ugly walls; they were screened by careful plantings of shrubs and trees. Sprays of water shone with rainbow glints, soaking the thirsty grass. I could get accustomed to living this way. It wouldn’t be any trouble at all.

Glancing down at my scuffed sandals and wrinkled skirt, I smiled wryly. I doubted Larry’s intentions were honourable – or even dishonourable, in the conventional sense. This was business. I’d settle for that.

He had informed us that he’d be busy for the rest of the afternoon, and told us to make ourselves at home – explore the house, the grounds, take a swim, check out the library, ask for anything we wanted.

I lay down on the bed. Just for five minutes.

I was awakened by the sound of thunder. Blinking sleepily at the sunlight striping the floor with gold, I cleverly deduced it wasn’t thunder. Someone was knocking at the door. Who else but Schmidt? Well-trained servants, as we sophisticates know, do not pound on doors.

‘Come in,’ I called, stretching like a cat.

He came. Or was it another Munchkin? His robe, striped in green and purple, left his plump calves bare. His little pink toes stuck out of his flip-flops.

‘Why do you waste time in sleeping?’ he demanded. ‘Already I have explored the house. You must see it, Vicky, he has some of the finest antiques I have seen – not antiquities, you understand, but Islamic art and furniture. But there is no time now. We are having the cocktails at the pool. Hurry and put on your bikini.’

It struck me as a good idea. I fished my suit – it was not a bikini, I am a modest woman – out of the drawer and retired to the bathroom. Schmidt reached for a tangerine.

‘Ah, that is very nice,’ he said approvingly when I emerged. ‘No, do not cover it up! You do not have a big stomach like mine, you do not have to – ’

‘Shut up, Schmidt,’ I said amiably, slipping into my robe. He led the way unerringly down the stairs and along a shadowy corridor that ended in an inner court, with its own high walls. Hibiscus and roses bloomed with tropical luxuriance; jasmine twined over a pergola at one end of the huge free-form pool whose blue waters sparkled in the sunlight. Larry rose from one of the chairs under the pergola and hurried towards me.