‘Do forgive me,’ John said. ‘I didn’t mean to imply you did anything so vulgar. You’ll have to wind me a nice neat turban, then. Dark glasses will look a little out of place at this time of night. The honoured sitt your grandmother must have some kohl or other eye paint?’

I must say it was an education to watch him work. He didn’t use much of the black stuff, whatever it was – just enough to darken his eyebrows and touch up those long lashes. He tanned easily; I had seen other Egyptians with skin as fair as his. Once the turban was in place, the difference in his appearance was astounding. It was partly a matter of expression – tight lips, out-thrust chin, lowering brows.

‘What about your beautiful, beautiful blue eyes?’ I asked.

His response was automatic – ‘“I’ll never love brown eyes again – ”’ and then he laughed shortly. ‘A truer word was never spoken. As for my beautiful blue eyes, I don’t intend to stand still long enough for anyone to gaze deeply into them. Now what are we going to do about you?’

‘Maybe Granny could lend me a robe and a veil.’

John shook his head. ‘You’re too tall to pass as an Egyptian female. It’s male attire for you, I’m afraid. Your bonnie blue eyes are beyond my modest skill – ’

‘“You told me more lies than the stars in the . . .” Sorry. Don’t take it personally. Country music does have a thing about blue eyes, doesn’t it?’

Feisal was staring at us as if we had lost our minds. He was probably right. John had that effect on me.

‘So far the score is tied,’ said John. ‘As I was saying, we’ve got to do something about your hair.’

‘Cut it off,’ I said, reaching for the scissors. ‘Then Feisal can wind me a turban too.’

John took the scissors from me. ‘Sit down. I’ll do it.’

‘I should have known you numbered barbering among your varied skills.’

His hands moved slowly from the crown of my head to the base of my sknll, smoothing the tangled masses of hair and gathering them together. There was a long pause before he said, ‘I’ve a better idea. A spot of cosmic cleansing wouldn’t do you any harm.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I tried to turn, but he closed his fingers around the impromptu ponytail and gave it a hard tug.

‘Communing with the universe, awakening the collective consciousness of the world,’ John chanted. ‘You’re not quite grubby enough for a New Ager, but that’s easy to fix.’