‘Is there a way around?’ I asked.

Both of them turned to glare at me. Feisal had taken off his shirt; perspiration ran down his face and puddled in the hollows over his collarbones. It was a pity I was too hot and tired to enjoy the view, because he did have a great body. John had chosen not to display his.

‘No, my dear,’ said Feisal, baring all his beautiful white teeth in a snarl. ‘This is it. The only way. There must have been a minor quake or a flash flood since I was last here.’

He got out and began fumbling among the miscellany of rusted tools in the backseat. I didn’t ask any more questions. The options were obvious even to me: either we abandoned the jeep and proceeded on foot, or we tried to clear away enough of the debris so we could go on.

It would have been a formidable job even if we had had proper tools and if the weather had been comfortable. With only a tyre iron as a lever, and a temperature in the high nineties, and our supply of water running low . . . I remember thinking sympathetically of Sisyphus, the guy in the Greek legend who had been condemned to spend eternity pushing a big rock up a hill. As soon as he got it to the top, it rolled back down again.

When we stopped for a rest, Feisal mopped his forehead with what had once been a white handkerchief and was now a filthy rag. The sun had moved farther west and there was some shade. We passed the water bottle around and sat there wheezing. Even John was too far gone to make jokes. His shirt was soaking wet and not all the liquid was sweat. The bullet wound must have opened up again. As if he felt my eyes on him he raised his head and gave me a hard stare, daring me to speak. I didn’t.

‘A little more should do it,’ Feisal said, after a while.

‘Do you really think so?’ I asked

‘I really do.’ He took my hand and turned it, inspecting first the scraped palm and then the broken nails and bleeding fingers.

‘Those are not the hands of a lady,’ I said. ‘Guess I won’t be invited to the Junior Cotillion.’

‘You’re number one on my list,’ Feisal said softly. He raised my filthy, bloody hand to his lips.

John stood up. ‘I hate to interrupt this tender scene, but could we please get on with it?’

When Feisal called a halt there were still a lot of rocks on that slope. We all climbed into the jeep and Feisal backed off, to get a good running start, and then gunned the engine. I closed my eyes, and kept them closed while the jeep bounced up and over the ridge and then began to descend.