“The sheikh is a busy fellow,” Miss Smith said with a coy smile. “I have heard so much about you, Mrs. Emerson, and your estimable exploits. If only I could find the courage to venture out of my quaint little office to go into the desert in search of the tempestuous skies and the treacherous dunes, the blistering heat, the scorpions and snakes. I’ve never so much as sat on a camel!”

“It can be a trifle uncomfortable,” I said, edging backward to escape her aura of passion (and flecks of spittle). Daoud, who had half a dozen translucent scarves in each hand, was looking at me as if awaiting the signal to tackle Miss Smith. I discreetly shook my head at him. “It was very nice to meet you,” I murmured.

“Are you staying at Shepheard’s? Might we have tea? I can imagine nothing more invigorating than listening to your stories. You are a true heroine, an inspiration to women around the world. Your courage and resilience are legendary. Many of the young women in my books are pale and timorous, easily infatuated, and eager to please the sheikh. I find myself clenching my teeth and telling them to defy their master, to risk death by fleeing into the desert. With a few exceptions, the ninnies simply swoon.” She put her hand on her bosom as she took a wheezy breath. “Please forgive me for intruding on you, Mrs. Emerson. I know how annoying it is to be pestered by admirers. I will leave you to your shopping.”

I must admit that I am not immune to flattery. “I am not available for tea this afternoon, Miss Smith, but I have no plans for tomorrow, should that suit you.”

She clasped her hands together, beaming like a child on a new pony. “Oh yes, Mrs. Emerson! Thank you so very much. I shall look for you on the terrace at four.” She gestured at a young boy laden with parcels. “Come along, Jamil. We must not bother Mrs. Emerson any further.” She hobbled out of the store, the boy trailing after her.

“Was that wise?” Daoud demanded.

“The worst she can do is bore me to death.” I reviewed my selection of gifts, added a few more scarves and the pearl earrings, and settled the bill with Mr. Mayer, who urged me to linger for tea. I declined and allowed Daoud to carry my parcels. “I think,” I said as we went out into the street, “we might as well stroll by Harun’s shop on our way to the hotel.”

“It is in the opposite direction—and you promised your son that you would stay away from the Khan el-Khalili.” He stepped in front of me, as obdurate as a stone-hewn pharaoh.