The stomacher clasp was fashioned with enormous diamonds and huge egg-shaped pearls.

Her feet were bare and tinted with henna. On her head she wore a talpock studded with pearls.

Pinned to her hair there was a large aigrette of diamonds, springing from a brooch designed to represent a bouquet of ruby roses, pearl buds, emerald leaves and diamond stems.

Her long blonde hair was left unbound and it fell over her shoulders glittering with diamonds, which were attached to fine gold chains.

Mihri’s lips were crimson, her eyes darkened by kohl and her eyebrows were like ebony wings against the whiteness of her skin.

She looked so lovely that Yamina could only stare at her as Mihri drew her down to sit on one of the low velvet-covered sofas set against the walls of marble latticework, so delicate it might have been made of lace.

Mihri smiled.

“You are looking for the little servant girl who used to mend your clothes,” she said. “Now everything is changed.”

“I hear you are of great importance,” Yamina said.

“I am an Ikbal,” Mihri replied, “and the Sultan loves me. Soon, I think very soon, I shall become a Kadin.”

“He is kind to you?” Yamina enquired.

“He is my Lord and my Master and I worship at his feet,” Mihri replied.

There was a note in her voice that told Yamina that she was not exaggerating. Then like women all over the world she could not help boasting.

“Look at my jewels!” she said. “My bracelets, my rings, the diamonds round my neck! There is nothing – nothing he will not give me!”

“I am so glad, Mihri,” Yamina said. “But you should not have risked losing his favour for me.”

“I have never forgotten your kindness,” Mihri said, “nor that of your mother, the most beautiful lady I ever saw!”

As she spoke, she put her fingers to her lips and looked over her shoulder.

“People are always listening,” she whispered. “I must remember to say ‘our mother’, ‘our life together’. My past must be your past, otherwise they will be suspicious.”

“I will be very careful,” Yamina promised.

Mihri looked at her and her eyes sparkled.

“Come,” she said, “we must dress you as befits the sister of an Ikbal and you must look beautiful.”

She paused to add,

“But not too beautiful! If you catch the eye of the Sultan, then I shall hate you!”

“I think that is unlikely, when he can look at you,” Yamina smiled.

She was to learn in the next few days of the fierce jealousies that raged in the harem.

The first thing that surprised her was that those who had imagined that it was a temple of unbridled licence had never known of the strict formality that existed.