Then when I came near the broken house and stood in the moon shadow I could hear and see nothing. I don’t know how long I stood there while the world turned. After a while I saw Nour standing on the low wall gleaming naked in the dark light, looking defenceless and young. He knew I was there, for he called softly, ‘Margaret, Margaret’, and I went towards him.

The fortune-teller lay on her back behind the low wall and she was dying, or perhaps she was dead, for her eyes were open and she looked up at the stars. Her clothes were wet with blood.

Nour said, ‘You must help me now, Margaret.’ He added, ‘The jackals will come tonight and lick up the blood.’

He sounded hopeful. I wondered why the girl was clothed and Nour naked, but I asked no questions.

‘I have here part of an old plough,’ said Nour.

He now sounded as though he were beginning a lecture and I thought he must have learned that intonation from his tutors. I expected him to continue, but he knelt and pushed the rusty metal through the brightly coloured rope that bound the fortune-teller’s waist. Then between us we carried her to the river and rolled her in and Nour washed himself at the edge of the crocodile pool. I don’t think I had any blood on my hands, for I had held her ankles just below the silver bracelets.

‘Where did you get the knife?’ I asked. Nour was holding it now above his head.

‘It was hers,’ he said and hurled it into the pool.

I watched it go regretfully because it was a beautiful Berber knife. I wondered why Nour had killed her and decided she had probably laughed at him.

He put on his shirt and shorts and took my hand. We went back to the villa hand in hand and no one ever knew we had been out, or if they did they didn’t say.

Alone in bed I wondered for the first time whether the girl had been truly dead when we threw her into the river. Sometimes I still wonder.

‘Well?’ said my mother impatiently.

‘I know this one was your favourite,’ said Syl. ‘We’ll hang it in the bedroom where you can see it when you wake up.’

I gazed at the picture of the crocodile pool and all I could think of to say was, did the gallery owner give you a discount because you’re a friend of Robert’s? But I didn’t, of course. Syl’s mad little meannesses were not to be mentioned.