“That was Madam Raghad’s favorite drink,” remarked the silver-haired bartender. In his dapper bow tie, he was as much a fixture of the Alwiyah Club as the massive mahogany bar. “She always liked an extra sugar cube in her glass.”

“My father loved Bloody Marys,” said Rania. “He claimed the tomato juice canceled out the alcohol.”

“That reminds me of that poor boy who had that crush on you,” said Miriam. “Do you remember, he drank all those Bloody Marys to try and work up courage to ask you to dance? He ended up falling in the swimming pool.”

“That wasn’t me,” laughed Rania, waving her hands back and forth in protest. “Time is playing tricks on you.”

The bartender topped up their juices, then left to help erect a large screen on the Alwiyah’s lawn. Later, once the swimmers tired of the pool and the tennis players downed their racquets, the French movie Carmen would play under the stars.

“Do you remember that wonderful bronze you sculpted, of the mother curled around her child?” said Rania. “It must be ten years now that she’s been watching over my garden.”

“Praise God you came just in time to save her.” Miriam ran her fingers through her cropped silver hair. “I was going to have to sell her for scrap.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of her melted down and turned into plumber’s pipes and bathroom fixtures,” said Rania. “Believe it or not, I recently thought I had a buyer for her.”

“A buyer?” Miriam raised an anorexic eyebrow. “Who has money nowadays for a bronze this size?”

“A diplomat’s wife,” said Rania. “I think you’d like her. She’s a young Australian.”

Miriam blinked in surprise. She paused and scanned the dining room. The young waiter was off changing his trousers. The young women had left for the garden.

“This woman . . .” Miriam lowered her voice. “Is her name Ally Wilson?”

“You know Ally?”

“Don’t get involved with that girl,” whispered Miriam. “She’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Rania exclaimed. “Why on earth would you say that?”

“She says she’s Australian.” Miriam leaned closer, so close that Rania could feel her breath against her ear. “Really, she’s an American.”

Rania recoiled.

“That can’t be.”

“On my mother’s grave, I tell you, I knew her mother. I’m not wrong.”

“I’m confused.” Rania pressed her hand to her forehead. “How did you know her mother?”

“There’s no point digging up the past.” Miriam eyed her mournfully. “Besides, sometimes it’s safer not to know everything. The fact is the girl shouldn’t even be in the country, let alone admiring art in your backyard.”

“Miriam, are you ready?” Her sister-in-law appeared at the entrance to the dining room. “I’m leaving. Will you make your own way home?”