“Will they be serving wine?” She scrubbed a fleck of lipstick from her tooth.

“I think so,” replied Ally tentatively.

“Good. I need a drink.”

The copper gate had been left ajar. Ally pushed it open, revealing a once grand Baghdadi home. Flakes of paint clung to the pale walls like the scales of a great fish. Light filtered through a small stained-glass window set in an iron-studded front door that looked like it had been built in medieval times. A burst of laughter came from somewhere around the side of the house.

“It sounds like the party is out back.” Ally smoothed her dress.

Huda dug a pack of cigarettes from her handbag.

“Go ahead. I will join you in a few minutes.”

“I can wait.”

“No, go ahead.” Huda shooed Ally toward a stepping-stone path hemmed with lavender. It led to a large yard at the side of the house. On the lawn, a handful of people milled about a firepit. A few others congregated at picnic tables and benches. A rosy-cheeked man in a safari suit spied Ally hovering at the end of the path.

“Welcome!” He hurried past a seven-foot statue of a woman curled around a child, like a fruit around a seed. He stuck out a sweaty hand. “I’m Gunter Kops, director of the German Cultural Center. It’s so nice to see a fresh face.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Ally Wilson.”

“Tom Wilson’s wife? I should have guessed. After all, there’s not many Western women running around Baghdad. May I get you a drink?”

“A chardonnay would be great,” said Ally. Gunter poured her a glass at a makeshift bar, then ushered her toward the other guests. An older Asian woman elbowed her companion, and the group swiveled toward them like a school of fish.

“Welcome to Baghdad.” The Asian woman crushed Ally’s fingers with her handshake. In heavily accented English, she introduced herself as the chargé d’affairs at the Chinese embassy. The other guests—all men—were either diplomats or they worked for the United Nations.

“And what do you do, Ally?” asked a silver-haired Frenchman.

“I, uh . . .”

“Ally is married to Tom Wilson at the Australian embassy,” said Gunter.

“Oh, a housewife,” said the Chinese woman. Her eyes went blank, like someone had pulled down a blind. She turned to the man beside her and they began conversing in what sounded like Russian.

“I thought Iraq was a nonfamily posting,” said the Frenchman.

“I believe the Bangladeshi ambassador has his wife here,” a Nigerian diplomat replied.

“No, she left a month ago.” Gunter wiped beer froth from his lip. “Her husband sent her back home after President Bush’s ‘Axis of Evil’ speech.”

Muttering and eye-rolling broke out.

“Al-Qaeda has no stronghold here.” The Frenchman sipped his wine, grimaced, and then sipped again. “This is a farce designed to distract Americans voters from their own problems.”