One hundred and sixteen

Ghita may not have known the Falcon’s identity, but she did know the ways of men.

Given an opportunity, the male gender always resorted to the same predictable pattern. They craved stimulants, attention and adrenalin thrills. And, they hankered for the gentle comfort of the female form. But, of course, for a man with power and wealth, one woman is never quite enough.

It was for this reason, Ghita felt sure, that the Falcon would have at least one mistress in tow. As she pondered it, the lover was likely to be a woman with a raw sense of self-preservation, and looks that were on the wane. Such a woman could, she mused, be the key to dismantling the gangster’s realm.

And who better to track her down than Casablanca’s greatest expert on the fairer sex – Laurent Louche? Having been a regular client since she was a child, Ghita knew that she could rely entirely on both his discretion and consummate skill.

Less than a day after whispering into his ear, she was provided with a name and address.

The details of Mademoiselle Mimi.

Unsure how best to make first contact, Ghita decided to write a letter. Handwritten on heavy-grade writing paper, the script was confident and neat.

Mimi was cooing over her Chow Chow when it arrived, brought by a young private messenger – none other than Saed. She signed for it, took it inside, and held the envelope to the light.

Intrigued, she ripped it open, lit an Egyptian cigarette, lounged back in her chair, and read:

My dear Mimi, I believe that all women have a duty to one another – a duty to defend ourselves from the venomous and ill-intentioned desires of men. Part of this duty is to look out for each other, and it is in this spirit that I am writing to you now.

I have it on the very best authority that the gentleman with whom you are amorously engaged has taken a new and much younger companion. She intends to usurp your coveted position.

And, I understand that the gentleman in question intends to relieve you of your lodgings and the gifts he has showered upon you, and bestow them instead on his new love... Mademoiselle Fifi.

For now, it is imperative that you do nothing, not until I contact you again with instructions.

Yours sincerely,

G. O.

Feeling faint, Mimi allowed the letter to fall to the floor, where it was sniffed eagerly by the Chow Chow, his nose picking up the scent of Chanel No. 5. Then, pressing her small delicate hands to her face, Mimi wept like she had never wept before.

After that, drying her eyes on a square of printed Thai silk, she began to brood.

Half a dozen times in the next hour she reached for her iPhone and began to make the call. But each time something cautioned her to stop – the need for the perfect revenge.