One hundred and thirty-one

Three weeks and one day later, there was the sound of music at the Omary Mansion. Unlike on the evening of the previous party, no caterer had been hired, nor were there tiaras, diamonds, or swish limousines. The only people invited were real friends – a handful of old ones, and a few new ones as well.

Rosario was the first to arrive.

She was resplendent in a low-cut gown that she had bought in the flea market of Tangier some years before.

‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she whispered to Blaine. ‘Wish me luck.’

He gave her a hug and asked if she would play something at the Steinway concert grand.

‘What would you like?’ she asked.

‘Surprise me.’

A moment later, the house was resounding to the lilt of As Time Goes By. And, as the fingers of the Argentine pianist caressed the ivories, the door opened again and Ankush Singh stepped inside.

Running up, Ghita led him to her father.

The two men hugged and laughed, and hugged again.

‘I thought you wouldn’t remember me,’ said the shopkeeper anxiously.

‘How could I forget?’ Omary replied. ‘After all, I see you every day in the mirror,’ he said, touching a fingertip to the scar.

Ghita looked at the clock above the mantelpiece and frowned. She seemed concerned.

‘What’s wrong?’ Blaine asked.

‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

Walking out into the front garden, Ghita made her way across the immaculate lawn to the great arabesque gates.

Standing on the other side of them was Saed.

He was dressed in a prim dark suit that was far too big, with a ready-made bow tie, and his hair wetted down.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Ghita asked.

The shoeshine boy’s eyes lit up.

‘For you to be my date,’ he said.

Taking Ghita’s arm in his, he walked back with her over the lawn, and into the house.

Introduced to Omary, Saed was praised for his getaway driving, and was thanked for all he had done. Then he slunk into the kitchen, and helped himself to a bottle of cooking sherry.

That was where Blaine found him.

‘I believe I still have something of yours,’ he said.

Saed struggled to hide what was left of the sherry behind his back.

Taking the envelope from his jacket pocket, Blaine passed it over.

‘There was a time in all this that I half-wondered what was inside it,’ he said.

‘You never looked?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I trusted you.’

The shoeshine boy seemed grateful, almost moved.

‘Thank you,’ he mumbled under his breath.

They were about to rejoin the party, when Saed reached out and touched Blaine on the arm.

‘Wait. I want to show you,’ he said.

Tearing the edge of the envelope, he removed a dog-eared photo of two smiling people. It was a group shot of a mother, a father and their baby son.

‘My parents,’ he said.

Blaine held the picture into the light.

‘Where are they now?’

Saed’s gaze lost focus on the kitchen’s grey tiled floor.

‘In Paradise,’ he whispered.

The American put an arm around the boy’s shoulder and gave him a hug.

‘I’m going to make sure that you’re never on your own again,’ he said.