Thirty-three

A string of street vendors were touting used clothing and junk on the western side of Boulevard Mohammed V.

Most were dressed in heavy woollen jelabas, the kind that keep out the Atlantic winter cold. A few were crouched down, rearranging their wares, calling out to anyone who might listen.

One was eager to draw attention to a cluster of dirty wooden spoons, a pile of German paperbacks, and an ashtray stolen from the Hotel Negresco in Nice. Another had a bundle of coat hangers laid out on a mat, half a dozen screwdrivers, and what looked like the back end of a vintage vacuum cleaner.

Rather out of place between them was an open Louis Vuitton portmanteau, overflowing with designer garments and accessories.

Standing beside it, a little awkward and a little cold, was Ghita.

From time to time burly women would sidle up, root through the clothes, and wander away.

One of them lingered longer than the rest.

‘Bonjour Madame,’ Ghita said politely. ‘What about this, it’s Dior, and has never been worn? Or how about this belt – it’s Lagerfeld, this summer’s collection?’

The large meaty woman picked out a crimson cocktail dress and held it to her chest. Ghita exhaled in a sigh.

‘It’s Valentino,’ she said. ‘A limited edition, one of only six.’

‘I’ll give you twenty dirhams.’

‘You must be out of your mind! It cost twelve hundred euros!’

The woman held out a banknote so worn that it felt like cloth. Gritting her teeth, Ghita snatched it and stuffed it in her bag. She was about to curse her father again when she saw a familiar outline cruising down the boulevard. It was low to the ground and scarlet, and was driven by Mustapha.

He paused at the lights, easing on the accelerator as they changed. Through the corner of his eye he noticed a slim figure in lavender with matching heels. She had a hand to her face and what looked like an open leather case in front of her. He almost frowned.

It looked like his fiancée.

But how could it be her, in such a shabby part of town? Anyway, it couldn’t be Ghita. She was living it up in Monte Carlo.