Table of Contents
Title Page
Part 1
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Part 2
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NOTE
ALSO BY HILARY MANTEL
Copyright Page
Part 1
CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM
FROM: Director, Turadup, William and Schaper, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia
TO: All expatriate staff
DATE: 15 Shawal / 3 July 1985
I need not remind anyone of this week’s tragic events involving Turadup employees. In order to safeguard the company’s position in these very difficult times, I must request all staff and families about to depart on leave to behave as follows:
a. Refrain from talking to the press—whatever your holiday destination.
b. Refrain from public speculation about the recent deaths—remember that the matter is still under investigation by the Saudi police and Her Majesty’s representatives.
c. Exercise the utmost caution in personal conduct between now and your departure— dispose (carefully) of all items or substances which could attract the interest of the police, and do not leave your compound without your documents.
I feel sure that if these precautions are observed, we may expect a continuance of good relations with the Saudi authorities, and a smooth passage into the next Five-Year Plan.
May I take this opportunity to wish you, on behalf of Daphne and myself, a pleasant vacation and a safe return to the Kingdom after Haj. Sincerely—
Eric Parsons
IN FLIGHT
“Would you like champagne?”
This was the beginning; an hour or so out from Heathrow. Already it felt further; watches moved on, a day in a life condensed to a scramble at a check-in desk, a walk to a departure gate; a day cut short and eclipsed, hurtling on into advancing night. And now the steward leaned over her, putting this question.
“I don’t think so.” They had already eaten; dinner, she supposed. So much smoked salmon is consumed on aircraft that it is a wonder there is any left to eat at ground level. The steward had just now whisked her tray from under her nose. “You could give me some brandy,” she said.
“Two to get you started?” Hand hovering over the trolley, he seemed to approve her choice; as if what lay ahead were something to brace yourself for, not to celebrate.
“And one of those nice plastic glasses,” Frances Shore said. “Please.”
Across the aisle grown men were getting drunk on Cointreau. One of them cocked an eyebrow at the steward. He leaned over them; his face, pale and seamy under the late-night lights, showed a kind of patient disgust. Drinks were free of course, but on the Saudi run this standard airline ploy had the status of charity work. His fingers, dispensing the miniature bottles, were as clean and careful as a bishop’s.
The businessmen had done their talking earlier; passed sales charts to each other. “I wonder how Fairfax is doing in Kowloon?” one of them asked.
His companion dug his plastic fork into a mille-feuille, and made no reply. “How long now?” he asked after a while.
“Three hours.”
“Keep the drinks going then.”
“Enjoy it, gentlemen,” the steward said. The woman held up her coffee cup. He swayed toward her with the
