“There were two of them, and they were out with some Lebanese men. And the police stopped them, and wanted to see their documents. Well, of course, they weren’t married, were they?”
“Get the story right, Marion,” Russel said. “You may as well get it right, if you’re going to tell it at all. These two couples were walking around Jeddah International Market. The police picked them up and put them in the back of a van.”
“I heard they let the men go,” Eric Parsons said. “It was just the girls they took.”
“Well, you’re right, you’re right, but what actually happened, according to my source, was that they picked the two Lebanese up, but then they dumped them out somewhere—”
“Near the souk,” Daphne said.
“And then,” Russel resumed, “the two girls were found dead next day, in the car park on the roof of Sarawat supermarket. They’d been raped, of course.”
A short pause. Frances scanned the table. The Zussmans had stopped eating at last. A particularly large speck of Saudiflon lay, like an exclamation mark, in the center of Daphne’s plate.
“That’s funny,” Andrew said. “I didn’t think there was a car park on the roof at Sarawat.”
“I heard,” Carla said, “that it happened at Sarawat in Riyadh.”
“Oh well, I don’t know,” Russel said. “But I did definitely hear that they’ve got the five policemen involved.”
“Yes, I heard that,” Daphne said. “And one of them was executed yesterday.”
“What about the mother and daughter in the souk?” Frances said. “Those Australians. The rape. Did they execute anyone for that?”
“Let them go, as far as I heard,” Jeff said. “The police wouldn’t proceed. Women walking around the souk in shorts, they were asking for it, weren’t they?”
“Well, right,” Russel said. “Why can’t they be careful? Marion’s always careful. I mean you have to have rules, don’t you? Otherwise you’d get women going down to the souk in bikinis.”
“I don’t see why you would,” Frances said. “You don’t have dress rules in England, but you don’t get people walking down Regent Street in bikinis.”
“It doesn’t matter what they were wearing,” Carla Zussman said. “They weren’t asking for anything.” Andrew leaned toward her with the wine, and she covered her glass with her hand. “Thanks, enough. I have to say, though, I’ve heard so many versions of that story, I don’t know what to believe.”
“It scares me,” Marion said.
“Look,” Russel told her, “you keep the rules, and you won’t come to any harm in the Kingdom. Respect yourself, and you’ll be respected, that’s my view. You girls can say what you like, with your women’s lib nonsense, but as a family man I regard this place as a much better proposition for my wife and children than ever Africa was. You don’t hear of armed robbery here, do you? No, because they know what they’d get.”
“Of course you don’t hear of armed robbery,” Frances said. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“You hear,” Carla said, “what they want you to hear. You think what they want you to think. Don’t you know that yet, Russel?”
“Look,” Andrew said, “more wine, anybody? Frances, I think we’re ready for the pudding.”
They met up in the kitchen. “I want some Perrier for Carla,” Andrew said. “Listen, Frances, just cool it, will you? You shouldn’t take Russel apart like that.”
“Carla was right.” She scraped vegetables into the bin. “How can you know what goes on?” Bethinking herself, she took a can of insecticide from under the sink and sprayed the floor around the bin. “You can’t travel around inside the Kingdom. You can’t go and see. You can’t even go to the Philippines Embassy, I suppose, and count these hundreds of maids who are camping out.”
“You take a certain amount on trust,” Andrew said.
She rinsed her hands, and dried them. “Here, carry this. I’ll bring this pudding of Yasmin’s. Somebody might want it.”
Andrew brought to the table a glazed tart of small, out-of-season strawberries, and a jug of thick yellow cream. “Oh, how lovely,” Marion said, and yearning crossed her face. “But I mustn’t.”
“Marion has to watch her figure,” Russel explained.
“Don’t we all!” said Daphne gaily. “No, Frances dear, not for me. But it does look rather delicious, I must say.”
“Any black specs?” Jeff said, peering.
“Perhaps you’d like some of this?” Frances indicated Yasmin’s dessert.
“What is it?” Rickie Zussman asked.
“I don’t know, but I had a spoonful in the kitchen, it’s nice. My neighbor sent it.”
“No thank you,” Rickie said. “Carla and I never eat desserts,” he added politely. “But I’m sure it tastes fine.”
Jeff picked up the serving spoon and dabbled it into the dish. A shred of coconut and a fleck of green pistachio floated to the surface, with the delicate scent of rosewater. “Looks as if it’s been regurgitated. Wouldn’t touch Paki food at the best of times. Think I’ll give it a miss.”
“Me too,” Russel said. “You can give me some of the strawberry thing, if you will, my love. My goodness, Andrew, you do well for yourself. Married a good cook, eh?”
