Sometimes in a pessimistic mood, I asked myself what he could do. Then I assured myself that he would do something. I must go on hoping.
Nicole was watchful of Samir. I found myself watching him, too. He and I had become friends. He knew that I was with his mother a good deal and that there was a special understanding between us; it seemed to me that he wanted a share in it.
He was an enchanting child, and good-looking, healthy; and loving all people, he believed they loved him, too.
When I was sitting by the pool alone he came up to me and showed me his boat. We floated it on the pool and he watched its progress with dreamy eyes.
“It’s come from a long, long way,” he said.
“From where?” I asked.
“From Mar … Mart…”
I said on sudden inspiration: “Martinique.”
He nodded happily.
“It’s going to a place in France,” he said.
“It’s Lyons. There’s a school there.”
I guessed his mother had told him her story, for he went on:
“Pirates.” He began to shout.
“They are trying to take us but we won’t let them, will we? Bang, bang. Go away, you horrid pirate. We don’t like you.” He waved his hand at imaginary vessels. He turned to smile at me.
“All right now. Don’t be frightened. They’ve all gone now.”
He pointed to a tree and said, “Figs.”
“Do you like figs?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously.
His mother came up. She had heard the last remark.
“He is greedy where figs are concerned, aren’t you, Samir?” she said.
He hunched his shoulders and nodded.
I remembered that later.
I was sitting by the pool, thinking that the days were passing quickly and wondering when the Pasha would be coming back. Could I hope to escape again? There could not be another draught like the last. Rani would surely suspect if there were. And if I did take it, what effect would it have on me: how much did Nicole know about such potions?
Moreover, I imagined that Rani would prepare the aphrodisiac this time. She was no fool. It might well be that she had a suspicion of what happened. Was there any hope? I wondered. Could Simon offer me anything but words of comfort?
Samir came up to me. He was holding a fig.
“Oh,” I said.
“What a nice fig, Samir.”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Fatima gave it to me.”
“Fatima!” A shiver of alarm ran through me.
“Give it to me, Samir,” I said.
He held it behind his back.
“It’s not yours. It’s mine.”
“Just show it to me.”
He stepped back a pace and, bringing out his hand, held up the fig.
I went to take it from him, but he ran and I went after him.
He ran full tilt into his mother, who caught him laughingly and looked at me.
“Fatima gave him a fig,” I said.
She turned pale.
“He’s holding it now. He wouldn’t give it to me.”
She snatched it from him. His face puckered.
“It’s all right,” she said.
“I’ll find you another.”
“But that’s mine. Fatima gave it to me.”
“Never mind.” Her voice shook a little.
“You shall have a bigger and better one. This one’s not very nice. It has worms in it.”
“Show me?” cried Samir excitedly.
“First of all, I’ll get you a nice one.”
She put the fig into my hands.
“I’ll be back,” she said.
She took Samir off and a few minutes later returned without him.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“She’s capable of anything.”
So think I. “
“Rosetta, I am going to test this.”
She sat on the stones holding the fig in her hand and staring moodily before her. One of Fatima’s little dogs came into sight.
She laughed suddenly and called to him. He came up and looked. She held out the fig to the dog who swallowed it at one gulp, and looked at us hopefully for more.
“Why should she give him a fig?” she asked.
“She might have been sorry about the earrings and wanted to please him.”
She looked at me scornfully. Then her eyes went to the dog. He had crept into a corner and was being sick.
She was triumphant.
“She is wicked … wicked … she would have killed Samir.”
“We can’t be sure.”
“It’s proof enough. Look at the dog.”
“It might have been something else.”
“He was well enough before he took the fig.”
“Do you think she would go so far? What would happen to her if she were discovered?”
“Death for murder.”
“She would think of that.”
“Fatima never thinks ahead. She would think only of getting rid of Samir so that Feisal could be the Pasha’s favourite.”
“Nicole, do you seriously believe she would go to such lengths?”
The dog was now writhing on the ground. We stared at it in horror.
Suddenly its legs stiffened and it lay on its side.
“It could have been Samir,” whispered Nicole.
“If you hadn’t seen him with the fig … I will kill her for this.”
Aida came up.
“What’s the matter with the dog?” she said.
“He’s dead,” said Nicole.
“He ate a fig.”
“A what?”
“A fig.”
“How could he die of that? It’s Fatima’s dog.”
“Yes,” said Nicole.
“Go and tell her that her dog has died through eating a fig.”
