“Well. Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t window-shop.”
“Trouble with window-shopping is, it’s real easy to buy.” Kim puffed up her pillows. “And therein lies the demise of my marriages.”
“At least you get to have affairs and a great job and travel all over the place.”
Kim looked down at her, hands on her hips. “You make two divorces sound like fun. It wasn’t. And no kids either.”
“I know—and don’t worry, I’m not going to cheat.” Thea looked up at her. “Alex is the best. Honestly. And it’s lovely, where we are. We’ve drifted into a mellow life. Wishy-washy warm. Companionable. I value it, I really do . . .”
“Here it comes.”
Thea threw up her hands. “It just seems to me that contentment is another word for complacency, and complacent another word for lazy! I’d hate to be lazy in the way I live my life, but I suspect I have been. Lovely kids, adoring husband, comfortable middle-class home and convenient part-time job that pays for our holidays, but allows enough time for my domestic chores. This is my little life, Kim. It’s not what I expected.”
Kim turned off the television and sighed. “It’s true what they say. Women go quietly mad in marriage.”
“While children thrive on it, which is why women stay. But we’re not birds! We’re not naturally monogamous.”
“Look, if it’s any consolation, I do get it. I mean, an attractive guy comes on with this stuff about you being the invisible woman he’s been in love with for a quarter of a century, like he’s got a screw loose, and makes no apology for it—it’s pretty full-on.”
“Which is why we’re not having dinner with him.”
Kim looked at her. “He didn’t try something, did he, in the car?”
“No.”
“So are you going to tell me what has you so rattled?”
Thea got up, started to pace. Gabriel had said, as she got out of the car, “I have never spoken those words, or any variation of them, since the day I set foot in this country, so I would ask that you never repeat them.” Fine, but she owed him no such indulgence. He had taken a chance on the discretion of a stranger. How true, she thought, that we can know nothing of strangers. She paced about. “Their family tragedy. He told me about it. I wish he hadn’t.”
Kim’s eyes followed her.
“Turns out his brother nearly died, because . . . because your Gabriel with the kind eyes . . .”
“Go on.”
“Put him inside a grand piano.”
Kim sniggered. “He what?”
“Funny, isn’t it? Gabriel obviously thought so. A great stag-night stunt. Quite a lark, really, but for the fact that when his brother came round, he thought he’d been buried alive and had a heart attack. He’s never been right since.”
Kim reached for the bed and sat down.
“I don’t know how long he was in it, or how he got out or what the hell Gabriel and his mates thought they were doing. All I know is, I feel sick.”
“My Lord.”
“The cruelty. You wouldn’t do it to a dog. I mean—the dark, the cold, the weird moaning of the strings you’re lying on, then trying to move and finding . . .” Thea covered her face and sank onto the end of her bed. “Awful!”
Her arms taut, hands on her knees, Kim frowned at the carpet. “That’s why he came to Oman.”
“And why he’s never left. He’s stuck here, in his own remorse. Can’t face the shell of a brother he left behind.”
“Yes.” Kim nodded. “It’s all over him. I can see it now. Shame. Self-loathing.”
Thea leaned over her knees.
“That apparition was his bad conscience.”
“A bad conscience would never have left him,” said Thea, sitting up.
“But she hasn’t, has she?”
“No. She’s bloody everywhere. Even in this room. I wish we could shake her off.”
For several moments Kim didn’t seem to move. Then she said tentatively, “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? About the sweeper in Baghdad?”
“The one who said I had a shadow?”
“I think she called it a jinni.”
“I call it hepatitis. She must have seen the yellow in my eyes before anyone else did, and thought I was some kind of devil.”
“I guess.”
Thea looked over. “Are you suggesting that I’ve been carrying around bad karma since then?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s just a little odd, is all.”
“If I picked up a Baghdadi jinn, it’s been very good to me. I’ve had a charmed life since I last saw you. That dose of hepatitis gave me everything I have.”
“What about that stuff in your aunt’s house? Being there but not being there. That feeling of heat . . .”
“Kim, stop! God, you are so suggestible!”
“Just sayin’.” Kim raised her hands. “Did you know that three-quarters of Americans believe in angels?”
“Does that include you?”
“Not usually.”
“Look. Enough. Let’s avoid all spooks and eat here in the room.”
“I can’t. I have to work—check out the suq, eateries—and besides,” Kim swung from one bed to the other, “we can’t give up on Gabriel now, right when we’re getting to the heart of this thing.”
“He said he’s never spoken about it before. There’s no chance he’ll speak to you.”
“No, but I have to get this story out of him!”
“But it’s sordid! He buries his brother in a piano, runs away to Arabia, and starts having sex with an invisible woman!”
“Oh, wow—that’s the blurb right there. I can see it on the back of my book.”
“Kim. Get a grip.”
“But it’s fantastic. You could—”
“You cannot go writing about this.”
“Why not? I’m an investigative journalist.”
“You write travel articles!”
“Not for much longer.” Kim got up, thinking, thinking.
“It’s Gabriel’s story to tell. Not yours.”
“That’s exactly what I intend to do—let him tell his story. Over dinner. He’ll say anything to you, with a bit of prompting. I’ll be a mildly interested party, tuning in.”
“Taking notes, you mean.”
“Uh-huh.”
Thea shook her head. “You want me to set him up?”
“You were cursing him a minute ago. Now you’re protecting
