Philippe choked on his tea. ‘Bea, we were little more than children ourselves when we married.’
‘Any regrets?’
‘About what? About marrying you?’
She nodded.
‘No, Bea, no regrets, not then, not now, not ever.’ He leant across the table and took her hand. ‘Cheri, what is all this?’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Has your lover proposed?’
‘No, they know better than that.’
‘They?’ His mouth dropped open. ‘Are we talking in the plural?’
Beatrice smiled enigmatically.
‘You never cease to amaze me.’
‘Are you jealous?’
‘Yes, I’m jealous, very jealous of the fact that you have a string of lovers while I have to make do with a flatulent old bitch and a piglet?’
She smiled. ‘It’s hardly a string, Philippe.’
‘They’re lucky men, Bea. I hope they know that they’re very lucky men.’
‘You should get married, Philippe.’
‘I tried that once, remember?’
‘You are the marrying type,’ she continued, ignoring his last remark. ‘I’m not, but you definitely are. You need a wife.’
‘Who would have me? I live in a crumbling chateau with my sister and a business on the verge of bankruptcy. It’s not exactly every woman’s dream.’
‘Are things really that bad?’
‘They are certainly not that good,’ he replied. ‘But please let’s not talk about that right now. Tell me about my fellow guests.’
‘Not that many this week. We have a pair of ancient American sisters who want to see the world. This is their first trip abroad, they are delightfully eccentric and told me they had dreamt of visiting Europe all their lives.’
‘Did you enlighten them or leave them in blissful ignorance.’
‘I enlightened them of course and we now have a daily geography lesson over breakfast.’ She swirled her tea in its glass. ‘And from the UK we have a Mr & Mrs Walker, well actually no, we now have only Mrs Walker, her husband is ill apparently, and in his place we have a Mr Nick McPherson.’
‘And will Mr Nick McPherson be sharing Mrs Walker’s room?’ Philippe enquired with a saucy wink.
‘No, Philippe, Mr. Nick McPherson has requested a separate room.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Then we have a mother and her young son.’
‘No husband?’
‘No husband.’
‘So two husbands both conspicuous by their absence.’ Philippe tapped the side of his nose theatrically. ‘No doubt you will get to the bottom of this before the end of the day, cheri.’
‘You are making a mystery out of nothing.’ She laughed.
‘Oh, I don’t think so, there is always mystery and intrigue at Riad Fontaine. It has all the makings of a perfect Agatha Christie novel.’
‘Well then, you can practice your rusty English and question everyone like Poirot.’
‘My English is certainly not rusty and Poirot doesn’t question until the end, he observes and that is what I shall do tonight. I will be a silent observer, lurking unseen, eating Bushara’s tagine.’ He smiled at the silly rhyme. ‘Seriously, Bea, I don’t feel like being sociable tonight. Tomorrow I will be the life and soul, I promise, but this evening let me be solitary.’
She frowned. ‘You can be anything you like, Philippe, I don’t need you to be the life and soul, you are here to get better.’
‘I am not ill, Bea.’
She smiled gently and leant over to kiss him.
CHAPTER SIX
I lay back in my seat. I was very pleased that the car was air-conditioned. The gin and tonics on the plane had given me a nagging headache and dry throat. Why in God’s name was I here? Why on earth had I gone ahead with the bloody holiday? I should have stayed at home and tried to sort things out.
My Italian grandmother had always told me to confront problems. ‘You should never run awayfrom anything, Sky, cara,’ she would say. ‘Face things head on and do battle.’
We had always done just that. Nonna, Nick, Iona and I sitting at the old kitchen table, talking through our various problems together, thrashing everything out. Now Nick was my problem.
God, what an unholy mess this all was. Tears threatened to overwhelm me once more and I gritted my teeth, willing them to stop. If the others hadn’t been in the car I would have asked Ibrahim to take me directly back to the airport.
I stared out of the car window, not really seeing the camels grouped together on the street corner, the dark fronded palm trees, the men and women in their flowing robes and the hundreds of dusty mopeds weaving insanely in and out of the traffic. I closed my eyes and lay back even further in the seat. The beauty of Marrakech, the city I had dreamt about for so very long, flashed by me unseen.
Beside me Gail was silent while in contrast Sonny was chattering away non-stop. He was clearly in seventh heaven, exclaiming at everything he saw. I could sense that she was trying to be enthusiastic but she seemed tired and anxious. I opened my eyes and smiled at her.
‘What am I doing here?’ she leant over and whispered. ‘I’ve come on a wild goose chase, I must be mad.’ She lowered her voice even more. ‘Sky, I’m going to ask Ibrahim to take me back to the airport.’
‘I was thinking much the same thing,’ I murmured.
‘What about Nick? Will he mind?’ She asked.
I wondered how Nick was feeling. Was he regretting coming? I imagined that it had taken some courage to follow me here. He at least was prepared to try and do battle, while I was running away. I had a horrid feeling that Nonna would be far from proud of me right now.
‘Let’s think about it when we get to the riad,’ I said.
She nodded but didn’t seem convinced.
Nick had a tic below his left eye that spasmed slightly whenever he was upset or angry and I could tell that it was twitching now. The heat had twisted his curls into tight ringlets. As he’d got older his hair had darkened and I knew that he didn’t mind it now, but as a kid his bright copper curls had been the bane of his life. We used to joke about wanting to swap, I would be happy to have his auburn ringlets and he could have my straight, dark hair. We’d even bought wigs once to see what we would look like, we looked bloody awful but it didn’t stop us from wishing.
He looked utterly wretched and I watched as he leant over to Ibrahim and asked in a low voice that I had to strain to hear. ‘Are the flights frequent from Marrakech to London?’
I couldn’t hear Ibrahim’s reply but I had a sudden and overwhelming urge to laugh. Three people arriving in Marrakech and three people all desperate to leave, it was like a farce. What an eccentric group we were.
‘Please to follow.’ Ibrahim had parked the car and was opening the door.
I was puzzled, we appeared to be in a poky, dusty alleyway and there was no sign of the riad. A young Moroccan lad was busy loading our suitcases onto a small handcart.
‘I don’t understand?’ I said hesitantly. ‘Where is Riad Fontaine?’
‘Through here if you please.’ Ibrahim indicated an archway. ‘No cars allowed in the medina.’
‘Oh yes, I remember reading about that,’ I said. ‘I think the streets are too narrow for cars.’
‘Too narrow for cars?’ Gail sounded anxious. ‘How do you get around then? What if you need to get away?’
I heard the wobble in her voice, saw the slight panic in her face and was quick to reassure her.
‘I guess it’s easy to organise a taxi from the riad to pick you up here?’ I looked over to Ibrahim for confirmation and he nodded.
‘I’ve made a big mistake, Sky,’ Gail said. ‘I think I should go.’
She looked for Sonny. He wasn’t by her side.
‘Sonny?’
‘Here, Mummy.’ We wheeled around and saw him crouched in the dirt, patting an old goat who was tethered to a spindly olive tree.
‘Come here now, Sonny,’ she cried sharply. He looked startled but scampered over to her
. ‘I’m going home, Sky. This is madness, it’s total madness.’
‘Let’s go to the riad, Gail. We can’t think straight right now,’ I whispered.
‘Mummy?’ Sonny looked anxious.
I stared down at his little face and thought that he looked right at home there with his olive skin and dark eyes. I knew without doubt that she had to stay, she had to try and find his father. ‘You have to see it through, Gail, we both do.’ I gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. ‘And besides, you can’t possibly leave me here alone. I need you. You’ll never forgive yourself if you leave.’
She looked at me for a moment before turning to her son.
‘What an adventure, eh, darling?’ We’ve certainly got some exploring to do.’ She smiled brightly at Sonny but her voice was still far from steady.
‘Can we start now?’ Sonny’s face was alive with excitement. ‘Can we explore now?’
‘Let’s you and I be explorers, Sonny.’ Nick held out his hand. ‘Let’s go and find the hotel, make sure that it’s safe for Mummy and Sky to follow.’
Sonny looked at his mother who nodded gently and smiled her thanks at Nick. The two of them ran after the handcart. Ibrahim remained waiting patiently at the roadside.
‘You’re doing the right thing, Gail.’
‘Oh, Sky, thank God we were on the same plane.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Come on, poor Ibrahim is being so patient, he must think we’re mad.’
‘He wouldn’t be far wrong.’ I smiled as together the two of us crossed the alleyway and followed Ibrahim to Riad Fontaine.
I stood rooted to the spot in the archway which led to the inner courtyard of the riad. The others had gone in but I couldn’t move. I was spellbound by the scene in front of me. I’d never seen anything so magical. I had never imagined colours so vibrant, their intensity was almost painful and I was overcome by their richness and depth.
My hands itched to get out my paints and as I slowly began to walk inside I started to imagine what my palette would look like. The crimson of the bougainvillea and the dark green ivy. The sharp white jasmine climbing the ochre walls. A shimmering turquoise pool surrounded by pale wooden sun loungers. Sparkling silver tray tables, deep amber and gold pottery and dark blue tubs housing exotic palm trees. The effect was breathtaking.
It felt to me as if the colours were palpable things, glinting in the air just beyond my reach. I stretched out my hands towards them like a child in a candy store.
‘Sky,’ Nick called softly.
I was in a world of my own. I turned towards him with a smile.
‘Oh, Nicky, it’s magical.’
His look of surprise brought me back to reality with a jolt and my joy vanished instantly.
I walked towards the table where a lady in an olive green headscarf and black robe was pouring mint tea.
‘Hello, are you Beatrice?’ I asked.
‘No, Beatrice will be joining you in a moment.’ She had a beautiful smile. ‘I am Bushara, wife of Ibrahim who drove you here.’ Her face was kind and serene as she handed out the tea and pastries and I had a bizarre urge to hug her.
I sipped at the tea, it was sweet and refreshing and the pastry was sublime. I watched Nick out of the corner of my eye. I could see him licking his lips, smelling his fingers, desperately trying to identify everything. I knew exactly what he was doing. He would automatically begin to analyse the taste.
I could detect almonds, cinnamon and honey but there was bound to be something I couldn’t quite define. It was second nature to him to try and dissect the ingredients of anything new. It was an agonisingly familiar routine and one that I’d witnessed a thousand times.
A sudden exclamation from Sonny startled me.
‘Look, a tortoss, mummy a tortoss.’ His little face was a picture of happiness.
Beatrice was watching from the upstairs balcony. She always liked to observe her guests before meeting them.
She saw the two girls chatting as if they were old friends but she could see the tension in the knuckles of the beautiful dark-haired girl as she clutched her tea. She watched the way her eyes kept sliding to the tall man with auburn hair standing to one side. He was pretending to look around but Beatrice could see how taut he was, nervously chewing his bottom lip.
She watched the handsome young boy playing with the tortoise and had the strange feeling that she had seen him before. She heard his pretty, fair mother calling him back, holding out her arm protectively, but who was she protecting him from?
She saw Bushara look up and nod at her. It was time to go down.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I followed Beatrice up a flight of beautiful old wooden stairs that creaked with every step.
‘It’s simply impossible to creep around silently in this riad.’ Beatrice grinned as she paused at the top. ‘You cannot keep your movements secret here.’
I stopped to gaze at a group of photographs. ‘Is this the riad before you restored it?’
‘It certainly is.’
‘My God, you’ve done an amazing job. What a huge project to take on.’
‘Well, I had some help.’ Beatrice retraced her steps to show me. ‘This was my extremely talented architect.’ She pointed to a young, good-looking man. He looked vaguely familiar to me although I couldn’t imagine why. ‘These were my team of builders and here in the background are Bushara and Ibrahim.’
‘Gosh, so they were here right from the start.’
‘Yes they were.’ Beatrice nodded. ‘My right-hand men, so to speak.’
‘This is a beautiful photograph, who are you hugging?’ I peered at a photo of Beatrice laughing up at a tall, dark-haired, handsome man.
‘That’s Philippe, my ex-husband. Actually he’s here at the moment, you will meet him.’
‘You’re still on good terms then?’
‘The best of friends.’
I thought of my best friend and turned abruptly away from the photograph.
Beatrice led the way across a small sun-dappled terrace and flung open a door at the far end.
‘This is your room, Sky,’ she said, ushering me in.
I went down a couple of steps and found myself in a small sitting room dominated by a large open fireplace. A beautiful wooden archway in one corner led to a bedroom and beyond that I could make out a white-tiled bathroom. The ceiling was the same dark cedar as the hallway, brightly coloured rugs adorned the floor and a small sofa was covered with sequinned cushions.
‘Oh, Beatrice, it’s stunning.’ It had everything, it was comfortable and it was exotic and unique.
‘It’s one of my favourite rooms.’ Beatrice smiled. ‘If you want a fire then don’t hesitate to ask Ibrahim, there’s nothing he enjoys more than lighting fires. Frankly Bushara and I are convinced that one day the whole riad will go up in smoke.’
‘It’s an amazing place, Beatrice, it’s everything I’ve ever imagined and much more.’ I wandered around the room. ‘I’ve been looking forward to coming to Marrakech for such a long time.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your husband.’
‘So am I.’
‘What is wrong with him?’
‘He’s gay.’
‘I didn’t think that was classed as an illness,’ Beatrice said, completely taken aback.
‘It isn’t, I just don’t think Nick knew what else to say to you.’
‘And where does Nick fit?’
‘At the moment neatly into my husband.’ I quickly clapped my hand over my mouth. ‘Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry, how crude.’ I was horrified. I didn’t normally behave like this. ‘I can’t believe I just said that, I’m so sorry. It’s still all a bit of a shock.’
Beatrice shook her head. ‘So, let me get this straight…’
‘If only,’ I replied. We looked at each other for a second and then both started to giggle.
‘I don’t know what’s come over me,’ I apologised.’ No one knows back hom
e and yet suddenly in one short day I’ve told both you and Gail.’
‘Sometimes it is easier to talk to strangers.’ Beatrice sat down. ‘And anyway you cannot keep something like that locked up, you need to talk about it.’ She smiled up at me encouragingly.
Taking a deep breath I sat down beside her. It seemed only fair to put her in the picture. ‘Nick is, or rather was, my best friend. My absolute best friend.’ I paused and Beatrice took my hand.
‘He is the person who my husband is having an affair with.’ I hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘No it’s much more than an affair, Nick is the one who apparently makes him feel complete, the “final piece of the jigsaw”.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you? I don’t.’ I turned to face her. ‘I thought we were complete. I thought we were the whole jigsaw.’ The room suddenly felt stifling, I fanned inadequately at my face. ‘I had no idea that Nick was coming here. I had absolutely no idea until I saw him at the airport. I don’t know what his game is, or why he’s here.’
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