“It’s completely over the top,” Khaled said. “Imagine the most ridiculously fancy building you’ve ever seen, cover it with gold, and stick an onion on top.”
Olivia’s eyes moved slowly over the vast edifice, taking it all in. The palace was like a wedding cake, with every wall plastered and painted in pretty pastel shades, then decorated with white and gold icing so that it shimmered in the white Saqati sunlight. The entire building was topped with a huge pointed dome. Completely over the top, completely ridiculous, and completely fairy tale. She couldn’t imagine anything more different from the solid granite blocks of Dalneith House.
“Well?”
She became aware of Khaled standing beside her, watching her with an ironic glint in his eye.
“I love it,” she said. “I mean, it ought to be in Disneyland, or on a film set or something, but I love it. What woman wouldn’t?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. Welcome to my home, Ms. McInnes.”
“Thank you, Sheikh Khaled.”
…
“I thought you were going to arrange for someone else to show me the city.” Olivia had been surprised by Khaled’s appearance at her rooms after lunch, inviting her to walk with him into Saqat City.
“I have a couple of hours.”
Olivia slid him a sideways glance. “I see.”
“If you would prefer someone else…”
“No. I prefer you.”
He didn’t say anything, but his shoulders relaxed a little. He was under too much strain, Olivia realized. He needed a break.
“Show me your country, Khaled. I want to see as much of it as I can while I’m here.”
They strolled through unpaved streets lined with little white, flat-roofed houses. Even without the telltale presence of the guards walking a few paces behind, it was clear everyone knew the sheikh. Women lowered their faces, but the children stared wide-eyed. Khaled paused to talk to some of them, crouching down to their level. Olivia was conscious of the curious glances in her direction, but without knowing any Arabic, she was unable to engage anyone in conversation.
“You made their day,” she said, nodding toward the children who were chattering and gesturing excitedly.
“It’s just one day. One day doesn’t matter compared to the rest of their lives.”
“They’ll be telling that story to their children and their grandchildren for the rest of their lives.”
He made a dismissive noise. He was still terse with her, although he had relaxed while he was talking to the children. She was going to have to work hard to make conversation.
“That’s pretty.” She pointed toward a white building at the end of the street, topped with a gilded dome and surrounded by high towers.
“It’s the mosque.”
“Oh, of course.” She’d heard the prayer call earlier.
“Would you like to see inside?”
“Is that allowed?”
“You’ll need something to cover your hair. And you’ll have to take your shoes off.”
“I can do that.”
It was cool inside the mosque and dark after the bright sunlight. She slipped off her sandals and someone handed her a scarf to drape over her head. Khaled indicated the bowl where she should wash her hands.
“Will I do?” she asked him, checking to make sure she had done everything by the rules.
Khaled barely glanced at her. “Fine.”
There were no chairs, just a thin carpet covering the floor. Several men were on their knees, some lying prostrate, all facing in the same direction, and murmuring words she couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see any women, but no one made any objection to her presence. Even so, she didn’t wander far, not wanting to intrude in this holy place.
The room itself was stunningly beautiful, wholly unlike the plain Scottish Presbyterian church she had attended as a child, with its stark, whitewashed walls and deliberately uncomfortable pews. The rich reds and blues of the geometrical pattern on the carpet in the mosque were picked out in an elaborate mosaic design around the walls. Olivia craned her neck to admire the domed ceiling, painted in pretty blues and creams, with a vast, ornate chandelier hanging from its center. A wooden pulpit near the front of the mosque was practically the only familiar object in the room.
Khaled touched her arm. “Wait for me,” he mouthed.
She nodded and watched him go forward, kneel, and reach his arms toward Mecca. Here, in the mosque, he was like every other man, a supplicant on his knees before God. She hoped he would find some respite from his burdens in the act of intercession.
She shouldn’t be watching him like this. It was too private. She handed back the scarf, reclaimed her shoes, and went outside to wait.