Her hands shook as she began to count the money. There were precisely 16,625 British gold sovereigns, an incredible fortune, amassed through inconceivable misery. She contemplated the floor of her bedroom, covered with little towers of coins, and for the first time, felt relief that Benjamin was dead. Yet his fate did not absolve her of the decision of what to do next.
She anxiously listened for sounds in the house, but all she heard was the sound of her own breath. She did not want this blood-drenched money. And now that she had it, they were all in grave danger. The qaid would have her arrested, perhaps tortured. In England, she would be held to account in court for Benjamin’s misdeeds. The scandalous trial would do untold damage to the Spencer & Son Shipping Company and forever cast a pall over her sons’ lives. Not to mention the many people who would happily commit murder to get their hands on such a treasure!
Sibylla’s head hurt. She remembered the half-empty bottle of whisky in Benjamin’s desk. She had never tasted whisky. The strongest beverage a lady was permitted to drink was a little glass of port, but at this moment she did not care. She urgently needed something to calm her nerves.
A little while later, she was back in her bedroom. “No one!” she swore as she held the list of Benjamin’s accounts over the flame of the candle and watched it turn to ash. “No one is ever going to find out about this!”
At dawn, Sibylla stood on the shore, far behind the harbor, where there were only gently undulating dunes overgrown with grass. It was still dark over the ocean. She listened to the soft splashing of the water and watched the fishing boats returning from their nightly sardine catch, their lights swaying gently on the waves. She’d had to get out of the house, where everything reminded her of Benjamin and the horror he’d wrought. The beach felt soothing, safe.
“Allahu akbar!” The muezzin’s ceremonious call to prayer broke the silence. A thin strip of light over the city announced the day.
Sibylla put her head back and breathed in the fresh salty air. I should throw the money into the sea, she thought, and suddenly felt an irrepressible urge to laugh. She well and truly had the exciting life she had always wished for as a young girl in London. How naive that girl had been.
She definitely did not want to use Benjamin’s gold treasure for herself, but she did not want to sink it in the Atlantic either. For the time being, the money was hidden under some floorboards in her bedroom that the Haha had pried up. She had pushed her bed over it. Not as good a hiding place as Benjamin’s, but the best she could manage on short notice.
The muezzin had finished his call and daylight was breaking fast. The ocean changed from gray to blue. She thought she could make out the whitecaps of the waves and the outlines of the fishing boats, which extinguished their lights one by one. Movement in the corner of her eye told her she was no longer alone. She turned her head. André! She had not seen him since she had been taken to the Warspite with her children. She had assumed he was no longer in town.
She ran toward him, flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him with abandon. Any passerby could have seen them, but after a few glasses of whisky and the discovery of Benjamin’s dirty money, that hardly seemed to matter.
“André! Thank God! How did you know I was here?”
He freed himself somewhat breathlessly. “I slept on the beach because the French consulate has been destroyed. You, my dear Sibylla, reek of alcohol, if you will permit me to say so. And you also look as though you’ve been working a field!”
She glanced down at her soiled kaftan and her dirty fingernails and laughed. “Well, not exactly a field, but you’re close.”
He looked at her somewhat confused. “Have you had any news about your husband?”
She stopped laughing. “Dead. Burned to death. There is not a stone left of the western bastion, where his cell was.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, looking aggrieved.
She stared at him with determination. “I don’t want your pity, André. Benjamin is dead, but I am alive. And I swear to you: today is the beginning of a new life for me!”
He took her hand and they walked along the water’s edge, farther and farther away from the city, silent and content to be together. The air was still cool, but the sun warmed it more and more as it rose. Rabbits scampered across the sand and storks circled in the sky.
Sibylla gripped André’s hand and led him to the dunes, where it was warm and protected from the wind.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She looked at him. “Show me how it really is when a man and a woman love each other.”
He thought he had misheard her, but then she slid off her leather slippers. When she was about to pull her tunic over her head, he stopped her. “Wait!” He cleared his throat. “I want to do that.”
He took off his jacket and laid it on the sand. Then he sat down and pulled Sibylla next to him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. Her forehead and blonde eyebrows, her eyelids, the freckles that the sun sprinkled on the tip of her nose, and her soft, moist mouth. He slipped his hand under her clothing, stroked her delicate skin, and felt the curves of her body. He pulled the tunic over her head and smiled when he felt her getting goose bumps. Then he leaned over and kissed her nipples. He helped her get out of the wide chalwars. He saw her naked for the first time, and the sight of her slim figure, her small breasts, her softly curved Venus mound aroused him.
Sibylla blushed. Uncertain whether she was pleasing to him, she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. He let her be as he himself undressed. She watched him intently and thought about how strange it was that she and Benjamin had never seen each other naked even though they had been married for over four years and had two children together.
“Are you all right?” André inquired.
She nodded. He took her in his arms and she allowed herself to be rolled onto her back while he pressed his body against hers. His body completely covered hers, making her feel safe and protected. While they kissed again, her hands slid from his shoulders to his buttocks, then down his arms to his fingertips. He felt completely different from Benjamin—broader, stronger. She had only ever felt her husband through his nightshirt, but that was enough to know that he had a narrow body with no muscles. But here with André, she could feel his strength and the firm, smooth flesh under his soft skin.
Yes, thought Sibylla, what we are doing here is right. Right and good.
The sun had moved over the buildings of Mogador and was quickly warming the sand on which they lay. Sibylla was nestled closely to André and said sleepily, “Now I have really felt what it’s like to be loved.”
He kissed her hair. “Je t’aime, Sibylla. I am glad that I can finally tell you that.”
She lifted her head out of the crook of his arm and looked at him. “I want to ask you something, André.”
“Yes?”
She thought about Benjamin’s gold in its makeshift hiding place. “What would you do if you unexpectedly received something very valuable that you cannot and would not keep?”
Worried, he answered, “I do hope that you aren’t referring to us and to the feeling we have for each other.”
“Certainly not.”