“Thank you.” Emily sounded dejected. She had been so proud when the letter had arrived. Now, her heart grew heavy at the thought of being away from Sabri. “Good-bye, Dr. bin Abdul.”
Thomas’s office looked much like Sabri’s, only that next to his diploma hung a photograph of him, wearing his academic gown and mortarboard, surrounded by his London relatives. The first thing visitors would inevitably see was John’s graduation present to his brother: a human skeleton bought from Charing Cross Hospital. As a special jest, John had dressed it in one of his old suits before he surprised Thomas with it. Now the skeleton stood in the corner of Thomas’s office, without the suit but with Thomas’s hat on its skull, much to the delight of the younger patients.
“You’re coming to see us more often these days,” Thomas remarked as he closed the door behind him.
“I’m interested in medicine, that’s all.”
He shook his head. “You have never before in your life been interested in science. I can tell when you’re fibbing, little sister.”
“Have you never thought that you might be wrong?”
Instead of answering, Thomas took Emily’s wrist. “Your pulse is racing,” he pronounced after a few seconds. “And you’re flushed. These symptoms indicate the serious and dangerous disease of being in love. I strongly suspect, dear Emily, that you caught this disease thanks to my friend bin Abdul.”
“You’re imagining things!” She turned away from him and busied herself with the food basket.
“Does Mother know?”
“No! And besides, there’s nothing for her to know.”
He sighed. It was not that he begrudged his sister and his best friend their happiness, but such a relationship was hopeless, simply impossible. He placed his arm around Emily.
“You are a grown woman and so I can speak honestly with you. End this infatuation now. Sabri will never requite it.”
“How do you know?” She tried to free herself, but Thomas held on tight.
“Sabri’s parents chose a wife for him when he was still a child, and you know as well as I that these agreements cannot be broken.”
“You’re just saying that,” she responded feebly. “You want to annoy me.” After all, Sabri had been on the verge of asking her for a rendezvous when Thomas had butted in. That had not just been her imagination.
Thomas pulled his sister closer. “Do you really think I would be so cruel? You know that Sabri owes his parents respect and obedience. If he had feelings for you, he would be putting you before those obligations.”
Emily sank into the nearest chair. Just a few minutes before, she had been so happy, and now she was crestfallen.
“You’re going to be leaving for England soon,” she heard Thomas say. “You are going to become acquainted with the country of our parents and study art. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
She did not answer. There were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sure things will look different with a little distance between you,” Thomas said, trying to console her. “You’re going to meet many interesting people in London and forget your heartache. And surely another nice young man will win your heart.”
“Oh, what do you know! The only thing you have ever loved is your work!” Emily ran out of the room and slammed the door in her wake.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The atmosphere on the roof of the British consulate was peaceful and relaxed. Sunlight was shining through the straw sunshades and falling in golden patches on the floor. The air smelled of sea salt and freshly baked raisin buns. Sara Willshire’s guests sat on wicker chairs placed around two folding tables. Behind each of them stood a Negro girl who fanned the ladies with palm fronds. Sara Willshire opened to the first page of Wilkie Collins’s novel The Woman in White and began to read in a clear voice. Victoria picked up her teacup and, when she sniffed the bergamot aroma with her eyes closed, was transported back to England for a few bittersweet moments.
“I’m making my opening bid,” she heard the French consul’s wife say at the next table. She was playing bridge with her daughter and two merchants’ wives from England and Portugal. Victoria, the Italian consul’s wife, and a young recent arrival from Hamburg had all brought their embroidery.
Victoria felt comfortable here, in the company of women like her. These women thought like she did, dressed like she did, and spoke in languages she understood. Unfortunately, these gatherings only lasted a few hours. They were the highlights of her otherwise dreary and monotonous life.
Victoria reluctantly opened her eyes again and caught a glimpse of one of the servant girls stifling a bored yawn while another made faces at the two green parrots sitting on a perch in the corner.
Why must my mother-in-law be so unlike these women? she wondered. How can an Englishwoman prefer the company of Arabs to this refined social gathering?
Her sister-in-law Emily was no better. She was actually an even greater disappointment than Sibylla. Victoria had imagined that she and Emily, who was almost her age, would become friends. But she had soon been disabused of that notion. She could not deny that Emily was always very pleasant to her, but the two of them were entirely different. Once, Victoria had tried to tell Emily about London. She had described the National Portrait Gallery, where she and John had first met, talked about the opera in Covent Garden, the elegant shops, department stores, and shopping arcades between Knightsbridge and Piccadilly. But Emily had not understood anything. She had actually said that it all sounded much like a souk!
“I believe that our dear Signora Hopkins is miles away from us right now!” The amused voice of the Italian consul’s wife jolted Victoria out of her thoughts. She quickly bent over her embroidery and pretended to examine the pattern.
“Will you not tell us what has you so preoccupied?” The Italian woman smiled amiably.
Victoria, not wanting to admit her dismay with her sister-in-law, replied, “I was just wondering why my mother-in-law never accompanies me here. I had so hoped that she would do so today, but she once again turned me down.”
Sara lowered her book. “Mrs. Hopkins usually has more important things to do than take part in our harmless pleasures.”
Victoria was surprised. This irritated tone of voice did not suit the gentle wife of the British consul!
The French consul’s wife tapped her cards on the table and declared, “I can understand Madame Hopkins. Franchement, ladies, our little rendezvous are dreadfully quiet. We embroider doilies nobody needs and play cards to make the time pass!”
“You are welcome to spend your time elsewhere if you find my house boring!” Sara said indignantly.
“Mille regrets, Madame Willshire! That was extremely rude of me,” the Frenchwoman said, trying to placate her. “But is not every day the same as any other in Mogador? Do we not all sometimes wish that we were far away from here? Madame Hopkins spends her time doing something useful, and I confess that I sometimes envy her. Although personally, I would wish for less work and more amusement . . .”