Jawa shook her head.
‘I don’t know what to think but if it’s been arranged—your grandfather and his father—then that’s how things should be. I know more of our people are marrying for love these days but arranged marriages have worked for centuries.’
‘I’m not marrying him,’ Marni told her. ‘It’s a pretend betrothal—because of his sisters—just while he sorts out his job—and then…’
‘And then?’ Jawa probed.
Marni shrugged.
‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘It’s really all just too stupid for words, but I felt I should tell you because you’ve been so good to me. I’d like to keep working but we don’t seem to have talked too much about that. Tasnim—that’s his sister—seems to think clothes are more important.’
‘Oh, clothes will be very important,’ Jawa said, then she smiled and took Marni’s hand.
‘I only know him when he’s Gaz, of course, as a colleague. He is much respected and admired. From the time he started work here, he has never made anything of his links with the ruling family and no one ever treated him any differently because of who he is. I don’t think he expected to take over from his uncle, but he will do his duty well.’
Of course he will, Marni thought, feeling slightly let down, although she wasn’t sure what she’d expected of this conversation.
Congratulations?
Certainly not!
Reassurance?
Of course!
‘It’s the pretence that bothers me,’ she said. ‘Will people—the local people—be upset when it ends?’
Jawa thought for a moment then turned Marni’s hand in hers.
‘I do not think so. They will accept his decision, whatever it is. Those who thought it was a bad idea to marry a foreigner will say at last he’s come to his senses, and those who liked the idea will think, ah, that’s the trouble with love because they will have been sure it was a love match.’
A love match?
For some reason, far from reassuring her, the words sent a wave of melancholy washing over Marni and she took back her hand—it wasn’t the one with the kiss in it—and sighed.
Love, of course, was the other reason she had the virginity problem—her mother’s version of love…
The Plaza Hotel was surely bigger than the palace!
That was Marni’s first thought on seeing it as they drove up a long drive to an immense building spread across the top of a slight rise.
And far more opulent, she realised as she entered the enormous lobby so gilded and arched and carpeted it looked more like a posh showroom of some kind than a hotel.
Tasnim was waiting, perched on a chair beside a lounge setting.
‘Would you believe they don’t have ordinary chairs like this in the lobby?’ she demanded, when she’d greeted Marni with a kiss on the cheek. ‘I had to ask someone to find one for me. There’s no way I could have stood up from one of those low, soft sofas without making a total fool of myself.’
Marni smiled, doubting the formidable Tasnim could ever make a fool of herself anywhere.
‘Come,’ Tasnim continued. ‘We’ll be given refreshments in the boutique. I phoned ahead and asked for my favourite one to be closed for us. The women from the other boutiques will come there with whatever else we need.’
A shop closed so she could shop? Once again Marni found herself in fantasy land.
‘I’ve made a list,’ Tasnim told her. ‘I thought half a dozen everyday things for a start. Just things like you’re wearing today so your way of dressing doesn’t offend anyone. Then half a dozen formal outfits—two kinds—Western for entertaining diplomats and other foreigners, and Eastern for entertaining locals. And some casual clothes for at home and for when Ghazi visits.’
‘I have my own clothes for at home,’ Marni protested as they entered the boutique, a woman bowing them through the door.
‘Nonsense! You can’t be wearing the same thing every time you see Ghazi, now, can you?’
Couldn’t she?
Marni felt a little lump of sadness lodged beneath her breast.
Because she knew Ghazi didn’t really care what she was wearing?
Probably!
Although he had said she looked beautiful this morning…
The lump remained.
Tasnim was talking to the saleswoman, the words rattling around the beautifully set-up salon.
Marni was checked out, looked up and down, ordered to turn around, then told to sit on a low love seat and offered tea.
She shook her head and looked about her. There was only one gown on display—a Western evening gown made of some silvery material, and sewn with beads and crystals so it shimmered under a discreetly placed light.