II

Rebecca was thinking furiously as she followed Ahdaf through a vast atrium and up a marble staircase. Ahdaf might be vain enough to buy her cover story, but no way would her father fall for it, and he was due back here within an hour or so. She needed to find her proof and get away fast.

Ahdaf’s bedroom was pastel pink with spectacular views of the beach and lagoon. She led Rebecca into a walk-in closet, a narrow aisle several paces long between rails of dresses and blouses on her left, shelves of folded silks on her right. It wasn’t perfect, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Rebecca stepped back out, closed the closet door with Ahdaf still inside, then pinned its handle with a leaned chair.

‘Rebecca?’ asked Ahdaf tentatively, as though suspecting some curious joke. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Just give me a moment,’ said Rebecca. She picked up a remote control at random, pressed buttons. The flatscreen TV came on. She flipped through until she found a music channel, turned the volume up just enough to muffle Ahdaf’s increasingly panicky pleas of claustrophobia, then hurried back down through the atrium to Mustafa’s office. The door was locked. She tried to force it but it wouldn’t give. She heard footsteps approaching, so she hurried the other way into a plush drawing room. The footsteps drew closer. She went to stand before a vast acrylic family portrait to make it look as though she belonged there. There were more Habibs than she’d realised. Mustafa, of course, was the focal point. Dominant, serious and kindly, sitting on a high-backed red armchair. His wife stood in a floral dress beside him, somehow managing to look down on the artist, despite her own low starting position. Ahdaf stood on Mustafa’s other side, her face half shadowed by her scarf. And there was a young man on either flank too, presumably Mustafa’s sons. The first looked athletic and handsome, with arrogant hooded eyes. The second was thin with high cheekbones and wavy hair, his hips thrust out like a model at the end of the catwalk.

‘What are you doing here?’

Rebecca turned. One of Mustafa’s guards was at the door. ‘Ahdaf asked me to wait,’ she told him. ‘She’s fetching something from her room.’ He stayed a few more seconds, then walked off. She hoped he’d go back outside, but she heard his footsteps on the stairs. Damn it. She went to the French windows, slipped outside, went around to Mustafa’s office. There was no external door and his windows were locked. She cupped her hands to look inside, but saw nothing that might help. The guard would find Ahdaf any moment now. The alarm was about to go up. She needed to get away while she could. She walked briskly but quietly towards her Toyota, not wanting to draw attention. The front gates would be locked but maybe she could drive down to the beach, cut back on to the coastal track further north. But then she stopped. Leave now and Mustafa would know she was on to him. If he decided to cover his tracks, she’d never see her father or sister again. She couldn’t leave here empty-handed. She just couldn’t.

She turned and ran back into the house.