Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

Owen walked into the most likely shop and stood dazed and uncomprehending among the dresses. When it came to shopping, Zeinab reckoned he was good for lunch and not much else.

Yes, said the assistant, she was in the shop. She was trying on a dress and would be with him shortly.

‘ Monsieur desire une boisson, peut-etre?’ said the assistant.

Yes, Monsieur did desire une boisson, and stood sipping it while he waited for Zeinab.

Several other assistants were in the shop, ladies of considerable beauty and indeterminate nationality and all of them dressed in black. Nearly all of them wore veils, in deference to Muslim susceptibilities. Not too much deference; the veils were thin and filmy and suggested as much as they concealed.

There were, however, some women in traditional dress, wearing long, black, shapeless robes which came down to their feet and long veils which covered their head-the hair was a particularly erotic zone for Arabs-and came down to their waists. They stood incongruously among the skimpy and revealing European fashions, apparently as out of place as Owen himself.

One of them had a young girl with her, dressed not, however, in the traditional clothes but in something straight from Paris. The dress suggested youthfulness, childishness, almost, but the figure beneath was far from childish. Owen was still trying to work it out when she turned and looked at him.

Like the other women, she wore a veil, only this was neither the traditional one of her mother nor the usual Parisian one, but a Turkish one which covered the lower part of the face and revealed the eyes. Above the veil her eyes looked at Owen warmly and with recognition.

Salah-el-Din came into view, accompanied by the man he had introduced Owen to the other day, the Pashas son.

‘Captain Owen! What a pleasure! You have met Malik, of course.’

They shook hands.

‘We can go there together,’ said Malik.

Where was it that they might be going? The only other engagement that Owen had that day, so far as he could remember, was a routine meeting about an application for a gambling licence, and the only reason why he remembered it was that, unusually for Cairo, it was being held in the afternoon.

‘My wife; my daughter, whom you met, if you remember.’

The mother muttered a polite greeting in Arabic. The daughter advanced on Owen with outstretched hand.

‘ Enchante, monsieur! C’est un tres grand plaisir — ’

‘A charming dress, don’t you think? It’s important to hit the right note-’

‘You could try it a bit shorter,’ said Malik.

Salah laughed, unoffended.

‘You would think that!’ he said.

The mother gave her head a decided shake.

‘How about a drink?’ Malik said to Owen.

‘I’m afraid not,’ said Owen, seeing Zeinab, tall, slim and elegant, sweep down the stairs at the back. ‘I’ve a previous engagement.’

‘Don’t blame you,’ said Malik, following the direction of his eyes.

Zeinab came towards them. Owen was jealously pleased that she wore a veil, a French-style one that covered all her face except for the sharp, rather beaky chin. Zeinab’s father always claimed that there was some Bedouin blood in the family, although he was not entirely sure how it got there.

‘Greek?’ said Malik. ‘Not Circassian, anyway. You ought to try Circassian.’

Zeinab walked on past them. Owen caught up with her just as she went through the doors.

‘I don’t like your friends,’ she said.

‘They’re not exactly my friends. One of them’s the new mamur out at Heliopolis.’

‘Who’s the girl?’

‘His daughter. I can’t figure her out,’ admitted Owen.

‘I can!’

Zeinab was silent for a moment. Then she said:

‘How can a mamur afford to shop at Anton’s?’

‘That’s what I’m wondering,’ said Owen.

‘I shall tell Anton that he needs to be more selective in his clientele. He can start by throwing out that other man.’

‘Malik? He’s a Pasha’s son!’

‘Good!’ said Zeinab gleefully. ‘In that case I shall certainly ask Anton to throw him out!’

Owen was a little taken aback when he returned to his office to find that the venue for his meeting had been changed. It was now to be held at the Savoy Hotel, which was roughly where he had just come from. His meetings were not normally held at the Savoy Hotel, but he had hopes that this might create a precedent.

At the meeting were a representative of the Ministry of Justice, McPhee, the Deputy Commandment of Police, two lawyers and Malik appearing for the appellants, and himself, and the subject of the meeting was an application to open new premises under the licensing laws.

Or, rather, not quite an application.

‘A formal application will be made later,’ said one of the lawyers, smiling. ‘At this stage all we are doing is testing the ground. We are seeking to establish whether there would be any objection in principle to an application such as ours.’

‘The government’s policy is to restrict the number of gambling houses,’ said McPhee severely.

‘And quite rightly, too. There are far too many low dens where the practices are, frankly, far from commendable. Our application is not of that sort. It relates to the opening of a casino in the Palace Hotel at Heliopolis.’

‘Palace Hotel?’ said McPhee, puzzled. ‘There isn’t one!’

‘It’s being built.’

The man from the Ministry of Justice, an Egyptian, looked at his papers.

‘A casino wasn’t mentioned in the original planning application,’ he said.

‘Well, no. It has only recently come home to us how attractive an additional amenity it would be.’

‘It’s the government’s policy not to allow new premises to be opened,’ said McPhee.

‘But surely that only applies to Cairo proper, where there is already too great an abundance of such places? We are talking about the New Heliopolis, where there isn’t even one at the moment!’

‘It is a general restriction,’ said the man from the Ministry of Justice.

‘But how can it apply to a place like the New Heliopolis, which wasn’t even projected when the legislation was framed?’

‘The legislation covers future development.’

‘I put the question because of the special character of the Heliopolis development. It is to be a City of Pleasure. That was stated explicitly at the stage of the initial planning application. I would suggest that approval of the initial concept implies approach of consequent developments.’

‘I would challenge the view that a casino is a consequent development,’ said Owen. ‘Amenities in general, yes, a casino in particular, no.’

‘But I think you have to have regard to other developments: the racetrack-’

‘God, yes!’ said Malik.

‘-which is an important feature of the new sporting complex. You can hardly have a racetrack without gambling!’

‘God, no!’ said Malik.

‘Thank you, Mr Hosnani. I argue firstly, that implicit in the approval of the racetrack was approval of related gambling facilities-’

‘But they’re not related!’ protested Owen.

‘It’s all the same thing,’ said Malik. ‘What you lose on the swings, you lose on the roundabouts.’

‘A casino is quite different!’

‘Not in character, Captain Owen. And that is really my point: the character of Heliopolis as a City of Pleasure.’

‘I’m all for pleasure,’ said Malik.

‘Thank you, Mr Hosnani. We are not talking about some low, vicious den but about a tasteful, discreet, modest development in a major hotel-’

‘Modest?’ said the man from the Ministry of Justice, studying his papers. ‘It’s gigantic!’

‘There’s another point about character,’ said Owen. ‘Have you thought about the proximity to the gathering place for the Mecca caravan?’