Madari was late, and almost ran up the steps to Sophia's flat, cursing as the flowers he carried lost a couple of heads on the way. The heat in his car had wilted them a little. It had wilted him too, stuck in a traffic jam, the road closed by a demonstration up ahead.

The radio told him it was a protest against the new employment laws that came into effect today and he had turned the radio off in disgust at that. What was the matter with people? Must they live in the past forever? And why must they make this kind of fuss about it all, trapping him in a jam of honking horns, and smothering hot air? The setting sun glared into the car through the windscreen and his tension rose along with the temperature.

But he was here now, and he took a moment to calm himself and straighten his clothes and hair, before he knocked at the door. When Sophia answered it, he hoped he looked a little less frazzled. She seemed a little frazzled herself, he thought, though she covered it quickly and smiled, quickly smoothing her hair.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he said, as she invited him inside. "Traffic."

"Oh, that's quite all right. To be honest, dinner is taking me longer to make than I expected. Let me get you something cold to drink, you look quite flushed."

She led him to the kitchen, the first time he'd been in there, and after giving him a glass of iced tea, she found a vase for the "charming" flowers.

He stood and drank his tea, watching her bustle around expertly in the kitchen. She wouldn't let him help, and his culinary skills weren't up to it anyway. So he just watched the show. It was worth watching. She wore another knee length dress, red this time, though with a white apron over it at the moment. The sight of her, the aroma of the food, their easy talk, and laughter. What better way to celebrate his birthday than with such good company?

~~~~

"Idris, my dear friend," Zahir said. "Ah, Captain Raslan, how good to see you again."

"Sir." Raslan bowed his head as he and Faraj were shown into Zahir's private apartments at the palace. Faraj glanced at him.

"You know each other?"

"The captain is quite a rising star in Military Intelligence. And of course I take an interest in promising men in the military." Zahir waved them to chairs. "Like you, Idris. Even when I first met you, I knew you were a man who would go far."

"You flatter me."

"Deservedly so."

Faraj bowed his head in acknowledgment, but he wished Zahir would get to the point. The man was a master at social niceties and small talk, but sometimes that could be infuriating. And Faraj knew there must be a point. This had been a summons, he thought. Not the usual invitation from an old friend, to spend some time together. He was here for a reason. And Raslan was here too, also summoned. Something was up.

"Did you see the demonstration this evening?" Zahir asked.

"Yes, sir," Raslan said, for both of them. "We got caught up in the traffic jam. The police took a long time to restore order."

"People feel strongly about this issue," Zahir said. "And they feel angry that my brother pressed ahead with this radical law, despite the overwhelming public sentiment against it."

"After all, he is the king," Raslan said. "He doesn't have to listen to anyone."

"Ah, but I think he does listen to some people, but to the wrong people. To those with ideas even more liberal than his own."

Faraj nodded a couple of times as they spoke. He was rather surprised at Raslan's being so comfortable speaking to the Prince like this, but he couldn't help but agree with a lot of what they said. In fact he and Raslan had talked a lot about this over the past few months.

"But my brother is a determined man." Zahir laughed then. "Perhaps next he'll give women the right to join the Royal Guard, eh, Idris?"

"That wouldn't be... easily accepted." An understatement for sure.

"Old Rahama would probably accept it. I imagine the old goat would like a few ladies around the place." Zahir roared with laughter, Raslan joining in. "Ah, but I mustn't speak disrespectfully of such a venerable old soldier. A man with such a long record of service."

"He is a fine Colonel in Chief," Faraj said.

"Is he? A rather political appointment, I always thought. A reformer, like my brother. But he will be retiring soon of course. Who do you think will take the reins then, Idris? Who do you see as Commander of the Royal Guard?"

"It's not my place to say, really." Faraj hesitated. "Of course, many people think that Lieutenant Colonel Madari will follow in his grandfather's footsteps."

"And I'm sure Rahama would appoint him, since they agree on so much. But really, do you think he is a worthy successor? How old is he now? Forty? At that age his grandfather was already a senior colonel. This Madari? Well, without his good friend in charge, would be not still be a major?"

"He is a fine military commander," Faraj said at once, trying not to raise his voice. "What he did, as a guerrilla leader..."

"Oh, in the field, yes, a useful man," Zahir said. "But suitable to command the regiment? A man with so many modern ideas, would he fit as the leader of such a traditional regiment, with such a proud history?"

"I... don't know." Faraj said.

The idea that one day Madari would command the Royal Guard, did secretly worry him. Madari did have some ideas Faraj found hard to stomach. And what would that lead to? Him grooming Jahni to be his successor? The Guard commanded by the son of a goat herder?

"Do you have someone else in mind?" Faraj asked.

"Yes, Idris, I have."

Zahir looked at him for a long moment. Faraj wanted to look away, the gaze starting to unsettle him, but that was disrespectful. He had almost forgotten Raslan at his side, but was reminded, when he felt the same intense gaze from him too.

"How would you like to command the Royal Guard, Major Faraj?"

Faraj frowned, not really understanding.

"Me? Well, of course I've thought about it, that one day..."

"Not 'one day'," Zahir said. "Soon. Before this year is out." His face had become serious now.

"I don't understand, sir," Faraj said. "I'm only a Major. There are many more senior men in the regiment."

"And you should let me worry about them."

"I still don't understand."

Zahir bent forward and beckoned Faraj to do the same. As he did, Faraj felt Raslan's hand on his back and wasn't sure why he was doing that. Some kind of reassurance?

"Idris, my brother's law reforms so far are just the thin end of the wedge. He has many more radical ideas he wishes to put into effect. Ideas that all good men, good Muslims, must oppose."

"You intend to fight his reforms?"

"I intend to do more than that. I intend to put a stop to them. The only way I can do that is to put a stop to his reign."

Faraj couldn't speak, tried to, but the words choked him. Zahir nodded gently, then reached out and took Faraj's hand.

"And I'm asking you now, my dear friend, for your help."

~~~~

After dinner Madari and Sophia took coffee in the lounge. The food had been good. Not quite as good as at the catered parties, but he appreciated that she had made the effort to cook for him herself.

And he appreciated the excellent Arab coffee she made afterwards. He'd become used to drinking espresso with her, but sometimes she made the coffee Arab style and must have had plenty of practice. He wasn't sure he could have made it better himself.

After she brought in the coffee she sat beside him on the sofa. A change to the routine. Normally they sat opposite, with the table between them. Now there was no barrier and they sat close together.

He knew what she was probably expecting of him. And he felt as shy as a bridegroom about it. If it happened, it would be the first time he'd had sex since he was tortured. It would be different than before, he felt sure of that. His self confidence in most other areas of his life had returned to something resembling normal. But in this one? He'd never had a lot of confidence in that arena anyway.

And she had only seen the scars on his hands so far. He had so many others, and he feared she might be horrified and repelled by them. If she was, if he saw a look in her eyes that showed that, then he could only leave here and never come back.

"Faris?" She said. "Are you all right? You're so quiet. And you're normally just getting into your stride about now."

Yes, she was right there. But his nerves kept him quiet. "I'm sorry. I'm a dull guest tonight."

"You are never dull." She put down her coffee cup and turned to face him on the sofa, tucking one leg up under her. "Faris, I find you a fascinating and charming man. And I want you to stay here with me tonight. I'm sorry again if I shock you. But if I wait for you to ask to stay, I think we'll both die of old age first." She reached out and stroked his hand. "I like your old fashioned manners, and I appreciate how different I am, how difficult. But I don't want those differences and difficulties to keep us apart."

"Sophia." He took the hand she was stroking his with. "You are another man's wife."

"Yes. But I'm not asking you for marriage. Or even for love. All I'm asking for now is tonight."

"There are so many things you don't know about me. So many reasons why this is difficult."

"You can tell me." She moved closer now, and reached up to touch his face and stroke her fingertips through his hair. "You can trust me."

"I know." He could, he believed that. Not rely on her in the same way he relied on Jahni, but trust, yes. Trust her not to do anything to hurt him. He could trust her to be patient.

The thought of Jahni gave him a stab of guilt then, though he knew it was absurd. He and Jahni could not be intimate like this. In other ways certainly. But not like this. She moved into his arms now and he bent his head down and kissed her. His hands slid around her waist, sliding over the silk dress, enjoying the warmth of her skin through it.

No, it couldn't be like this with Jahni, and he had to accept that. This woman was not a substitute, he remembered thinking, but a distraction. He felt pretty distracted now as he responded to the kiss, his skin flushing, his breathing growing faster.

After a moment, she pulled away and stood up from the sofa, holding out her hand.

"Will you give me tonight, Faris?"

He would. And he wouldn't think beyond tonight, not until morning. He wouldn't think of anything but this beautiful woman. The choice made, he stood and let her lead him into her bedroom.

~~~~

Madari woke to the sensation of something walking across his legs. He turned, from where he lay on his stomach to see a long-haired white and grey cat trying to settle on the edge of the bed beside him. He could swear it gave him a dirty look.

After a second of confusion, he remembered he was in Sophia's bed. The other side of the bed was empty and he laid his hand on it to find the sheet barely warm. Somewhere else in the flat he could hear music. The radio, and sometimes her voice as she sang along to it.

Madari turned onto his back and sat up. He reached down to stroke the cat, then picked it up and drew it onto his lap. Its long hair tickled his bare chest and stomach.

"Am I taking your space, my friend?" He recalled Sophia mentioning the cat, even seeing it around the flat a couple of times, but it didn't seem too keen on guests and kept out of the way at parties. Its name escaped him, and it wore no collar. Never mind. He scratched its head gently and it started to purr.

Madari thought that if he were a cat, he'd purr too. The morning sun shone through the gauzy drapes and he felt lazy and comfortable and contented. Last night had been... What? Satisfying? Successful. Yes. Successful. None of his fears had been realised. His scarred body had not disgusted her.

What now? He had proven something to himself, but where did he go from here? He wanted to continue seeing her, he knew that, he enjoyed her company. Perhaps when Jahni came home, they'd see each other less often. But until then.

But there was more to it now than company. So now he had several choices. He could stop seeing her entirely. Well, a certain type of man did that, courted a woman, got her into bed and stopped seeing her. He was not that type.

Or they could try to go back to the friendship they had before this happened. Could that work? Sex changed things. Would she feel he had rejected her? Would she even want to see him then if he did?

Or he could pursue this and continue sleeping with her. What was the relationship though? She'd said it herself that she wasn't expecting marriage from him. And he didn't want that anyway. He could never fully commit to her, he knew that in his heart. He loved someone else. Someone he could never be with, certainly, but who owned his heart, nevertheless.

He sighed again, though not with pleasure this time, and closed his eyes, still stroking the cat.

Would she be happy with a relationship on such a basis? She didn't know his feelings for Jahni of course. Though perhaps... He thought about the gossip Raslan had warned him about. She had probably heard that gossip. Of course, if he did continue this, became her lover, then the gossip might change.

His eyes opened suddenly. Yes, indeed it might. Oh, yes indeed. He smiled then and gave a soft laugh. Gossip about the fact he was sleeping with a woman, even a little scandal, because she was a married woman, well that would surely scupper all of those rumours about him and Jahni, wouldn't it?

She came in then, carrying a tray, and smiled to see him awake.

"Happy birthday, Faris. I see you've become acquainted with Giotto."

Madari laughed. He'd actually forgotten it was his birthday.

"Oh, we are becoming fast friends," he said, of the cat. It belied that at once by moving off his lap and getting in Sophia's way when she tried to find space to put the tray down.

"Scat, you pest," she said, nudging the cat gently with her knee until it jumped off the bed. Then she placed the tray down and sat. She wore only a white linen robe, and her hair was straight and flat, but she had on some makeup already. Only a little, but Madari suspected she would never let him see her without any.

"I wasn't sure what you liked for breakfast, so just made eggs. And the bread is fresh." She buttered a piece and passed it to him, on the edge of a plate of scrambled eggs. Then she poured some cream into a saucer and put it on the floor beside the bed. Giotto at once came trotting back over. "Oh, I forgot the coffee. Excuse me a moment."

She hurried out of the room again and he ate his bread and eggs, and thought of her cooking for him, then imagined cooking for her, in his kitchen. Taking her to his home and sleeping with her in his bed. She had been quite gentle last night, sensing his nervousness. He would like a chance to show her a less fragile side of him. With some confidence restored, he felt sure he could be a little more assertive next time.

She came back in, carrying the coffee pot and singing. She seemed so happy. Had he made her this happy? It was a good feeling to believe that. But again he had to wonder, what now? If he did pursue this, yet never made a commitment to her, not emotionally, then was he simply using her? If he was in this relationship purely to deflect gossip away from him and Jahni, then there was no question that he was using her. It would be good for him. It would be good for Jahni. But for her?

"Sophia, I... do you want to go on seeing me. Um, like this? Doing this I mean?"

She put down the coffee cup she'd been sipping from, her smile turning to a more serious expression.

"Yes, I do. But you need to understand, Faris, you need to be certain. My husband and I cannot divorce. If you want marriage, you must look elsewhere. And I..." she looked away for a moment, then back at him. "I told you last night, you are fascinating and charming, and you are. But I'm not in love with you."

"I see."

"If you can accept that, then I want to go on like this. If you can't, then please, be honest with me."

He couldn't be honest, not entirely. But to hear her say this reassured him. He wouldn't be leading her on if they continued like this. Fondness for each other would surely deepen to a stronger friendship, but love was not expected. That shocked him a little too, but it worked for him. She wasn't expecting an emotional commitment that he couldn't give her. She was satisfied with what they had.

"Would you be, um..." He trailed off. Did he have the right to ask this? "Would you be faithful to me?" Was faithful even the right word? Exclusive perhaps? Perhaps he didn't have the right, but he had his pride. To go from being gossiped about as a deviant to being gossiped about as a cuckold would not be a pleasant change.

"Would you be faithful to me?" She asked in return.

"Yes." He said it at once, and knew it was true. Physically at least. In his mind, his thoughts, well, that might be different. But she wasn't asking for that. But physically, he would. As he'd thought before, his sexual drive was lower than it had once been, perhaps between the effects of the torture and of his age, it had started to wane. One woman would be quite enough for him to handle.

"Then I will be faithful to you," Sophia said. "Now." She smiled. "Enough of the serious talk." She moved a napkin from the tray and revealed a gift wrapped box there. "Happy birthday."

"You didn't have to do that," he said, taking it from her. He opened it to find a handsome leather wallet, monogrammed for him. "Thank you, it's beautiful. Ah, had you noticed mine is rather tattered now?"

"I had, and I knew you'd wait until it fell apart before buying a new one."

That was true, and he chuckled as he explored all the pockets of the brown leather wallet. Interesting, he thought. A practical sort of gift. A woman might give such a gift to a male relative, or a friend. So she hadn't been certain that she'd be giving him this gift as his lover. If she had, it might have been something more intimate, like jewellery.

Well, he hadn't been certain he'd be receiving it as her lover. And her gift of course made him think of the one from Jahni, currently in the pocket of his jacket that hung in the closet beside the front door. He would wait until he left here before opening it. He wanted to be alone with it.

~~~~

Faraj did not sleep after he returned home from the palace, but instead paced the house. He watched little Javid and Mehdi sleeping in their rooms. When the baby cried, Faraj picked him up and did the feed and then walked with him until he slept again.

The future of his sons filled his mind. Nothing was more important to him than that. He wanted them to grow up in a country that was strong and proud. He wanted them both to wear Royal Guard uniforms and know they were part of a long, fine tradition.

Was Zahir right? Was the king preparing to destroy the chance of that happening, with his misguided reform program? Would he really turn them into a pale imitation of the Western countries he seemed so fond of?

It seemed incredible, yet Zahir had outlined all his brother's plans and Faraj could not see how else things could turn out.

And as for the Royal Guard itself, the plans of Rahama and Madari to modernise the regiment would destroy everything it had once stood for. Madari would betray the very traditions his own grandfather had maintained. He'd betray his own blood.

But it was speculation. Zahir might know about his brother's plans, but what could he know about Madari's?

It wasn't hard to guess though was it? Rahama and Madari went to the palace more and more often now. They influenced the king and vice versa. This Special Forces unit was an obvious illustration of that. Perhaps Madari planned to turn the whole of the Royal Guard into soldiers of that sort. And if he did, then one day the regiment would be fit to be commanded only by someone like Jahni.

The sunrise found him outside on the terrace, smoking a cigarette. And another and another.

Treason. It was a hard thing for a loyal soldier to contemplate. But where did his loyalty belong? To the king, or the country? A king was a temporary thing. The land endured. Perhaps it would endure better with Zahir on the throne, and Atuallah in exile in his beloved France, with his foreign wife and half-French children.

That stuck in his craw. That his sons, fine Arab boys, fine Arab men one day, would bow to and serve a half-breed king.

In the house he heard people getting up, preparing breakfast, getting the children dressed. Nobody disturbed him. They knew better than that, when he was in this mood.

At last he threw the last cigarette butt away and strode into the house. He did not go for breakfast, but to the telephone, where he dialled a number from memory.

A sleepy voice came down the line. "Raslan," it said, through a yawn.

Faraj had been told he needed to say only one word. No more than that. Especially not on the phone. He said it now, expected it would wake Raslan right up.

"Yes."

~~~~

Madari unlocked the door to Jahni's flat and slipped inside, trying not to step on the mail piled on the floor. He closed the door behind him.

And he felt.

He stopped thinking and analysing. He stopped skating on the surface of his mind and he started feeling. The loneliness and pain of his hopeless love. The ache in his heart, the emptiness at his side. That last would pass, he knew, when Kahil came back. But what he knew availed him nothing now.

He felt.

After a moment he calmed his mind enough to do what he had come here to do. First he collected up the mail and sorted through it quickly, into the ones he would open and deal with and the ones he would leave for Jahni's return.

Then he checked each room for anything wrong. He found nothing. A fine layer of dust lay everywhere, disturbed by the passage of his feet and by the hand he trailed along the tops of pieces of furniture. He planned to hire a cleaner just before Jahni was due home, make the flat polished and ready. And he would stock the fridge, that now stood unplugged and empty. No welcoming light greeted anyone opening its door.

The flat felt as empty as Madari's heart. Waiting for Jahni to come home and reclaim it.

He walked into the bedroom.

The bed was stripped, down to the bare mattress, and that gave it a cold, unwelcoming look. Very different to the bed Madari had left only an hour ago. Which would he choose though, if he had that choice to make?

It wasn't really a question.

He walked on, continuing his checking. The living room, where he'd spent so many hours, talking the moon down, now stood as quiet as the rest of the flat. Sometimes during these weekly checks, Madari would turn on the radio in there, just to fill the gaping silence.

Then he decided it was time, and took the small gift-wrapped box from his pocket. After all this time waiting, he didn't know if he should rip the paper off, or unwrap it slowly. A moment longer would make no difference.

He compromised. First he pulled slowly on the green ribbon to loosen it. When it came off, he wrapped it around his fingers, then, unable to resist, he tore away the paper, and let it fall to the floor.

The box inside was square and flat, and hinged. It bore the name of a jeweller. Madari opened it carefully and found a wristband, of worry beads, as Ahmed had called them. Prayer beads, his father had said. They were a warm golden-yellow colour, well polished and when he took them from the box and held them up, the light shone through them onto his hand.

"Amber."

He slipped the band onto his wrist. It felt light, and already warm against his skin. He tugged on a bead and let it go to bounce back against the one beside it with a soft click.

He'd never used fingering beads for prayers or just contemplation as many men did, and yet now he wondered how he hadn't been wearing this wristband all his life. It fit. It was part of him already.

"Thank you, Kahil," he said aloud, wishing Jahni was there to hear his words. He'd say them on the phone later, but that wasn't the same. "I love them."

Time to finish checking the flat. He picked up the wrapping paper he had dropped and crushed it into a ball that he dropped into his pocket.

One last room to check, the bathroom. He flushed the toilet a couple of times, then checked all the taps in the shower were still closed tight. He ran a hand down a fold of the shower curtain, then shook it out, until dust danced in the light.

Last of all, he went to the hand basin. He could have just checked the taps were off. But instead he filled the sink with water and picked up the soap that stood in a dish by the sink. Wrapped packets of the same soap lay on the windowsill. One packet sat on a mesh shelf in the shower. Waiting, like everything else here.

The soap by the hand basin was quite dried out, and took a moment to lather, but when it did, Madari soaped his hands well. Then he raised them close to his face and breathed in deeply.

The scent of the soap, the scent of Jahni, that he'd memorised at the airport, filled his mind.

He felt.

So many things, jumbled together, forming a lump in his throat, burning his eyes.

"Kahil." No more than a whisper. Not far from a sob, enough of a catch in the voice to betray him.

Madari took a deep breath, then another. The lump in his throat went away, the burning behind his eyes cooled. Control returned.

He rinsed the soap from his hands, washed the sink, then dried his hands and left the flat.