Black Book of Arabia (7 page)

Sheikha left for Paris early the next morning, while Lulu was still in bed. At the airport, she again recalled the phone
conversation with the prince. When the plane lifted off, Sheikha relaxed for the first time since the prince's call. At last her worries were behind her.

Sheikha made the rounds of her favorite designers in Paris and London, choosing a few select items of the latest designer wear to complete her dream trousseau. She and her groom would be going on an extended honeymoon, and she needed the wardrobe of a young married woman, not one of a single woman. The difference was subtle, but she knew her new husband would notice and approve.

On the flight back to Kuwait, Sheikha thought about what drove Lulu to try to trick Prince Sultan into marriage. She could not understand how desperate Lulu was to marry into royalty, how the demons racked her mind—a kind of insanity. She decided that Lulu suffered from a severe inferiority complex, having been brought up in highly conservative Saudi society, with the added stigma of being the offspring of a “man thief.” She had moved away to a place where open-minded individuals valued her for who she was, rather than what she was. In Sheikha she had found an affluent but genuine friend whose chauffeur-driven cars and personal attendants were at her beck and call. She had finally found the warmth of a home that she had always yearned for in Riyadh. She would often visit Sheikha's grandmother, since she never had the opportunity to have interacted with her own and she basked in the affection showered upon her by an elderly maternal figure. She attended
weddings and birthday parties with Sheikha and her sisters and shared in all the family celebrations. She was taught to drive—which was not allowed in her homeland—and then enrolled in a driving school and got her driver's license. She was allowed the privilege of driving any car in the garage her heart desired. She even enjoyed the family's weekend dune dueling in the deserts. In short, Sheikha's loving family treated her as one of the daughters. Lulu had borrowed a royal lifestyle, so she did not consider it wrong to borrow a royal identity.

Sheikha had just graduated from university and enrolled in a Master's program in the evening, since she worked full time at the IT company. Her entire day was spent working, commuting, and chatting on the phone with her fiancé. She would retire to bed by 10:30 pm with hardly any time left for Lulu. Lulu would go out with her newfound friends and come back with tales of amazement and adventure. Sheikha regarded her as a younger sister and tried to shield her from the hidden dangers that young women sometimes end up exposing themselves to. Sheikha still found it hard to believe that her many acts of kindness had been rewarded with Lulu's betrayal of confidence.

Sheikha's chauffeur met her at the airport, and everything appeared normal as they entered the compound. Sheikha went inside and the chauffeur followed with her luggage. Cherryl and Generose, the family's maids, greeted Sheikha and started to take her luggage upstairs.

“Unpack the trunk in Lulu's old room,” said Sheikha. “I want to use it as a fitting room.”

“But Mam, Lulu is still here,” said Generose.

“What?” asked Sheikha.

“There was a problem with her passport,” Cherryl explained.

“Fine. Put everything in my room.”

Sheikha greeted her mother and answered a few questions about her trip before going upstairs. Generose was in her bedroom, hanging her new clothes in her closet, which was otherwise empty.

“Where are my things?” asked Sheikha.

“Madam?”

“Where are my clothes? What did you do with them?”

“I did not do anything, Madam. The closet was empty, so I hung the clothes here.”

“But why is the closet empty? Who took the clothes?”

“I don't know, Madam.”

Sheikha noticed something amiss on her vanity as well. “Did someone clear off my vanity?” she asked.

“I don't think so, Madam. Cherryl and I only cleaned as usual.”

“Where are my perfumes? My products?”

“Madam, I'm sorry but I do not know where they are.”

“Has someone been here? Has someone been in my room?”

“No one except for me and Cherryl.”

“Then where is everything?”

Sheikha did not wait for an answer. She stormed into Lulu's room. Her unwelcome house guest was lying on the bed, reading a magazine.

“Where are my things?”

“What?” asked Lulu.

Sheikha walked to a closet and threw it open. It was stuffed with Lulu's clothes. Sheikha spun around.

“Where are my things?” Sheikha shouted.

Lulu laid down the magazine, annoyed. “Why are you yelling at me?” she said.

“Lulu, where are the items from my trousseau? And my perfumes? My personal products? And who knows what else?”

“How should I know? I'm not your maid,” Lulu snapped. “Some of my things are missing as well. I thought you had the maids pack them for me.”

“Are you insane?” screamed Sheikha. She hurried out the door and down the stairs. “Mother, where are my things?”

“What are you shouting about, dear?” asked her mother.

“Mother, my closets are empty, my bags are missing, my dresses are not in the closet, and my shoe rack is bare!”

“That's ridiculous.”

“Of course it's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. But it's true. Everything from basic necessities to finest luxuries is gone.”

“Impossible,” said her mother.

“Wait, wait, wait. Where is that kid brother of mine?”

“Khalid went to the mall with his friends.”

“That little prankster. He did this. Too bad he was not here to see my reaction.”

“I don't think . . .”

Sheikha cut off her mother. “It had to be him. Who else could it be? What a relief. There for a moment I was scared. Of course he has hidden everything.”

“I don't think he would do something like that,” said Sheikha's mother.

“You don't think, but he did. Things don't just get up and walk out on their own. Call me the minute he is home.”

Sheikha went back to her room just as Generose was finishing up.

“Did Khalid take my things?” Sheikha asked.

“I didn't see anything, Madam. I would have told you, Madam. I know you are upset.”

“Of course, Generose. Thank you. Please send Cherryl up with a sparkling water.”

Sheikha sat down at her empty vanity. She looked at herself in the mirror and choked back tears. How could her brother do this to her? Yes, he was young, but he should have known better than to give someone a fright right before her wedding. It was those stupid television shows he watched, always getting a laugh from someone's misfortune. It was amazing he did not shoot a video of her reaction to post on YouTube.

That was when it hit her.

It was not Khalid. He would have been there to film her reaction. She looked around the room as a shiver shook her delicate frame. Someone had been there. A thief.

What else had he taken?

She pulled open a drawer of the vanity. Empty. Even her brush and hair dryer were missing.

Sheikha felt nauseous. Who would take her personal effects, except for someone desperate to ruin her life and wedding? How could the other things of clear and evident value remain untouched, but only she—the bride—was ransacked?

She called the police without a second thought.

“I want to report a burglary,” she said.

When she revealed her identity to the police, they immediately sent a captain to the villa.

“What is all this?” said Sheikha's father when the police officer arrived.

“All of my things have been stolen, Father,” said Sheikha. “My entire trousseau. Everything, except for what I brought back from this trip.”

Her father sat in as the police officer interviewed Sheikha. As she began to list what was missing, the officer stopped her.

“Perhaps you can email the complete list,” he said, handing her his card. “I assume these things are truly missing and not somewhere on the premises.”

“No, at first I thought it was my brother playing a trick on me, but it was not.”

“And have you interrogated your domestic help?”

“That will not be necessary,” said Sheikha's father. “They have been with us since before Sheikha was born. They would not take a bite of food without asking us first, I can assure you.”

“I did ask them,” said Sheikha. “It wasn't them.”

“We have this houseguest,” said Sheikha's father, “a friend of Sheikha's. Lulu. A college drop-out. We recently asked her to leave our home. Perhaps this is her revenge.”

“I asked Lulu, too,” interrupted Sheikha. “And I searched her room. It wasn't her. There's nothing there. Besides, who would bite the hand that feeds them?”

“I see,” said the officer. He turned to Sheikha's father.

“Sir, I would like to take this Lulu in for questioning. She had intimate knowledge of the house, your daughter's belongings, and your daughter's whereabouts when they went missing. Perhaps she knows more than she is telling. The pressure of the police station has a way of drawing out the truth.”

Sheikha's father agreed. He called Cherryl and asked her to bring Lulu downstairs, dressed and ready to leave. Sheikha excused herself and went to the family room, where her mother sat, reading. She did not want to see Lulu before she left. It was almost embarrassing and deep down inside she did not want to believe that her friend, whom she had housed for two years, would be capable of such a deed.

What the officer said made sense. It seemed likely that it was someone in the household. Cherryl and Generose, the immediate maids designated to Sheikha's and Lulu's care, were questioned, albeit undoubtedly innocent. But information fragments would make the picture clearer and bring them closer to solving the puzzle. Khalid, too, was innocent. It seemed like it had to be Lulu, but Sheikha was not sure about anything anymore.

Lulu left with the police officer, and the police kept her overnight. She came back at noon the next day, bright-eyed and excited, full of stories of how polite the police officers were to her. Over lunch, she told Sheikha and Khalid how the police repeated the same questions many times, but to no effect. She said every time they began getting difficult, she would sternly remind them to be respectful, claiming her father was an advisor to the King of Saudi Arabia and like an uncle to him. The police were taken aback by her confidence and heeded caution in questioning her. At last she was free to go, feeling like a victorious gladiator. She returned to the palace and ate her lunch heartily, with a full appetite and not a care in the world.

With Lulu exonerated, Sheikha began to worry that a professional burglar had targeted her family. Fearing her jewels would be next on the list of robberies, she decided to transfer everything to the bank. She opened her safe and put everything into a jewelry case. She held a bracelet across her hand and thought she should have everything cleaned before she put it in the bank. That way it would be ready for her wedding day. As she placed the last of the jewelry in the case, Lulu walked in.

“Your father wants to see you,” she said. “The police officer is back and he wants to interview you again.”

A look of triumph gleamed in Lulu's eyes.

“All right. Thanks,” said Sheikha.

Lulu stood at the door for a moment, but Sheikha did not move. “I will be right down,” she said.

Sheikha thought about putting everything back in the safe, but she did not want to keep the officer waiting. She slipped the case into a thick paper bag and placed it on the shelf in her closet.

The officer had come by to see if Sheikha or her father had thought of anyone else who might have had access to the home.

Generose arrived with tea and dates for the officer, Sheikha, and her father.

“What is your assessment, then?” asked Sheikha's father.

“Very hard to say,” said the officer, taking a sip of tea. “Without surveillance cameras or an eyewitness, I cannot rule out a professional job. I am afraid we have seen this before: professional thieves targeting the royal family, but usually it involves a trusted maid, friend or person from the household even.”

“That has been happening since the Middle Ages,” said Sheikha's father.

“Yes, but today's thieves have telephoto lenses and night-vision goggles to watch your comings and goings, all-terrain vehicles to approach your palace from the open desert, and they can track your location through your social media—Instagram, Facebook, Viber, WhatsApp.”

Sheikha's father glanced at his daughter.

“I take it you posted to social media while you were gone,” said the officer.

Sheikha nodded.

“They knew you were gone,” he said. “You would be amazed at what we have seen. Sometimes thieves plant
audio bugs and even spy cams in a home to track the family's movements.”

The idea of a spy camera anywhere near her bedroom made Sheikha shudder.

“How do they get inside to plant these devices?” Sheikha's father asked.

“Sometimes they have accomplices who work in home services—electricians, plumbers, even people who install televisions. That kind of thing. Often they recruit someone who works for the family.”

“I told you, our servants have been with us for decades,” said Sheikha's father. “If they would steal they would not steal clothes that don't fit them, and most certainly they would not steal their mistress's wedding gown and then remain in the house to be caught red-handed.”

“Understood,” said the police captain. “But never underestimate the power of greed.”

“I would trust them with my life,” said Sheikha's father, raising his voice. “I dismissed my nurses, trusting these maids to bring me my heart and blood pressure medication.”

“Of course,” said the officer. “I did not mean to implicate your staff. Now if these thieves are professionals, chances are they will strike another palace. They will not stop if they got away with it once. God willing, we will catch them next time and they will still have your things.”