The Golden Scales (29 page)

‘I suppose you come here a lot.’

She nodded. ‘Since I was a child. There are more exclusive places nowadays, but one would hate to abandon one’s friends.’

Somehow, Makana doubted that friends played a huge part in Soraya Hanafi’s life. She carried herself with the confidence of one who is at ease with solitude. Work was her life, which might have explained why she hadn’t married yet and why, so far as he knew, there were no obvious suitors on the horizon. Cairo’s socialites must have been buzzing with potential marriage prospects for such a valuable catch, but Soraya Hanafi wasn’t the kind of woman to throw it all aside and settle down as Mrs Somebody Else. What husband, after all, could hope to fill old man Hanafi’s shoes?

‘I take it there have been no major breakthroughs in the case?’

‘No,’ said Makana. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘It’s unbearable. Not knowing, I mean.’

‘What do
you
think has happened to him?’

For a long time Soraya Hanafi said nothing. She stared at Makana, as if still unsure whether he represented a source of hope or a threat. Then, folding her arms together on the table, she spoke almost in a whisper.

‘I wanted to apologise to you for my outburst the other day, I know you are doing your best to find Adil. As you will understand, I am very concerned about him. I am afraid something terrible has happened.’

‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘Adil would never go away for this long without calling, or leaving a message, or . . . I don’t know, just something. He would tell me . . . one of us . . . someone.’

‘What about the theory that he went abroad, to seek a contract with a European club?’

Soraya was adamant. ‘He would never do something like that without discussing it with me first. Everything he needed was here. Why would he go to Europe?’

The tea arrived in a fancy pot with a cup and saucer. Makana silently kicked himself for not asking for red tea in a glass with mint.

‘It must be difficult, trying to find someone you’ve never met.’

‘It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but it’s strange . . . the more I learn about Adil, the less I feel I know.’ Makana reached out to pour his tea. It dribbled down the spout on to the table and a drop even scalded his leg. He replaced the pot on the table, inwardly cursing the idiots who designed objects that were completely unsuited to the purpose for which they were intended. He would have liked to have lit a cigarette, but since he knew she would disapprove he refrained. Makana was on his best behaviour today.

‘Might I ask you a personal question?’ he said.

‘That depends.’ She laughed lightly. ‘How personal?’

‘How did it feel to discover after all these years that Adil was your half-brother?’

‘I think I explained to you once before that there is no rivalry between myself and Adil. There is no need for it.’

‘But surely this changes things. He now has a claim to your father’s wealth.’

‘We must wait and see if my father wants this to become public knowledge.’ Soraya leaned across to reach for the pot. She poured his tea carefully, filling the cup nearly to the brim without a drop out of place.

‘Milk?’

‘Thank you.’

Soraya replaced the milk jug on the table and was still for a moment.

‘You’re saying he may not publicly recognise Adil as his son?’ Makana considered their surroundings, among the socialites of Cairo. Admitting to an illegitimate child would not go unremarked in these parts.

Soraya shook her head briefly. ‘Adil would not be a popular choice as my father’s successor.’

‘Why not?’

‘Many people are already aware of the extent of his influence over my father.’

‘You mean, inside the company?’

‘Inside and out. Bankers, sponsors. There is even a rumour that several senior managers have threatened to resign if Adil were ever put in charge.’

‘How would you feel if he were given the job that you probably deserve?’

A trickle of laughter escaped her. ‘You flatter me! Until a few years ago I really had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. But I have worked hard since then. I earned myself a place in the company. I have my own ideas. Hanafi Heavens, for example, is mine.’ She paused, untying the band that held her hair in place and tossing it down on the table. ‘If Adil were to be put in charge I think he would have to adjust.’

‘Do you think he could?’

‘We all have to make adjustments.’ Soraya allowed herself a smile. ‘My father and I are very alike, though I don’t agree with everything he says. Even Gaber doesn’t stand up to him the way I do. He calls me his toughest rival.’

‘That still doesn’t make you the son he has always dreamed of.’

‘Nothing will ever do that.’ She laughed again, sounding almost unconcerned. ‘I never forget that I am a woman, and in this country that counts for very little. I grew up the daughter of a wealthy man, but I am not blind. I see the way most people in this country live. My father never let me forget how hard he had to struggle to get to where he is. Adil represented something I had never known. In the beginning I used to feel I had to be extra nice to him for that reason.’

Soraya still hadn’t touched her lime juice. She stretched out her hand to touch the glass and a bracelet bearing her name winked on her wrist.

‘I don’t believe this is just about Adil,’ she went on. ‘My feeling is that someone may be trying to destroy the company.’

‘How easy would it be?’

‘To take us over?’ She frowned. ‘Right now we are in a vulnerable position. The financial climate of the last few years has been difficult. The Gulf War hit the economy hard. We have made mistakes, overstretched our resources. The stadium is an expensive, prestigious project, and this is the wrong time for it. Once Hanafi Heavens is completed our situation will greatly improve. It will be the first of many such projects. It will draw in a lot of investors, national and international.’

‘What does Gaber say?’

‘Oh, Gaber.’ She made a throwaway gesture with her hand. ‘Gaber never, ever admits that anything is wrong. He is very loyal to my father.’

‘They go back a long way.’

‘Yes, they do.’

A breeze picked up and fluttered her hair around her face like a veil. It made her look more alluring than ever. There followed a lengthy silence. In the distance the cacophony of the traffic was interrupted by the grinding two-tone siren of an ambulance and then, as if in response, the triple-tone horn of a taxi struggling through the gridlock.

‘Adil is my father’s weakness. It’s where his judgement goes awry. He sees his younger self in him, in his recklessness. The older he gets, the more he indulges Adil.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, Gaber and I have a hard time persuading him not to entertain Adil’s business ideas.’

‘Is he the one who thought up the new stadium?’

‘I’m afraid that was my father’s idea to begin with. Something he has wanted to do for years. And it could be done, just not on the current scale. But Adil played upon my father’s vanity, pushing him to make it into the dream of a lifetime. He has no head for business. Adil’s strength is his charisma, his ability to draw people in, to persuade them to go along with him. He thinks that’s all that matters, getting people to go along with him.’

‘Is that why you paid Mimi Maliki to disappear?’

Her attractive almond-shaped eyes hardened instantly. ‘You spoke to her, of course.’ Soraya’s chest heaved. ‘She is not the right kind of girl for him.’

‘I don’t know.’ Makana smiled. ‘I thought they might make a handsome couple. And besides, isn’t Adil old enough to make decisions like that for himself?’

‘You have to understand.’ She tried another smile, and almost succeeded. ‘All kinds of women throw themselves at Adil, but at heart he is quite a simple soul.’

‘You look out for him, then.’

‘All the time.’ Soraya seemed to relax visibly. ‘I’ve known him since I was a child.’

‘It must have been a difficult time for you. I mean, after the accident?’

‘Yes. My mother and elder brother died. Out of that little family my father and I survived. It created a special bond between us.’

Makana wondered how far that special bond went. It was true there was something tough and independent about Soraya, which he could see would appeal to a man like Hanafi.

‘It was a long time ago. I suppose you don’t remember much about it.’

‘Very little. I was only small at the time.’ She bent her head to sip her lime juice.

‘How young exactly?’

‘About three and a half, almost four.’

‘How much do you actually know about your father’s past?’

‘I hear the rumours, of course. He came from a very disadvantaged background. It wasn’t easy getting to where he is today, and so he made a few enemies along the way. But rumours have a habit of growing deeper and darker with time. People like a good story.’

‘Of course they do,’ said Makana. ‘Does the name Daud Bulatt mean anything to you?’

Soraya shook her head blankly, then she smiled. ‘My father has always shielded me from the worst of it. I remember very little. I don’t really recall my mother at all. If she were standing right where you are now, I wouldn’t know her. He never talks about her. When I was a teenager I would go to him in tears after hearing some of the things I heard in school. The other girls would talk. They would repeat things they had heard their parents say. You know how kids are?’

‘Sure.’ Makana nodded.

‘I was my father’s youngest daughter. His golden princess, he used to call me. And, like a princess, I lived a charmed life, kept out of harm’s way, protected. I was spoiled rotten as a child, given anything I asked for. I was brought up by my elder half-sisters. The age difference between us made me think of them as aunts. The house was always full of people and I felt safe there, that was all that mattered to me.’

She leaned back and took a deep breath. ‘I’m glad we’ve had this chance to get to know one another a little better.’

‘I am grateful to you for being so candid.’

‘I think I understand now why my father hired you. You’re a complete unknown. There is no danger of your having any connection to his past.’

There followed another prolonged silence. Makana turned his head to watch people go by. Some glanced in their direction, being casual about it; others were less discreet. He felt like a visiting dignitary. It was a strange feeling, and although disconcerting, not altogether disagreeable. A little girl, about thirteen or so, went by with her father.

‘What are you thinking about?’

Makana had been lost in his thoughts. He looked over at Soraya Hanafi.

‘I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else. A woman was murdered the other day. An Englishwoman.’

‘How terrible.’ Soraya stared at him. She seemed about to say something more, but hesitated. Finally, she got it out. ‘Gaber told me about your family.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Seven years is not that long. You lost your wife and daughter. I can imagine how that must feel. I’m sorry.’

Makana toyed with his cigarettes. There was only one left in the packet. It seemed the moment to light it anyway.

‘They say when someone close to you dies, they stay with you in your heart. It’s true at first, but it doesn’t last. Like everything else, they start to fade, and then you realise you are really alone.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘That’s how it is.’

They were silent for a time. The breeze changed direction and the soft wind ruffled her hair around her face again. For a time Makana thought about the strange path that had led him to this place, but that diverted him down a line of thought that was almost unbearable. Instead he turned his mind to the woman sitting in front of him. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But even that thought led him nowhere. So he smiled at her and she smiled back and for a while he tried to think about absolutely nothing. They sat there in silence, watching the people who went by, some of whom greeted her before moving on, no doubt wondering who that strange man Soraya Hanafi was sitting with could possibly be.

Chapter Twenty-seven

When he walked into the dusty junk shop Makana saw no sign of the old man. He stopped just inside the doorway and cocked his head to one side, listening to the sounds of the centuries echoing in the obsolete objects around him. The door stood open; the rickety chair with the mended leg stood forlornly outside like an abandoned sentry post. As he ventured deeper into the interior, edging his way forward, he became aware of a growing curiosity to see this place without the old man standing over him. Ahead of him was the little doorway, illuminated in the gloom by the light beyond. He had almost reached it when the wizened figure appeared out of nowhere, moving with sprightly ease to block his path.

‘I thought it was rats I heard moving about,’ he said, challenging Makana with a look.

‘I can’t imagine they would dare.’

They stood in the gloom, face to face. The airy space below opened up like the deck of a well-equipped ship while they, secluded in the crow’s nest, whispered like mutineers. A crescent of light found the edge of the old man’s cracked spectacles.