Suzette’s smile fades and her eyes narrow for a moment. But then she turns away, having had enough of this fruitless conversation, and animatedly greets two men who have come to top up their drinks from the array of bottles set out on an elegant oval table on the other side of the sofa.
May puts a reassuring hand on my arm and says quietly, ‘Don’t be minding her now. It takes all sorts, you know.’ Then, more loudly, she continues, ‘Well, I’d like to meet your Madame Habib sometime. Kate and I do a bit of fundraising, one way and another, and it sounds like a project we could maybe help support.’
I smile at her gratefully and pick up my glass again, now that the risk of either spilling it down myself or chucking it at Suzette’s smug face has receded. ‘Thank you. The centre’s a good place – you should see how much help they give to the women and children there, even with such limited resources.’
‘Now,’ she says, ‘tell us how you’re getting on with that quilt you’re making. Kate says it’s going to be a real work of art . . .’
Thankfully – and I’m sure the feeling is mutual – Suzette and I are seated at opposite ends of Claudine’s mahogany dining table, although Tom sits immediately to her right. He’s attentive, filling her wine glass and then topping up his own. I notice how she repeatedly touches his arm with her manicured fingertips, deep in conversation, inclining her blonde head towards his, drinking in his every word. Her eyes never leave his face and yet I somehow know she’s aware of the effect this must be having on me. From where I’m sitting, it looks like an act. But it’s one Tom seems to find very convincing. Kate sits on the other side of him and she catches my eye at one point and smiles. I wonder if she’s enjoying the evening or whether she finds it as much of an ordeal as I do. As I watch, Tom turns away from Suzette and fixes his attention on Kate. She reaches for the salt but he leans over and passes it to her with mock chivalry, making her laugh. For a moment, it looks as if his fingers brush hers as he hands it over, but it’s so fleeting that I think I must have imagined it. I shake myself, mentally, and silently tell myself to stop being so paranoid every time he even so much as talks to another woman. Kate’s my friend, after all.
With an effort, I turn my attention to the lamb cutlets on the plate in front of me and attempt to listen to Théo’s description of the latest attack on one of the company’s ships by Somali pirates. I feel guilty at my lack of gratitude for the evening. I know it means a lot to Tom to have been invited, but I feel like a fish out of water. The whole thing just seems to emphasise how ill-suited I am to being a corporate wife, as I force myself to swallow the food and wine, which sit in my stomach like lumps of lead.
I watch the hands of the long-case clock in the corner of the dining room inch round painfully slowly, and wish I was back at home. There, where I can kick off my ill-fitting shoes and tiptoe up to the attic room to kiss the forehead of my daughter where she sleeps beneath the tent of mosquito netting, safe from all the unkindness and injustice in this world.
Josie’s Journal – Monday 30th June, 1941
Papa announced today that he is planning another lovely family excursion for us all. I saw Maman shoot him an anxious glance and she looked as if she was about to say something. He reached over and took her hand reassuringly, though, and said, ‘Don’t worry, ma chérie, this will be a very pleasant and relaxing trip, I promise you.’ I raised my eyebrows a little at that, thinking, more promises? He went on, ‘We’re going down the coast to stay in a nice hotel at the seaside. It’s getting so hot in the city now and the incessant blowing of the chergui is wearing us all out. Won’t it be wonderful to be on a beach where we can enjoy the sea breezes instead?’
Apparently the nice hotel is in a town called Mogador. It also has another strange name – Essaouira – which has all of the vowels and almost no consonants, but as Miss Ellis says, that’s the Arabic language for you.
We have been studying the Portuguese empire a bit in my history lessons. Portugal started trying to invade Morocco about 500 years ago and occupied various places, building forts to defend them. There’s not much left now except a few place names here and there, and some of the forts including La Sqala in the medina here in Casablanca with its cannons pointing out to sea to defend the old port. Miss Ellis took me to see it one afternoon. Those are the kind of lessons I enjoy the most. She teaches me about history and geography at the same time. She had given me a question sheet with various things I had to do, like sketching a map of the fort and the harbour, noting down the approximate size and number of ships the port could accommodate, and thinking about why the harbour is here in the first place. The Portuguese built forts in strategic places along the coast so they could defend their colony, but in the end the Berbers were too fierce and the Portuguese left again.