“Well we’re all in the same boat,” Drake said seriously. “I don’t like Washington any more than you do, but my job happens to be here for the time being.”
Sharon smiled faintly. “You’re just trying to make me feel good by comparing your set-up with mine. You’re in diplomacy and attached to one of the hottest departments in the capitol. Why, you’ve got your finger on the pulse of the East, the most dynamic section of the world today.”
“Still,” Drake shrugged, “I’d rather be out where the action is. They could get some octogenarian to handle my work and let me get out where I could do something a little more definite.”
“Now you’re just being silly,” Sharon said impatiently. She put another cigarette in her mouth with a quick, decisive gesture. “You’re one of the foremost authorities in the world on Oriental languages. Why should the government let you go out and get your head blown off?”
Drake smiled at her vehemence. “You’d think I was absolutely irreplaceable to hear you talk,” he said.
“Well, you’re good,” Sharon said stubbornly. She grinned suddenly and her entire face kindled. “You must be. You taught me Arabic and that would qualify anyone as an expert.”
“I guess you’ve got me there,” Drake said. He glanced at his watch again, then put out his cigarette and got to his feet. “It’s about time for us to be on our way. This party tonight may cheer us up a little. Did I mention that it was going to be a costume affair?” Sharon eyed him with indignant surprise.
“You did not,” she said. “And this is a fine time to be telling me. Won’t I look right in step with this backless evening gown? And what about you?”
“Oh, it’s all right,” Drake said. “We weren’t expected to be in costume anyway. The State Department has a peculiar antipathy toward any of its members running around in masquerade so I’m excused. And naturally you are too.”
“Well, that’s better,” Sharon said. “You had me worried for a moment. Excuse me a minute, I’ll get a wrap.” Drake lit another cigarette...
The reception for the Turkish ambassador was held in a large estate on the outskirts of Washington. Sharon and Drake were ushered into the vast drawing room by an imperturbable butler, dressed for the occasion in a flowing robe and great baggy trousers of white silk that clasped at the ankles a few inches above curling suede slippers.
Sharon gasped with delight when they entered the splendidly decorated room. Walls and ceilings were hung with luxurious, jewel encrusted drapes and great animal skins were scattered over the gleaming floor.
Huge divans, covered in gaudy silk and strewn with fluffy pillows had replaced the conventional furniture; braziers of incense were hanging in all corners of the room and from their brass tops a yellow, aromatic smoke was issuing.
Except for a handful of Americans and Britons in evening clothes, everyone was wearing the flowing silk robes of the ancient East. The men wore turbans around their heads and the women, many of whom were beautiful, were decked with jeweled tiaras.
“How stunning!” Sharon whispered to Drake. “Everything looks so real it’s amazing!”
They were taken to their host and after a few polite exchanges Drake murmured an excuse and escaped with Sharon toward the dining-room where refreshments were being served.
The room was thick with incense and more exotically garbed guests. Food and drink were being dispensed by serving girls in gaily colored silk trousers, tight brassieres and chaste veils.
Drake garnered two glasses and led Sharon to a divan. They lit cigarettes, sipped their drinks and watched the party.
“Fortunately,” Drake said, “we can leave early.”
“Oh, I’m enjoying this,” Sharon said. “But I could do with a little less incense.” She coughed and fanned herself with a handkerchief. “It seems to be a little rich for my taste. Could you open a window?”
“Sure thing,” Drake said.
He put down his drink and stepped to a row of draped windows directly behind their divan. He tried unsuccessfully to open them, then returned to Sharon’s side with a shrug.
“Funny,” he said, “they’re bolted shut.”
“Well, never mind,” Sharon smiled. “I can put up with it for a while.” Drake frowned at the windows. “Yes, but it’s odd. Supposing there was a fire?”
“Oh, there you go being practical again,” Sharon laughed. “Please don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I thought it was going to worry you.”
“Well it does,” Drake said.
“Now you’re being stuffy,” Sharon smiled. “If you started worrying about everything that was irregular you’d have a full time job on your hands.”
While they were talking a smiling little man waddled across to them with a glass of hot, spiced wine in his plump, pink hand.
“How do you do?” he said, smiling until his face seemed to be a net-work of soft creases.
Drake glanced at him in surprise; for the man’s salutation had been delivered in Arabic; not modern Arabic, but a variation of the tongue that was now considered archaic. His astonishment was the same as if he’d been addressed in the English of Chaucer.
Drake answered him courteously, using the same archaic dialect. The smiling fat man appeared delighted.
“How nice, how nice,” he said, rubbing his plump hands together. “It is so nice to hear my tongue spoken.” Sharon tugged Drake’s sleeve.
“What goes on?” she asked in a whisper. “He isn’t using the Arabic you taught me. Although I can make out the general meaning of what he’s saying.”
“It’s an old dialect,” Drake answered. “I haven’t heard it since I was a post-grad.” He turned to the fat man who was regarding them with genial, twinkling eyes. “My name is Masterson, Drake Masterson. May I present Miss Sharon Ward.”
“I am charmed,” the little round man murmured, still speaking in ancient Arabic. He bowed extravagantly. He was dressed in loose red trousers and a short jeweled vest. A tassel-topped fez was set at a rakish angle on his pumpkin-shaped head. His face was a soft, pasty white and his little eyes looked like shiny raisins set in a pan of bread dough.
“My name is Humai,” he said. “I am very, very glad to meet both of you. Could I get you a glass of wine or something to eat?”
“I’m afraid not,” Drake smiled, “but thanks just the same. As a matter of fact, Miss Ward and I were just thinking about leaving.”
“Oh, you can’t go yet,” the little man cried. His eyes twinkled merrily. “The party is just beginning. Do you not find everything delightful?”
“Yes, it’s very nice,” Sharon said politely. She coughed slightly and fanned herself. The thick swirling clouds of incense moved sluggishly from the draft caused by her hand.
“Do you not like the incense?” the little fat man inquired solicitously.
“It’s pretty thick,” Sharon said. She coughed again and smiled wanly at Drake. “I think I’ll have to step outside and get a breath of air.”
“Sure thing,” Drake said. “I’ll go with you. Do you need a wrap?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Drake helped her to rise. Humai watched with a solicitous expression on his round white face.
“I am very sorry,” he murmured. “That’s all right,” Drake said. “Miss Ward will be fine after a little air.” Sharon put her hand to her forehead. “Yes, I’ll be all right,” she said. “My knees feel a little weak, that’s all.”
“It is so unfortunate,” Humai murmured. “The entertainment has not yet started. It is unfortunate that you must miss it.”
“I think we’ll mange to bear up under the loss,” Drake said drily.