Read Casablanca Blues (2013) Online

Authors: Tahir Shah

Tags: #Adventure

Casablanca Blues (2013) (33 page)

BOOK: Casablanca Blues (2013)
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At a quarter to one the butler whispered in Ghita’s ear.

She seemed unhappy and even vexed. And, slipping out to the front of the house, she found a man standing there.

His shoulders were slouched forward. Some distance behind, on the other side of the street, another man was standing.


Mustapha
?’ said Ghita. ‘What... what are you doing here?’

‘I’m so sorry. I can’t express it,’ he murmured. ‘I had to come to beg your forgiveness.’

Ghita dug her heels into the gravel.

‘You want to be forgiven for the fact your father almost killed me... that he so nearly did away with us all?’

‘I know it’s too much to ask. But I wanted to tell you something.’

‘To tell me what?’

‘That he ruled over me as a tyrant. Yes, I was spoilt rotten, but I was merely following his orders.’

‘And what orders were those?’

‘To get to know you... to marry you.’

‘But why?’

‘So that he could take over Globalcom,’ Mustapha said. ‘After your father’s sudden and mysterious death.’

Ghita cursed loudly, and breathed out hard.

‘Well I heard that it was
he
who has left us,’ she said without any emotion.

Mustapha touched a hand to his mouth.

‘Believe me, he will
not
be missed.’

Ghita fell silent. She peered into the darkness across the street.

‘Who’s that – that guy standing back there?’

Mustapha cleared his throat.

‘It’s Karim.’


Karim
?’

‘He’s... he’s...’ Mustapha faltered. ‘He’s my boyfriend,’ he said.

One hundred and thirty-three

Later that night, Hicham Omary poured another round of champagne.

‘We have already drunk to my darling daughter,’ he said, ‘and to this mysterious American who has charmed us all. But now I have a toast that’s far more solemn.’ He raised his glass, the crystal reflecting the candlelight. ‘Let us drink to the city whose blood runs in all our veins –
To Casablanca
!’

There was a resounding cheer, followed by the
ching-ching
of Waterford crystal flutes chiming together. And, when the toast was done, Rosario took to the piano once again.

While she played, Omary glanced at the American as though remembering something.

‘It seems as though we share a passion,’ he said, his voice rising over the music.

‘Ghita?’ replied Blaine with a smile.


Another
passion.’

The American shrugged, then frowned.

‘What?’

‘Come with me,’ Omary said, motioning for Blaine to bring his glass.

They left the others in the salon, went through into an anteroom beside the library. It was entirely empty, except for a wardrobe that covered the back wall, rising floor to ceiling.

Opening the double doors, Hicham Omary disappeared inside.

‘Follow me,’ he called out as he went.

Blaine had a sense of déjà vu.

Climbing into the cupboard, he stepped through into another room.

The lights came on automatically in what seemed to be some kind of museum.

The walls were covered in posters of Bogart and Bergman, and there were all manner of objects on display in a series of large glass cases.

On one side of the room were a roulette wheel and a pair of silver cocktail shakers, a dossier of papers marked ‘Top Secret’, and an antique movie camera. Opposite them stood half a dozen mannequins, each of them dressed in a long silky gown. There was a French police officer’s uniform, too, complete with its kepi, a fez hat, and a fake Luger pistol in a glass box.

And, in the middle of it all, as if in pride of place, was another mannequin dressed in an old raincoat and fedora.

Omary waved an arm over the collection.

‘I’ve been an avid collector for as long as I can remember,’ he said.

‘I never would have guessed it...’

‘What?’

‘That a Moroccan like you would have cared about
Casablanca
,’ said Blaine.

‘I’m a Berber,’ Omary corrected, with a smile.

‘So I’ve heard. Well, a Berber like you then...’

‘How could I resist it?’ Ghita’s father looked at the American hard. ‘This room is my secret homage to Casablanca – the city and the film, the fact and the fantasy.’

‘It’s the past,’ said Blaine.

‘And it’s the future.’

‘The greatest story ever told.’

‘A Moroccan story,’ Omary laughed, ‘and a Berber one, too.’

Blaine held his champagne flute up in a toast.

‘I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’ he said.

Finis

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BOOK: Casablanca Blues (2013)
5.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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