‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what I thought.’

Without her knowing, a dreamy, far-away look had come into her eyes. Ali saw it, and a small frown of interest creased his brows. ‘You thought?’ he asked.

‘I used to dream about places like that,’ she admitted. ‘When I was a child that dream was very important to me.’

‘Tell me,’ Ali said intently. ‘What happened in your childhood?’

‘It’s strange, but whenever I think about that time I remember rain. I suppose it couldn’t have rained every day, but all I can see is grey, drizzly skies, and people to match.’

‘People were unkind to you?’

‘No, I’m not being fair. After my parents died I was raised by some distant cousins on their farm. They meant well, but they were old and very serious, and knew nothing about children. They did their best for me, encouraged me to do well at school. But there was no excitement, and I longed for it.’ She gave a small embarrassed laugh. ‘You’ll probably think this is silly, but I started to read The Arabian Nights.’

‘I don’t think that’s silly. Why should I? I read it myself as a boy. I loved those fantastical tales, with their magic and drama.’

‘There was certainly plenty of that,’ Fran remembered. ‘A sultan who took a new wife every night and killed her in the morning.’

‘Until he found Scheherazade, who teased his mind with fantastic tales, so that he had to let her live to find out what came next,’ Ali supplied. ‘I loved the stories, but I loved Scheherazade’s wit even more.

‘I used to read that book in the desert, looking out at the horizon as the sun blazed its last before dying. How sad for you to yearn for the sun in this cold country.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, and living in a chilly house, watching the rain outside, always short of pocket money because-I quote-“we mustn’t be extravagant”.’

She hadn’t meant to make herself sound quite so deprived as it came out. Her elderly cousins hadn’t been mean, simply determined to teach her the value of money.