Flower of Heaven (14 page)

“Who does this? Who puts himself in a position to know what each of these is worth?” Ahmad questioned.

“Insurance companies hire art experts from all over the world to give their views on what such paintings will sell for and, after getting several different opinions, the insurance company offers to insure each painting or group of paintings by the same artist for a certain price each year. They, of course, place great demands on us to protect the paintings and to make sure that we keep them in perfect condition, or we can lose the insurance.”

“Can you do this, Françoise—look at a painting and say what it is worth?”

“Oh, yes, Ahmad, but it takes time. You need to know the artist and his reputation and other paintings, and what those have sold for. You need to look at the quality of the painting, which might need repair because of its age, the type of paint used and whether there are any defects that are noticeable. But, yes, I have been one used by insurance companies to do this for paintings outside the Louvre. Why do you ask?”

“Now I know why my father sent me here to learn about all of this, Françoise.” Ahmad stated with the look of someone who suddenly had found the Holy Grail. “My father has a very big collection of paintings from many artists from many countries. Some were gifts by rich oilmen from countries seeking to do business with us and some my father purchased from friends in exchange for money they needed for other purposes. He doesn’t really know if he paid too dearly for these, he just paid whatever others said they were worth.” Ahmad now began to laugh out loud, “Perhaps now he expects me to tell him what they are worth, it is all so amusing.”

Françoise shared Ahmad’s laughter as the end of their last day at the museum was nearing the end. He would be returning to Khatamori on a flight later that afternoon. As they strolled together through the galleries one last time, Ahmad held Françoise’s hand with both of his own.

“May you be happy in your life, dear Françoise, for you have made me a wiser man in these days in Paris. It would be my honor if you would consider coming to Banra one day as my guest. We are a peaceful country and, although not as rich in history as your wonderful city, we have a tradition that is nearly a thousand years old. You would like Khatamori, I am certain of this. Until we meet again, my sweet flower, may Allah always bring you sunshine and good fortune.” Ahmad kissed her hand in a very formal gesture, bowed courteously to her and turned to leave. As he headed out of sight in a far gallery exit, he never turned to look back to Françoise, and she stood there, still with her hand raised as if the kiss was still occurring on her hand.

As the prince disappeared from view, Françoise slowly headed back to her office. Her assistant met her at the door to her office and announced that a man had left a package for her. The man had insisted on personally putting the package on her desk to be sure that it was delivered properly.

On the desk was a small cylinder, carefully wrapped in silk and tied together at the top with thin leather string. Under the package was an envelope addressed to her and sealed in a red wax symbol. She opened the envelope and read the note, “Think of me from time to time, Ahmad.”

Françoise opened the silk covering and there she gazed upon a miniature urn of pure gold with a matching cover to the urn. As she lifted the cover, her eyes gently closed as she absorbed the scent of the
Flower of Heaven.
Under the urn were several sticks of the incense as well. Françoise would treasure this gift.

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CHAPTER 12

Claude was pleased with the attention that Françoise had given to Prince Ahmad and with the compensation the museum had received from him for the tutorial over the last month. Françoise was also rewarded with a week’s vacation and an increase in her already high compensation. Her mother and father were not aware of how much Françoise earned, but it was more in one year than her father had earned in the last five years he had worked at the restaurant. It was no wonder that she was always buying them items for the house that she knew they wanted but could never afford. She would also leave money with her mother for household expenses, making sure that Louis would not know because it would have embarrassed him to find out. Françoise would drive to their home in her new car, a Peugeot, and would take her parents all over France on sightseeing excursions and to allow them to spend more time together. These moments were precious to her, for she knew that her parents would soon not be able to travel much longer given their ages and fragile health.

Following a week away from the museum, Françoise was happy to return to her role at the Louvre. The remainder of July and August were high tourist season in Paris, which meant extra gallery tours and more money for the museum. When September arrived, Françoise was again exhausted but anticipated a much lighter traffic in the gallery in the coming months.

“Bonjour, Françoise,” Claude echoed as he strode into her office one afternoon in September. “You look like you could use another vacation, or at least some time away from the museum. I have just the thing for you,” as he was holding a letter of some sort and handed it to Françoise.

Monsieur Claude Gagnon

Directeur Generale

The Louvre

Paris, France

Dear Monsieur Gagnon,

It is with deep sincerity that I extend my gratitude to you for your excellent learning experience to my son, Ahmad, the crown prince of Khatamori, during his stay in Paris in May of this year. It has always been my wish that Ahmad learn more about famous places in the world so that, someday, he may pass on this knowledge to his own children once he succeeds me as ruler of our beloved kingdom.

The palace in Banra has accumulated many pieces of art as gifts from other countries over many years. I am not qualified to know the value of such art, and Ahmad, although now more understanding of such value, does not pretend to know it either. Since the palace has over forty rooms of such art treasure, it would be wise for me to know how important it is to protect each painting. Ahmad has told me that a member of your staff, Mademoiselle Françoise Dupont, does this rating of paintings and can determine their value. Such information would be important to me. I would like to invite you and Mademoiselle Dupont to Banra for this purpose at whatever cost you feel is justified to fulfill the task.

The climate in Khatamori in October and November is quite pleasant and warm, and you would be my guests for as long as the review is needed. My son and I await your reply.

Royal Highness of Khatamori

King Fatam

This is more than a coincidence, Françoise told herself. Ahmad had clearly convinced his father that getting an expert to evaluate his art collection would be a smart thing to do, never leading on that this was also a way for him to get Françoise to his native land. Regardless of the motive, Françoise was intrigued by the letter and quickly agreed to go to Khatamori in early November, a time in Paris when the weather begins to get colder and the frequency of daily tours lessens significantly to a few school tours. She would not be leaving the gallery during an overly busy period and would welcome the warmer climate, not to mention the thought of seeing Ahmad again.

Claude, on the other hand, announced that October and November were not good months for him to be away from the Louvre since he would be meeting frequently during this period with the governing board to discuss plans for future expansion and to also discuss the results of the recent tourist season. As the board members came from all over France to attend these meetings, it would not be appropriate to attempt to reschedule the meeting dates at such a late date in September. Françoise would have to go without him.

Françoise arrived in Banra to eighty-degree sunshine and was immediately greeted by Ahmad himself along with an entourage of servants. Ahmad was dressed very formally in a long robe with full turban and jewelry on practically every finger. Françoise recalled Ahmad’s insistence that while in public, a crown prince must always be formally presented before the multitudes. A large crowd of Khatamorans were on hand to catch a glimpse of who would merit the prince himself to appear to greet a visitor. Surely a head of state or another Arab chieftain of sorts. It was no wonder that the chatter among the curious onlookers somewhat startled Françoise as she approached Ahmad.

The sight of a Westerner dressed in non-Arab clothing, and a woman as well, with no head or facial covering, addressing a crown prince brought gasps of disbelief from many. Françoise had not been prepared for such a disruptive greeting and, to Ahmad, it showed. In a very warm display of greeting to Françoise, Ahmad’s chief servant, the same one who had accompanied him to Paris, provided Françoise with a veil and cloak covering as she approached the smiling prince.

“My dearest Françoise, the
Flower of Heaven
be with you again as I welcome you to Khatamori. Come, let us depart for my home, my servants will see to your belongings,” Ahmad announced as he literally bowed to greet Françoise. Again, this brought a sigh to the crowd who had never witnessed such behavior from a leader in their country. Ahmad paid little attention to their noise and extended both hands to Françoise in a welcoming manner. Françoise blushed, an uncontrollable blush, as she too was now overwhelmed by the splendor and majesty of the man who, in Paris, did not want to stand out in public. His very presence at the Banra airport and the reaction it brought to the populace immediately struck Françoise at the magnitude of respect and power that Ahmad held among his own people.

As Françoise began following Ahmad, he introduced her to a young captain in the Khatamori Guard, Captain Answa Talon, a boyhood friend of the prince and nephew to King Fatam. Talon greeted Françoise with a stern handshake and immediately led the entourage toward the limousine waiting at the entrance to the small terminal. Ahmad pointed out to Françoise that the royal palace was about ten miles south of the airport and that this would allow her an opportunity to see some of the country along the route. Ahmad was easily comfortable at highlighting various mosques and marketplaces along the way. Françoise could not help but notice that no one appeared destitute and the sights were quite beautiful, even if mostly barren. It was also evident that the limousine was recognizable by all in whose path it traveled as citizens bowed out of respect for royalty passing by.

Although a small country, the discovery of oil years earlier had a real boom to the economy of the country and to the riches of the royal family. Ahmad was an only child, his mother the queen having died years earlier during the birth of his younger brother who also died a mere three days after his birth. King Fatam was in his early fifties and, while many Arabs had many wives and children, Fatam still mourned the death of his one and only love. He could never get into any kind of relationship which, in his mind, would allow him to forget about his years with the queen. And so, Ahmad was the focus of the king’s attention and accompanied him almost everywhere throughout his youth and early adulthood. It was as if he too was celibate without even realizing it. It is difficult to become a womanizer, even when you’re in the royal family, if there are few women presented before you that interest you. Fatam was not one to live a lavish life even though he was worth hundreds of millions of dollars. His courtesy, however, always welcomed other dignitaries from surrounding allied countries, which is mostly how he had amassed his vast collection of art over the years. Once these dignitaries realized that Fatam appreciated good art, it automatically led to their bestowing more gifts whenever they visited. Fatam, in return, would visit the other Middle Eastern countries on rare occasions, but was quite content in attending to the affairs of state within Khatamori.

While Ahmad was the only heir apparent to the throne and was involved in dealings with other oil-generating Arab countries, Fatam focused on the orderly running of the country, including the areas of defense and security with the son of his late brother. Should anything happen to Fatam and Ahmad was incapable of serving and had no sons of his own, Answa would be next in line to assume the throne as the closest living relative. While Ahmad and Answa had been friends since childhood, Answa was envious of Ahmad’s role in comparison to his own more miniscule status in the royal family. Answa had three wives and eight children and frowned on the lack of succession on the Fatam and Ahmad side of the crown. He had more than once chastised Ahmad at having no wives, almost to the point of accusing him of not fulfilling the wishes of Allah by remaining unmarried. Ahmad, on the other hand, would insist to Answa that he would wed when, and only when, he found someone worthy of being a princess and someone he truly loved, not before.

The limousine turned off the main road onto the entrance of a long and gated driveway surrounded by armed guards at the gate. A ten-foot wall covered the outer perimeter of the grounds for nearly as far as you could see. Françoise was amazed at the beautifully manicured entryway aligned with plush green foliage intermingled among the palm trees. The thousand-foot drive led to a gigantic stairway entrance to the palace, a sweeping modern five-story complex nearly as immense as the Louvre itself.

“Come, Françoise, let me show you the wing you will be staying in. That will give you some time to rest from your journey. The servants will see to your belongings. Later today, I will give you a tour of the palace and then we will meet with my father for dinner this evening. Now it will be I who conducts the tour and not you,” he smiled as he escorted her down a large marble-floored hallway.

Françoise could not help but notice the many paintings hanging on the walls along this hallway. She recognized many immediately but she hesitated to comment on these while the grandeur of the place overwhelmed her. Following what seemed like a ten-minute walk, Ahmad stopped in front of huge mahogany doors and pushed them open.

“Voila, Françoise, I hope you find the rooms to your liking. I will have one of the servants come for you in a few hours. Until then, may you rest.”

The white shiny marble floor and white stucco walls leading to a canopied and veiled bed with satin sheets were overshadowed by the bright sunlight emanating from the open doors leading to a terrace overlooking the beautiful grounds to the rear of the palace. An adjoining large bathroom displayed a freestanding bathtub and to the side shelves with various sized towels, soaps, and lotions. Not to her surprise but to her delight, Françoise detected the fragrance that she had been introduced to by Ahmad in Paris. To the left of the balcony doors was a sofa and cushioned chair separated by a floor lamp and positioned perfectly to observe the city below. Incense burned in several small containers positioned in different corners of the room and the aroma of the
Flower of Heaven
permeated throughout. As she headed for a better view on the terrace, she was interrupted by a knock on the door and servants delivering her luggage. One of the servants pointed to a set of double louver doors and, as he swung them open, merely pointed inside at the vast wardrobe that had been placed hanging in a closet.

“A woman servant will be here at five to assist you to prepare for dinner with his highness, the king, and the crown prince.”

Touché, thought Françoise. She was now in Ahmad’s country and would be expected to respect the customs and proper dress before the king, just as Ahmad had done by dressing like a Parisian in Paris. Perhaps it would not be so bad, she thought.

A few hours later, a knock at the door awakened Françoise as she rested peacefully in her robe, a beautiful silk wrap that had been strewn across the bed when she first arrived. As she opened her bedroom door, there stood two smiling women servants hardly able to understand a word Françoise spoke, but very qualified to assist her in the proper manner of dress to select for the evening, from veil to Arabian-style shoes, to jewelry and oils. As she gazed at herself in the floor-length mirror some time later, the servants waited for a look of approval from Françoise at the result. She smiled and as she nodded her approval, she blushed uncontrollably as she looked at herself again as if in disbelief that she was about to embark on a new venture in a strange new world.

At six, another knock at the door led one of the two servants to respond and there, in all his majesty and splendor, stood Ahmad, in full-length robe complete with an elegant Arab headdress, jewelry around his neck and on most fingers. He froze momentarily as he caught a glimpse of Françoise. She was stunning and like no one he had ever seen in his own country. He smiled broadly and she returned the smile with one of her own.

“Françoise, you are breathless, so very beautiful in your evening wear, my father will be pleased. Before we go, however, let me show you how to cover your face for now until my father instructs you to remove it. Otherwise, it would be difficult to eat that way, wouldn’t it?” he joked as he approached her.

She laughed out loud at this show of humor, something she had not as yet seen in Ahmad. He was pleased that she found this amusing and proceeded to have one of the servants affix the facial veil properly. He then held out his hand for her to accompany him as they left her room.

Françoise turned cordially to the servants and merely gestured, “Merci.”

As Ahmad led her from room to room toward the royal family’s private quarters and the dining areas for visitors, she kept glancing constantly at the immensely high ceilings and the paintings and ornaments hanging everywhere she turned. So much money and power, she thought, from such a gentle person. Hopefully, the king would be no different. They approached an entryway with servants on each side leading to a torch-lit room alive with servants everywhere, bustling about with a selection of dishes being brought to a spacious and gleaming wooden table that certainly could accommodate a dozen people or more. Seated at the far end of the table was Fatam with Answa and one of his wives to his left.

Ahmad approached his father. “Father, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Françoise Dupont from the Louvre in Paris.”

Fatam replied ever so cleverly, “Why yes, my son, I know that the Louvre is in Paris. Welcome to my country and to my home, my dear Mademoiselle Dupont. I am looking forward to your assistance this week in finding out if these gifts I have been receiving for years have been worth hanging, or should I be thinking about hanging instead the ones who gave them to me.” His smile as he spoke immediately put Françoise at ease as he held her extended hand in both of his as a gesture of sincerity.

“Please call me Françoise, Your Highness, everyone does.”

“Only if you call me Fatam. You see, I am really not, Your Highness, am I? Old time customs and formalities sometimes are just that, old time. I am fortunate to be the son of the former king, it is not something I asked for, but if I must continue the line of rulers that goes back hundreds of years, so be it. Please, you may remove your veil. My son speaks highly of you, but he did not mention to me how beautiful you were. Beauty and intelligence. That is quite a combination I would say. You remind me of …,” the thought drifted away from Fatam as he asked Françoise to sit on the right by his side with Ahmad next to her.

Françoise did not remember what food was served that night, as she was more engrossed in the warmth of the conversation between her and Fatam, all to the satisfaction of Ahmad who watched calmly at how Françoise handled herself with his father.

Answa hardly spoke and appeared more puzzled at the attention given to a foreign woman. The wife at his side never spoke, which Françoise found strange. Perhaps women in Khatamori spoke only when spoken to or when given permission to do so, a custom not familiar to a French woman.

Later that evening, as Ahmad took Françoise for a stroll in the beautiful gardens within the palace grounds, she asked him about the silence and almost nonexistence of Answa’s wife at dinner.

“You must understand, Françoise, that many wives are allowed in our country and each has a purpose. This wife, Sakara, almost always attends the dinners and receptions at the palace. She hardly speaks and Answa likes it that way since she will never embarrass him in front of guests by what she says. Answa has no children from Sakara; his eight children are from Fari and Nalia. While it may seem strange to you, to Answa and many others in Khatamori, it is how it is done. My father, I suppose, is an exception. He has married but once, to my mother and, when she died five years ago, he could not see himself even looking for someone to replace her with.”

“And what of you, Ahmad, where is your wife, or should I say wives?” Françoise asked so innocently.

“I must be like my father more than I thought, because I have not wed as of this day, something that troubles my father greatly. Each generation of our family seems to be different than the last and I will marry the one who will be by my side and raise my children for as long as we both shall live.”

As they continued to walk toward the section of the grounds leading back to her room, they were both now quiet as they occasionally glanced at each other along the way. That night, Françoise slept very well.

The next several days encompassed a mixture of serious evaluating of the massive list of art throughout the palace and seeing as much of the sights of this tiny country as she could see with Ahmad as her guide. They visited the oil fields and refinery, the ancient burial grounds of his ancestors and even took time to visit small shops in the marketplace in Banra. The outer limits of Banra were primarily made up of small villages with simple dwellings of stone, but no areas looked ragged or downtrodden.

Each night, however, following dinner in the palace, sometimes with Fatam and on one night with Ahmad alone, they would return to the gardens where thousands of stars seemed to light up the night and provide them with perfect scenery. They were getting to know a great deal about each other and their relationship began to become more serious.

“What would you do, Françoise, if you were living here all the time and no longer had the Louvre in Paris to go to? How would you change things or what would make you happy in a place such as this?”

“I don’t know, Ahmad, I guess knowing that I could do something to make the women more respected and not just objects to be used as Answa does. I could never be happy without a way to speak about things that are important to me, and I don’t believe that women here seem to get much of a chance to do anything of importance in the country. Most do not appear to be encouraged to become educated, to become doctors, teachers, or heads of state. Where are they, Ahmad, who would I talk to if few are allowed to speak at all? Your father seems ready to accept changes; he has already broken some old customs by not remarrying or having several wives, hasn’t he? I see changes all the time at the Louvre, Ahmad, and so it must be in Khatamori as well if your country is to become truly rich in more than just oil. You are not the only one who needs to learn about what else goes on in the world. Others must be allowed to do the same.”

“To break this way of life is not an easy thing, Françoise, it has been this way for as long as I can remember and for as long as my father can remember. We are a peaceful country and very protective of our ways. Perhaps it is time to try a new way, perhaps.”

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CHAPTER 13

“Father, Françoise will be leaving at the end of the week and there is something I need to discuss with you,” Ahmad said to Fatam after he returned from his daily early morning walk on the grounds of the palace. Fatam enjoyed the quiet and serenity at this time of day and often would reflect on his late wife and the years they had spent together raising Ahmad.