"If you get lost, just remember that the medina was built around the mosque, so look for the Zitouna Mosque. I've marked it, and Jamila," I said, referring to the efficient woman who shared guide duties with me, and who was looking after all the arrangements as we went, "has put the name in Arabic on the map, so you can ask directions in any shop. We'll meet at the main door of the mosque in about an hour, say one hour and ten minutes.
"For those of you who would like to shop, Jamila is going to an area where you can sometimes find antiques, old lamps and such, and I'll be going over to the Souk el Trouk and the Souk de Leffa to look at carpets. Anyone who wants to come along with either of us, is quite welcome to do so. Now, one hour and ten minutes, main door of Zitouna Mosque. See you there."
"Something smells good around here," Ben said. "I vote we go and get something to eat."
"I could use a coffee and a sit-down," Susie said. "I'll come with you. You coming, too, Catherine?"
"I guess so," Catherine said.
"Why don't you go and buy yourself something nice, Nora?" Cliff said reaching for his wallet.
"No, I'll stay with you, Cliff," she said.
"You don't need to do that," he said, a trifle irritably. "I'm not an invalid."
"I'm going to explore a little bit more," Ed said. "Anyone want to come and have a look at the hammam with me?"
"I knew he'd head for the baths," Jimmy muttered to his wife.
"Shush," she said.
"I'll go with you," Chastity said to Ed.
"You will not!" her mother exclaimed. "You just come and have some tea!"
"I'll go," Cliff said. Nora started to protest. "You can come, too, if you want to, Nora. I don't want to miss a thing."
"Excellent!" Ed declared. "Let's go, Cliff. I'll take good care of him, Nora. Don't worry." Nora stood there looking like a little lost child.
"He'll be fine, Nora," I assured her.
"You never know what can happen," she replied.
"There has to be a coin dealer around here somewhere," Emile said. "I think I'll see what I can find."
Gradually the others dispersed.
S O FAR, OUR plan to carry on in as close to a normal manner as possible seemed to be working. While the majority still thought that someone on the staff had to be responsible for the theft of Catherine's necklace, many of them were coming around to the view that she had been very careless. Catherine still seemed a little delicate, but she was rallying, and we stuck to our original schedule.
And so, while the others had been exclaiming over the exquisite Roman mosaics in the Bardo museum, I'd been dashing out to the airport, as directed, to meet Kristi Ellingham.
I don't know what I expected Kristi Ellingham to look like, with her chichi name and her job as travel editor for First Class magazine, a journal that catered to the upscale tastes and acquisitiveness of newly wealthy boomers as well as old money types. Tall, thin, elegant, perhaps, with an imperious attitude, Vuitton luggage, and a Burberry raincoat. Kristi was, in fact, rather ordinary-looking, of average height and weight, with short brown hair. Her only distinguishing feature was a scar that ran from the corner of her lip down to the line of her jaw. The expensive luggage was in evidence; the attitude, however, was not. "Hi," she said, handing me her business card. "Thanks for meeting me. I'm really looking forward to covering this tour." She reached into her large shoulder bag, and pulled out a silver lighter and pack of cigarettes. "Those transatlantic nonsmoking flights are killers," she said, inhaling deeply. "Filthy habit, I know," she added. "Can't seem to kick it. No willpower. Now, where do we go?"
It should be said that I don't much like First Class magazine. Let's just say that if you are looking for thoughtful commentary on social and political issues, inspiring stories of people overcoming adversity, or indeed for articles of any redeeming social value whatsoever, then First Class may not be the magazine for you. I knew only too well how influential it was, though. A few months earlier, First Class had run a photo of a condo we'd furnished for an up-and-coming young Canadian starlet--an assignment Clive still referred to as The Job from Hell, but which First Class called "New Life in Old Houses"--as one small part of a feature they were running on young swingers who liked old places, and it had led to a surprising number of inquiries.
I took Kristi back to the hotel, and with Sylvie, showed her to her room. The suite was gorgeous, spacious, with beautiful tilework on the walls in the entranceway, a large canopy bed, and a huge tiled bathroom. A carved wooden archway led to a small sitting room. There were flowers everywhere, and I'd sprung for a bottle of real champagne, the only foreign wine, I believe, the Tunisian government allowed into the country. It was set out, with two crystal flutes, on an elegant brass tray. There was also a lovely bowl filled with apples, pears, and dates. "Isn't this delightful?" Kristi said. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to rest for the remainder of the day. I'll join the group tomorrow when I'm feeling a little less jet lagged. I'm looking forward to meeting them all, and seeing the sights." Pleasantly surprised by her generally agreeable demeanor, I left her and headed back to the group, just in time to take them to the medina.
F OR THE BETTER part of an hour, I took Aziza, Betty, and Jimmy, to look at carpets, explaining the different grades, the methods by which they were produced, and in general what to look for in buying one. With my help in the bargaining, Betty and Jimmy purchased two rather large and handsome carpets in a traditional Persian design. Or rather Betty did, Jimmy being essentially uninterested in both the carpets and all the bargaining that went along with their acquisition. Nonetheless, Betty was delighted, and I arranged to have her choices shipped.
Aziza was more interested in the more informal Berber allouches, but couldn't decide on one. Instead she purchased a lovely silk and linen sifsari, the traditional shawl and headcovering, in which I knew she'd look spectacular. She and I then went hunting for a chicha, a water pipe, something she said Curtis wanted, and I helped her distinguish the good ones from the junk made for the tourist trade. She was rather pleased with her purchase.
Taking a few minutes for my own search, I found six rather large, old but not antique, carpets for my film-star client. In addition to the six, I ordered two custom carpets, huge ones, for the living room--silk, in lovely shades of red and green. I was off and running on the Rosedale house.
I got my little group back to the Zitouna Mosque right on time. Jamila was already there with several of the others, and a few stragglers turned up within five minutes of the appointed time, laden down with their purchases. Susie, spectacular in blue and yellow tights and an emerald-green sweatshirt, was buzzing around asking to see what everyone had bought and exactly how much they'd paid for it. There were more little stuffed camels than anything else, which just goes to prove that people who come on an antiques tour aren't necessarily interested in antiques, nor are they terribly discriminating. I noted that Marlene and Chastity had succumbed to the lure of the large wire birdcages, as Clive said people would. I would have to figure out how to get these rather unwieldy objects home for them.