French Pastry Murder (A Lucy Stone Mystery) by Leslie Meier Page B

said.
    “Terrific,” said Adil, looking past her and scanning the crowded room.
    “How is your friend?” asked Malik. “The one in hospital?”
    “I don’t know. I wasn’t allowed to see him,” admitted Lucy as Elizabeth came by with a bottle of champagne and refilled her glass. Adil and Malik refused. They were drinking orange juice.
    “Sylvie loves to entertain,” said Elizabeth with a touch of sarcasm.
    “I like the Western way,” said Malik. “I like it that a woman can invite her friends for a good time.”
    “But you wouldn’t want to marry such a woman as Sylvie, would you?” said Adil with a smirk.
    “Not even a girl like my Elizabeth,” said Lucy. “She would be too independent for you, right?”
    Malik was gazing wistfully at Elizabeth, who was busy greeting people and filling glasses. “I might like a Western wife, but my family would not approve.”
    “Nor would I,” said Adil in a pompous tone. “A wife should be submissive to her husband in all things.”
    “Would you let her drive a car?” asked Lucy, thinking of the women in Saudi Arabia who had been testing that country’s prohibition on women drivers.
    “Of course,” said Malik, grinning easily.
    “Only with my permission,” said Adil. “She would have to ask me before she could take the car.”
    “Every time?” asked Lucy.
    “Yes.” Adil nodded, his expression serious. “I would want to know why she needed the car, where she was going, and what she was doing.”
    “I think you might have a hard time finding a wife who would agree to that,” said Lucy. “At least in France, anyway.”
    “That’s true. Even the Muslim girls are adopting Western attitudes,” said Adil, who clearly disapproved. “But it is better for us to be in Paris. Things are not so good in Egypt now. There’s no stability, and the mob is in charge, overturning one government after another. They need a strong leader.”
    “Is that why you’re in France?” asked Lucy, who was curious. “Because of the Arab Spring?”
    “Not exactly,” said Adil. “Our families left Egypt with King Farouk in nineteen fifty-two,”
    “Are you related to the king?” asked Lucy.
    “No,” said Adil. “But my family has always been close to the royal family.”
    “Adil’s great-grandfather was Farouk’s head of security, and my grandmother was the infant prince’s nanny,” said Malik, a note of pride in his voice. “When the royal family boarded the yacht to leave Egypt, she was ordered to walk in front of Farouk, carrying Fouad, because the baby was now the king.”
    “I know about this,” said Lucy. “I read about Les Amis du Roi de l’Égypte in the paper, and I saw the preparations for the conference at the Cavendish.”
    “Adil’s grandfather is the leader of Les Amis,” said Malik. “He is a true believer.”
    “My grandfather is right. Only a strong leader can unite the Egyptian people and restore order.”
    “And you think Fouad is that strong leader?” demanded Malik, with a laugh. “He isn’t interested in Egypt. He likes living in Switzerland with his Nelly. I heard he eats in the kitchen with the help.”
    “My grandfather says Fouad may be reluctant now, but he will come to realize his duty and will reclaim his birthright.” Adil turned to Malik. “And now, excuse us, but we must go home. We have to be at work very early tomorrow. Isn’t that so, Malik?”
    Malik didn’t seem as if he wanted to leave the party. He was about to take a bit of toast topped with pâté from the plate Sylvie was offering him, but he immediately dropped his hand. “ Désolé, ” he said, apologizing to Sylvie. “You know how it is. We’ve got the early shift.”
    “D’accord,” Sylvie replied with a shrug. “ À demain. ” She offered the plate to Lucy, who took a toast and, nibbling it, made her way through the crowded, tiny room to the futon, where Bill and the Stillingses were still sitting. Her place had been taken, however, by a