Sari Abu Amineh
Never before in my life had I felt such anguish and anxiety as I did now.
Mrs Samah wanted to know what Uroub had told the Basha.
Most importantly, Mrs Samah was the daughter of Nayef Shahadeh, the grand Basha, the shrewd gentleman she introduced me to as we were leaving the Sheraton Hotel ballroom after a classical musical performance by a Greek musician invited by one of the princes.
I had taken my wife, Rasha, to the concert, in the company of Fawaz Basha and Mrs Samah. There we met Nayef Shahadeh – a man with thin white hair and a fair complexion speckled with brown age spots. He had cold blue eyes, but they were cunning, too, I thought. He was slim and neatly attired and had an air of determination and tranquil reverence.
He was wearing a navy blue suit with a sub
