‘That sounds fine,’ Caroline smiled back, liking this live wire and wishing that she wasn’t going home at all.
Nell had shown her to a small guest-room decorated in blues and white. It was very soothing and Caroline liked it immediately. Nell pointed to a blue-tiled bathroom across the hall. ‘I’ve got an en suite and the room is much bigger. So you can move there when I’m gone. I hope you’ll be warm enough,’ she added doubtfully. ‘There are blankets in the top of the wardrobe if you need them.’
‘God, I’m baked,’ Caroline assured her, mightily relieved when Nell switched on the AC. She had been so glad to have that shower. Her clothes were stuck to her from the heat and the long hours of travelling, and she stood for a good twenty minutes under the refreshing spray. Wrapped in a towelling robe that Nell had given her, Caroline had stood peering out through her bedroom window at the strange new environment. Across the street, she could make out several small shops on the ground floor of apartment blocks. Up to her right she could see the airport road where they had turned off. No doubt it would be much easier to get her bearings in daylight. It was hard to believe that the same crescent moon shone over Dublin city, thousands of miles away.
The neat blue KLM overnight bag caught her eye and she opened it to find a little treasure trove: nightshirt, slippers, black eyemask, four headache tablets in a little case, needle and thread and small scissors, moisturizer, toothbrush, toothpaste, sachets of washing-powder, razor and aftershave, deodorant, shampoo, plasters, tissues, toothpicks, nail clippers, emery boards, and even a little game of draughts. They had thought of everything. Caroline was delighted with it. It would come in very handy in the future for overnight stays and no doubt she’d have her luggage tomorrow, if what she had seen so far of KLM’s customer service was anything to go by. Having dried her hair, she slid into bed and fell instantly asleep, to be woken a few hours later by the muezzin’s amplified call.
After a while the keening of the muezzin ceased and Caroline drifted back to sleep, relaxed in the thought that she could have a lie-in in the morning. That would help alleviate any jet-lag she might feel because of the four-hour time difference.
The insistent ringing of a phone woke her and she jumped out of bed half-asleep. She padded out into the hall towards the sitting-room, where the sound was coming from.
‘Hi, it’s me!’ Nell’s voice floated cheerfully down the line. ‘Sorry to have to wake you but I’ve been on to KLM and your luggage is in Cairo.’
‘I’m in Cairo!’ Caroline said groggily.
‘No, no, you’re in Abu Dhabi! Your luggage is in Cairo,’ Nell said soothingly as Caroline began to wake up properly. ‘I’m sorry I had to wake you but someone from KLM is on the way over to get your case keys. They’ll need it for customs. And they promise they’ll have your luggage delivered by lunchtime. I’ll see you then. Make yourself at home. Raid the fridge for breakfast and go back to bed.’
The carriage clock on the bookcase told Caroline that it was just gone nine. That meant it was five a.m. Irish time. Nell had been in the office since seven-thirty. They started work early in these parts and Caroline realized that she too would have to get used to the habit. She was trying to decide whether to go back to bed or get up when a knock at the door announced the arrival of a man from KLM. Giving him the keys, she closed the door, yawned widely, forbade herself to look out the curtained windows of the apartment because she knew if she saw the sun she’d never go back to bed, poured herself a glass of fresh orange juice, drank it in two gulps and went back to her comfortable divan. Five a.m. was just not the time to get up, she decided, but she promised herself that she would no longer compare times with home. From now on it would be Abu Dhabi time only.
When she woke again, she felt completely rested. Alert and excited, she flew to the window to get her first look at the city in daylight. Brilliant sunshine and the bluest of blue skies greeted her and it was hard to credit that it was almost the middle of November.
Across the street, men in white thobes stood chatting outside a small supermarket. Traffic whizzed up and down the airport road further along. Another supermarket, Bashir’s grocery, was brisk with customers. Indian and Pakistani women in their colourful saris seemed to glide in and out and the Arab women in their black abayas looked mysterious and exotic.
Nell had told her that Thursday was the start of the weekend in the Arab world and that Friday was the holy day. Most people were off work but Bill’s office was open seven days a week and Nell sometimes worked at the weekend if they were particularly busy. She then took her two days on the Saturday and Sunday. Caroline would be doing the same.
Walking down to the sitting-room, Caroline drew the curtains, opened the balcony windows and stood squinting in the bright sunlight. A blast of hot air hit her and she stood on the balcony inhaling the scents of the flowering shrubs and the aromas of coffee and spices that were wafted along on the warm breeze.
Suddenly conscious of the fact that she was hungry, she decided to have breakfast. Nell had set the table for her in the small cream-and-yellow dining-room. Beside her cup were some newspapers and magazines and a little note that said, ‘There are croissants and bread in the fridge and cereals and eggs in the press. Enjoy!’
Caroline heated the croissants, made herself a piece of toast and took them and her pot of tea into the dining-room. It was quiet in the apartment. There was a peaceful aura about the place with its comfortable, worn furnishings that were in such contrast to her own sterile high-tech penthouse. Richard had employed an interior designer to decorate it before they were married but Caroline had never liked the harsh, modern furnishings and decor. She was going to enjoy living in this homely apartment with its airy, spacious rooms.
She passed a very pleasant hour munching away on her breakfast as she read a copy of the Gulf News, one of the Emirate’s English newspapers. It was a lively newspaper that covered world affairs as well as the news from the neighbouring Emirates and the Gulf area.
A section in the information guide showed maps of the Gulf giving the weather forecast in the area, and she was fascinated to see a little diagram giving details of rising sand as well as wave height in feet. She wondered if she would ever see a sandstorm. After all, Abu Dhabi was built out of the desert. The temperatures were in the high eighties and if the high eighties was winter weather, God knows what the temperatures would be in high summer. Then she noticed a little column that gave the times for prayers. She learned that the prayer that she had heard the call for in the early hours was called Fajr and that, very soon, she would hear the call for Dhuhur, the midday prayer. Then there would be Asr, the afternoon prayer, and Maghrib, the evening prayer, and then at about ten-past seven the Isha, the last prayer of the day.
Nell had left her a little news-sheet of an international women’s club that gave the most interesting details of various clubs and classes she could join during her stay in the Emirate. With mounting interest she read about badminton and book discussion groups, bowling and bridge, computers, contact and conversation groups, cookery and handicrafts, mah-jong and rug appreciation and tennis. There was news about a day safari to the Sharjah souk and an intriguing piece titled ‘Flying Carpet’ which told of a planned trip to Syria, as well as shorter trips to areas of interest in the Gulf.
She was definitely going to get involved in something, she told herself firmly. She was not going to spend her time like a little dormouse in this exotic city. The time had come to spread her wings. The distinctive, wailing sound started and she smiled, pleased with herself to remember that it was the call to Dhuhur.
Energy surged through her and swiftly she cleared up her dishes, showered and dressed. She awaited Nell’s homecoming eagerly because she was dying to ask her a thousand and one questions. More than anything, however, she was really looking forward to her trip to the office and to her first glimpse of this Islamic city with its magnificent mosques and multi-storeyed buildings, its palaces, and souks, and flower-filled parks.
The garden of the Emirates, Abu Dhabi was called. Soon she would discover why. With mounting excitement Caroline watched white-robed men converge upon the nearby mosque. Nell had told her it was called ‘The Big Mosque’.
‘Hurry on, Nell,’ she murmured. ‘I want to be out there. I want to be part of it all.’
Thirty-One
Nell drove skilfully along the wide-laned highways of Abu Dhabi and Caroline admired the way she refused to be cowed by the horn-honking taxi-drivers and the huge Mercedes and Range Rovers. The traffic was fast and frenzied and Caroline knew she’d be totally intimidated.
The roads themselves were wide and the shrubbery and greenery took her breath away. The roundabouts were spectacular with their displays of flowers and emerald grass. Nell had skirted the city and was taking the scenic route to the office, to give Caroline an idea of the place.
Caroline watched as dozens of workers trimmed hedges, laid camel dung and weeded the flower beds all along the route.
‘National Day is coming up and the place is always decorated beautifully then,’ explained Nell. ‘You’re really seeing the city at a nice time of the year. It’s pretty, isn’t it?’
‘It’s such a surprise, I can’t believe how green it is,’ Caroline remarked.
‘That’s thanks to Sheikh Zayed. He loves greenery and he’s had millions of trees planted. I think he’s really enlightened. Look at these roads. Aren’t they super! If we had a road system like this at home we’d be doing really well. It’s hard to believe the city is only about twenty-five or thirty years old.’
‘Wow!’ exclaimed Caroline, impressed. ‘Who is Sheikh Zayed? I’ve heard the name before.’
‘He’s the ruler of Abu Dhabi,’ Nell explained as she swung left at a roundabout and drove down a tree-lined highway, ‘and the head of the UAE – the United Arab Emirates. Abu Dhabi is the capital. This area is where most of the sheikhs’ palaces are. You see those high white walls. See if you can see the palace inside.’
Caroline craned her neck eagerly and caught a glimpse of a sumptuous building. Ornately Arabic in design, it looked magnificent. A guard in a hut kept watch over the entrance barrier. ‘Were you ever in a palace?’ she asked eagerly.
Nell laughed. ‘Never, unfortunately. The locals keep very much to themselves. Of course there’s enormous wealth here because of the oil. That’s why you saw those Pakistanis and Egyptians and Filipinos doing all that manual work. They have to work very hard but the wages are far better here than in their own countries. Most of them can send money home. The same with the Filipino maids. Some are like part of the family; others are treated badly.’
An enormous car pulled up beside them at the traffic lights and Caroline saw a robed man with a neatly trimmed beard staring straight ahead.
‘Is he a sheikh?’ Caroline asked, intrigued.
‘I don’t know if he’s a sheikh. You know that only a member of the royal family is entitled to be called a sheikh. In Saudi they’re called princes; here they’re sheikhs.’
‘Oh.’ Caroline was surprised.
‘It’s mostly the sheikhs, their wives and families who live in the palaces. In that compound we’ve just passed there are about five big houses. All the sons and their wives live there too: they even have their own family mosque. The women are very traditional, covered from head to toe.’
‘How awful,’ Caroline said.
Nell drew the car to a stop beside a little roundabout that had a flowering tree in the centre.
‘I don’t know,’ Nell smiled. ‘There’s an awful lot of misconceptions about Arab women. They’re not the downtrodden species the West thinks they are. Arab women have great power in their own homes. When they marry they don’t take their husband’s name; they don’t wear a wedding-ring. Whatever they have in their dowry is theirs alone and cannot be touched. And you’ll probably notice that they’re dripping in gold. Their gold is their investment and it is a matter of pride with men to buy their wives gold so that others can see what good husbands they are.’
‘Even so, I think being wrapped up in a veil and not being able to go where you want is a bit restrictive,’ Caroline mused.
‘Well, you know,’ countered Nell, ‘the veil gives you great privacy. No-one can see behind it but the wearer can see all that’s going on. Here, where you have to get used to being stared at, a lot of women wear sunglasses not only to protect themselves from the sun but to hide behind as well. The veil of the West I call them. I’ve often been tempted myself to buy an abaya and mask. Sometimes I think it would make life much simpler here.’
Caroline stared out the window of Nell’s red Honda Civic. They had driven out of the city and were on a road that had water on both sides. There was hardly any traffic and it was very peaceful.
‘This is called the breakwater,’ Nell explained. She pointed to a strange-looking shop. ‘That’s a dhow restaurant. The food is gorgeous; you should try it out when you’re here. Doesn’t the city look nice in the distance? You know, of course, that the city is built on an island?’
‘Yes, I read that, and you can really see it from here. It’s lovely.’ Caroline drank in the sight of the high-towered city gleaming in the sun, as the waters of the Arabian Gulf glittered green and turquoise on all sides.
The Arabian Gulf, she said again to herself. It sounded so exotic. She had heard so much about it during the Gulf War, and here she was, standing on its shores. Caroline felt like doing a little dance of excitement. To think that she had flown to Schiphol and changed planes all by herself. And then arrived in Abu Dhabi ready to take up a new job. She was proud of herself. Other people might not think it was such a big deal but it was the most challenging thing she had ever done in her whole life.
‘Sometimes I bring my lunch here if I feel like a bit of peace and quiet,’ Nell said. ‘It’s only seven or eight minutes away from our offices on the Corniche. I think the view is superb. Not that you’ll have much time to enjoy it,’ she added laughing. ‘Come on. I’ll show you where we are.’
Nell hadn’t exaggerated about the view, Caroline decided, as she stood in the tenth-floor office, with its banks of equipment, including a fax machine, constantly sending and receiving. She gazed at the panorama across the six-lane highway with its dividing line of emerald grass, edged by neatly clipped hedges, and laid out with flower beds full of startling yellow zinnias and whiter than white lilies and lush flowering hibiscus. Beyond was a large promenade outlined by luscious parkland and gardens, and dotted with ornamental pools and high-spraying fountains. This was the famous Corniche that Maggie had told her about. Seven kilometres long, it curved in a semi-circle along the waters of the Gulf. Caroline was dying to explore its length.
The next few hours passed in a haze of facts and figures as Nell gave Caroline an outline of what would be expected of her as Bill’s office administrator. Nell explained that Bill worked all over the Gulf. He owned a construction company that had developed over the years into one of the busiest firms in the Levant.
‘Bill never went in for the usual practice of bribing officials to get contracts or underquoting so that there wasn’t enough to finish the job – as is a frequent practice in this neck of the woods,’ Nell informed Caroline as she explained the filing system to her. ‘You must remember that up until the early sixties when Sheikh Zayed became ruler, there was no city here. All that you see here—’ she waved out the window to where the molten sun turned the tinted-glass façade of the towering Arab Monetary Fund Headquarters building to gold ‘—all the infrastructure, roads, offices, hospitals, have been built since then. Well, naturally, there were more than a few shysters around ready to rip off the locals: architects, builders and the likes, and consequently lots of the houses and palaces that were built in the early days are falling to bits. The thing with Bill is, if he does a job he does it properly. You’ll see, Caroline; he’s a real perfectionist. At first he didn’t get many contracts because he charged more than his competitors but the work he did has lasted an
d over the years his reputation as a builder with integrity has grown enormously. And, my dear,’ Nell continued dryly, ‘that’s almost a contradiction in terms, because the building fraternity are certainly not known for their integrity. Bill’s reputation has grown and grown, not only here, but all through the Emirates as well as Oman and Qatar. And with the phenomenal development of these states, he’s involved in construction work all over the place. He’s rarely in the office; that’s why he needs someone reliable here. You’ll manage fine. Maria and Filomena, both Filipinos, are the other two staff and I think you’ll get on with them.’ Nell smiled as she read a fax that had come through.
‘That’s from Bill in Al Ain: he wants me to rearrange a flight for him to Bahrain tomorrow and fix the accommodation in the Hilton: we won’t see him until Sunday evening.’ She shook her head. ‘Caroline, you’ll spend your time arranging and rearranging flights and accommodation and itineraries. He’ll drive you nuts but he’s the best in the world,’ Nell said fondly as she began calling to see what flights were available.
Caroline spent the afternoon with Nell, trying to assimilate all she was telling her. No doubt she would get used to it in time, but as she listened to Nell explaining how to go about getting visas for the foreign employees Bill would be sponsoring, she couldn’t help the spasms of panic that engulfed her, as she struggled to remember the strange-sounding names of the people she would have to contact. By this time next week Nell would be gone and she would be in charge. Would she be able to handle it?
Nell saw the expression on her face and laughed. ‘You’ll be grand; stop worrying. The girls will be here and Bill’s not an ogre. Now I think we’ve done enough. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Let’s go and have a bite to eat.’
City Woman Page 28
