‘Why is there so much here?’ he wondered out loud, while Suleman stood rocking back on his heels, clearly delighted with his visitors’ reactions.
‘Abizah told us it was not the time to sell before now, and so we waited. The materials have been stockpiled here.’
Rafiq looked up. ‘Abizah? The old woman we met?’
The elder nodded. ‘Some said that she knew nothing of what she spoke, but others, mostly the women, overruled them.’
‘Then how is it that I saw a bolt of this fabric at the palace just yesterday?’
‘Ah.’ Their guide nodded. ‘There was one bolt, sent to the palace as a gift in the hope that it would be found suitable for a role in the coronation. Alas, we sent the fabric too late. The ceremonial robes had already been decided upon.’
Rafiq considered his words, accepted the sense they made. ‘And your Abizah believes now is the right time to sell?’
‘The moon is past full this month, and so, yes, she has given her approval. The time is upon us, she said.’
‘My mother mentioned you already have somebody interested in the collection. How did they find out about what you have here?’
Suleman shrugged, holding his hands up, tilting his head, his brown face collapsing into craggy ravines as he smiled. ‘Chance. Destiny. Who can say? A tourist couple, a businessman and his wife, they chanced across Marrash and stopped for refreshment. The women invited the wife in to view their treasures. As fate would have it, her husband was an executive for a large import company. He sent out a representative as soon as he returned home.’
Rafiq nodded. The man would have to have been certifiable not to. ‘And an offer has been made?’
Suleman’s chest puffed up with pride. ‘A very good offer. Some said we should accept it straight away, that good fortune had shone down on Marrash the day the travellers happened by.’
‘And others?’
Again that shrug, less pronounced this time. ‘Others said that we should wait, that we had already waited this long and that we need not rush at the first sheep through the pen.’
The old Qusani proverb brought a smile to Rafiq’s lips. It was a long time since he’d heard it, but the saying was uncannily pertinent. Why get excited chasing the fastest beast when it could be leaner and less tasty, when the slower animal might have more meat, more fat, and be more succulent and tender?
Rafiq’s business sense kicked in, his pulse quickening at the thrill of the chase. He’d been given this opportunity, this chance to find something truly unique, and, while running his business and overseeing the big picture had consumed his time in the last few years, there was something to be said for the nitty-gritty of finding the actual items that would sell.
His gut had made him rich when he had first started out, many years ago, before he’d had buyers scouring the Arab world for the best. His gut had told him what items would work in the Australian market. His gut was telling him now that this was a rare find.
He owed his mother thanks. If she had not thought to show him the bolt of fabric he could have been too late, the deal already done.
‘Are you able to tell me what this representative offered?’
Suleman gave an average figure per bolt—hopelessly inadequate, Rafiq recognised right away, even if Suleman had, as he expected he would have, inflated that figure with a decent margin to ensure any counter-offer would be better. But even if inflated, the quality of the fabrics at stake, let alone the rights to exclusivity, demanded at least that much again. Clearly the people of Marrash were being taken advantage of.
‘It is not nearly enough,’ he announced. ‘You should be demanding at least double that.’
Beside him Sera gasped, as if she’d mentally calculated the worth of the room at the mention of the first offer, only to find Rafiq willing to offer double that price. But it was Suleman who looked the most taken aback, his face pale with shock. ‘Are you making an offer, Your Highness?’
‘Would it be accepted, Suleman?’
He bowed, his features quickly schooled, though his eyes shone with an excitement that refused to be masked. ‘I would have to refer your offer to the council.’
‘Of elders?’ If so, with Suleman’s clear excitement, the dollar signs practically spinning in his eyes, he would be home and hosed.
‘Not in this case, Your Highness. It would be the women’s council. It may sound unconventional, but this project has been the domain of the women all along. In deference to your position, they asked me to be their representative today.’
‘Unconventional indeed,’ he said. Not to mention disappointing. But hopefully the council of women might be influenced by the most senior of the village elders, just the same.