Harriet smiled and inclined her head ambiguously, but did not say anything.

‘But I have for a long time observed,’ said His Excellency, ‘that there is one group of people who in their passion for their sport ignore all things to do with class. The sayyid and the nukka are united and stand together on the riverbank and speak freely and without restraint or self-consciousness. Of course I speak about salmon fishermen, indeed fishermen of all descriptions. High and low, rich and poor, they forget themselves in the contemplation of one of God’s mysteries: the salmon, and why sometimes it will take the fly in its mouth and sometimes it will not.’

He sipped at his whisky again, and Malcolm was there at his elbow with a decanter and a soda siphon.

‘My own people have their faults, too,’ continued the sheikh. ‘We are an impatient people, and sometimes violent, very quick to pick up a gun to finish an argument. Although our society is in many ways an ancient and well-organised one, we are first members of our tribe, and only second members of our nation. After all, my family and my tribe have lived in the mountains of Heraz for over one thousand years, but my country has existed for only a few decades. There are still many divisions in our country, which not long ago was two countries and much longer ago was many kingdoms: Saba, Najran, Qa’taban, Hadramawt. I have noticed in this country that although there is violence and aggression-your football hooligans, for instance-there is one group for whom patience and tolerance are the only virtues. I speak of salmon fishermen in particular, and all fishermen in general.’

Sheikh Muhammad’s voice was gentle and quiet, but he had the gift of compelling attention and respect with every word he spoke. I said nothing, not daring or wishing to break his chain of thought.

‘I have formed the view that the creation of a salmon river in the Yemen would in every way be a blessing for my country, and my countrymen. It would be a miracle of God if it happened. I know it. My money and your science, Dr Alfred, would not alone achieve any such thing. But just as Moses found water in the wilderness, if God wills it, we will enable salmon to swim in the waters of Wadi Aleyn. If God wills it, the summer rains will fill the wadis, and we will pump out water from the aquifer, and the salmon will run the river. And then my countrymen-sayyid, nuqqa and jazr and all classes and manner of men-will stand on the banks side by side and fish for the salmon. And their natures, too, will be changed. They will feel the enchantment of this silver fish, and the overwhelming love that you know, and I know, Dr Alfred, for the fish and the river it swims in. And then when talk turns to what this tribe said or that tribe did, or what to do with the Israelis or the Americans, and voices grow heated, then someone will say, ‘Let us arise, and go fishing.’’

He sipped the last of his whisky and said, ‘Malcolm, have they dinner for us?’

I am tired now and cannot remember much of the rest of the evening, but I remember those words of his exactly as he spoke them. I know that he is, as he says he is, mad, but it is a gentle even a noble form of madness, and one that cannot be resisted. What we ate and drank I cannot say, except that it was all delicious. I think we had lamb. The sheikh drank no wine with dinner, only water, and he ate little and spoke only enough to encourage Harriet and me to talk of this and that.

One other thing he said, as we drank small cups of cardamom-flavoured coffee in the library after dinner: ‘If this project succeeds, then it will be God who has succeeded and God who should be thanked. If it fails, then you, Dr Alfred, can say that a poor, foolish, deluded man insisted that you tried to achieve the impossible. And no doubt some good will come from the work you do whatever happens. Some new thing will be known that was not known before, and you will be rightly praised for it and all else will be forgotten. And if it fails, the fault will be mine, because my heart was not pure enough, my vision not clear enough, my strength not great enough. But all things can be done if God wills it so.’

He put his cup of coffee down and smiled at us, preparing to bid us goodnight. Something made me say, ‘But nothing bad will happen, Your Excellency, if this project does not work.’

‘I have spoken to many scholars and imams about my dream of salmon fishing. I have told them how I believe this magical creature brings us all nearer to God-by the mystery of its life, by the long journey that it makes through the oceans until it finds the waters of its home streams, which is so like our own journey towards God. And they have told me that a Muslim may fish as well as a Jew or a Christian, without any offence to God. But that is not what the jihadis will say. They will say I am bringing the ways of the crusader to the land of Islam. If I fail, then at best they will ridicule me. If they think I might succeed, then they will certainly try to kill me.’

It is dark night now and the heavy curtains are drawn in my bedroom but I can still hear the owls shrieking in the woods. In a minute I will put down my pen but I must write these words: I feel at peace.

19 July

David Sugden called me into his office this morning. He waved me to a chair. He was beaming. ‘You seem to have worked your charms on your Arab friend.’

‘Sheikh Muhammad, I suppose you mean?’

He nodded and pushed a thick sheaf of documents across the desk. ‘This arrived from Freshwaters this morning. They are the sheikh’s legal advisers. Very expensive I should think they are, too.’ He tapped the documents with his forefinger. ‘Five million quid. Right there.’

It turned out that Freshwaters had sent us a draft contract to provide a legal and commercial framework for the Yemen salmon project.

‘It’s all there,’ said David. ‘Our legal people are looking at it, but it has everything we would want. No-fault clauses if it doesn’t work, payment no matter what happens, bank guarantees to support it, milestone payments to keep the cash rolling in. It is,’ he said, rolling his eyes at the ceiling, ‘manna from heaven. If I can’t get some of that five million into some of my underfunded budgets, then I’ve lost my touch.’

I said that I hoped we were not going to take Sheikh Muhammad’s money under false pretences.

This must have sounded rather prim because David flapped his hands at me and replied, ‘Don’t be such an old woman, Alfred. You know what I mean. I meant every department in NCFE can charge time to this project for one reason or another. He’ll get his salmon river in the desert-or not, as the case may be. We get five million pounds whatever happens. Now, let’s talk about details. I’m going to head the project and take responsibility for communications with other departments…’

‘The Foreign Office, you mean?’

David tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger in a stagey gesture. ‘The prime minister’s office has become involved now; Peter Maxwell is keeping himself in touch with this. But you should forget I said that. In fact I must ask you to be very discreet about all this. The sheikh, the Foreign Office and indeed everyone wants to keep the lid on this project until we are certain we know what will come out of it. So, please remember, keep your mouth buttoned up.’ He laughed to show he had intended a joke. ‘Now then. Where were we? Yes. You are to be in charge of operations: I mean the research team and then project management. You will report to me.’

He turned his computer screen round so I could see it and led me through a project plan. What a bureaucrat! He has organised it so that I will do all the work and he will take all the credit (but not the blame, if there is to be blame). He really doesn’t know what this is all about. He has no conception of how difficult it is going to be, how much scientific research has to be done, the ecosystem models that will have to be built, the environmental impact assessments, modelling the dissolved oxygen levels in Yemeni watercourses, bacterial sampling. My head feels as if it might explode when I think about the complexity of it all. And here is this idiot talking about ‘milestones’ and ‘deliverables’ and ‘resource allocation’.