Three Rivers (10 page)

It was morning and the room was filled with sunlight. Isabel had bathed for the second time, dressed and made up her face carefully.

She had left the bed straightened out but unmade, and was sitting in the Bergère close to the desk reading her Iris Murdoch. She felt fresh, bright, very happy to be alive and was looking forward to landing, although she could have done with a good night’s sleep. There was a knock on the door. It was Gamal with a silver salver and a cup of black coffee on it. He announced that they would land in one hour and that breakfast and the gentlemen were in the dining room.

She noticed when he left that he no longer had on his trousers and jacket. He was now in his galabia of cream-colored shiny cotton with a fine stripe of dark olive green in it. There was a dark olive sash around his waist, and he had a turban of simple white cotton covering his hair. The three deep scars slashed in his cheek seemed more regal and less sinister than they had looked in London. Isabel knew those slashes to be a tribal ritual. The Sudanese were proud to wear them.

Once Gamal had left the room, Isabel sat back with her cup of coffee and sipped the thick, sweet liquid slowly. She reminded herself to tell Gamal no sugar and read a few more pages of her book before placing it in her nightcase and shutting it.

She then went to the commode and checked her looks in the mirror. Isabel knew that she was a beauty, but she
never took her appearance for granted. Her long dark chestnut hair was shiny and falling in just the right way, and the elegance and simplicity of her white dress were perfect for the impression she was out to make.

Slinging her handbag over her shoulder, she turned around and checked the room to see that all was in order. For one fleeting moment she thought of Anthony and the night before. She was not looking forward to meeting him in the presence of the two other men. The fact was that she would never again experience the Anthony that she knew last night. She sighed, not out of unhappiness so much as resignation. The one thing Isabel had learned, and the hard way, was to accept as graciously as she could what life had to offer her.

She turned around and left Sir Alexis’s cabin. In the dining room the three men rose from their seats as Isabel approached the table. André Beshawi kissed her hand and wished her a good morning, Alexander reached across the table, took her hand and gave it a firm, friendly pat, saying how lovely and radiant she looked this morning and how did she manage it? Anthony came around, pulled a chair out for her and said he hoped that she had slept well.

The table was a wonder. The night before when she had seen it, it appeared to be nothing more than a conference table, stark and very businesslike with its twenty chairs around it. This morning, the center was filled with lilacs and tulips in white and pink and with peach-colored zenias; there were heavy, ornate silver pitchers of mango, orange, pineapple, and coconut juices, heavy crystal goblets and an enormous silver bowl of tiny white peaches. There were placemats of pink-and-peach silk organza with hand-painted white polka dots and napkins to match. The plates were of silver. The cups and saucers were white Belleek.

The same stewards were attending the table, and one came over to Isabel to explain that they would only serve juice, fruit and coffee. Breakfast would be served at the house later.

Everyone was a bit subdued. Alexander seemed more like the Alexander she had first met. André Beshawi and Anthony were discussing the latter’s visit to Sir Alexis. Isabel listened, wanting to hear why Anthony was in Egypt
and his connection with Alexis Hyatt. She could have guessed it.

Anthony had sold Sir Alexis two paintings a few years before. Recently, by chance, they met in Paris, and Sir Alexis said that he thought that one of the paintings was in need of some restoration. The pigment was cracking and some had even flaked off. Would it be possible for Sir Alexis to send it to Anthony for the work that had to be done? He would have it put on his plane and delivered directly to Anthony. Anthony, of course, suggested that he fly out to do the repair whenever it was convenient for Sir Alexis; in that way he could see the painting and where it was hung, which would be a great pleasure. He would repair it on site, much better than moving such a large painting about, and so Sir Alexis had arranged for him to fly in for a few days.

Anthony — as smooth a hustler as ever. Isabel was sure that he would get to see and do everything that he wanted to, and most likely sell a few paintings to a few charmed ladies just for good measure.

The end of the plane journey seemed to come upon Isabel rather quickly. Not that she was rushed. It was more like a rapid succession of movements, all perfectly organized and played out in slow motion.

From dining table to being buckled in one’s seat for landing, to the descent from the clouds, to flying up the Nile, to passing over Cairo, to landing and the cut of the motors, to being released from her seat, to seeing two Mercedes pull up to the plane, to the stairs being rolled across the tarmac and up to the plane, to the door being opened and the hot rush of air and sunshine that invaded the interior. Isabel was in Cairo.

Alexander told her that they would go in two cars: Anthony and André in one and she and Alexander in the other. Would she please wait? He took the two men down to the first car after they said their farewells. When they were halfway down the stairs a man emerged from the car and went to meet André Beshawi. For a moment Isabel thought that the man was Sir Alexis, but he never greeted Anthony, and barely acknowledged Alexander, so it was obviously just a friend of Mr. Beshawi’s. They disappeared into the car and Alexander returned to Isabel.

That is why we are going in two cars
, Isabel thought.
No room
. Alexander reported that it was lovely and not
too hot out, just about eighty degrees with a nice breeze. He asked Isabel if she would wait for a minute while he went forward to check something out with the captain. Isabel sat down again and looked out of the window; while she had been talking to Alexander another car had pulled up in front of the Mercedes that was left on the tarmac. It was a maroon Rolls Royce, a very large and not very new one. The driver was standing next to the rear door, closest to the stairs. She could see no one was in the car, then realized it must have been sent for her and Alexander. The Mercedes was probably for the luggage.

She stood up and was starting forward, towards the entrance of the plane, thinking she would wait outside in the fresh air. Gamal, who had been standing close by her, just waiting for them all to leave, asked her to please wait for Mr. Gordon-Spencer. While they were standing there having their little conversation, Isabel saw a shadow at the entrance door of the plane cut through the light and spill across the floor. Someone had come up the stairs of the plane. Isabel had missed seeing who it was get out of the Rolls.

Gamal respectfully retreated back to the dining room. Alexis Hyatt had entered his plane.

There were just the two of them there in the main cabin as he went forward to greet Isabel. She knew at once who he was, for he looked like a handsome prince. She automatically went towards him. They stopped a few feet apart. He smiled and said, “I have thought about our meeting for a very long time. Welcome to Egypt. I am happy that you are here.”

He picked up her hand, looked at it and kissed it lightly. “Did you have a comfortable flight?”

“Yes, most comfortable, thank you.”

“What am I thinking of? Why am I keeping you standing here? Come, we will go home.”

Isabel smiled at him, and he took her by the elbow and led her to the top of the stairs. Just before they started down he took both her hands in his and stepped back a few paces.

“Let me just look at you for a moment. You are really more beautiful than I remembered.”

“Please, Sir Alexis, you are embarrassing me.”

And he was too, because he was looking at her from top to bottom, making her feel quite naked.

“No, not Sir Alexis, Isabel. Alexis, I beg you. And I would never for the world want to embarrass you. The next time I tell you that, I am sure you will not be embarrassed. Now, come along.”

As they were about to start down the stairs they were stopped by Alexander, who greeted Alexis. The two men shook hands. In Arabic, they said a few things to one another.

Alexander said good-bye to Isabel and that he hoped that she would be very happy in Egypt. He kissed her hand and when he looked into her eyes there was that same hidden meaning that she had seen in London.

Isabel was not at all mad, she realized. Alexander Gordon-Spencer knew more about her and her trip to Cairo than he wanted her to think he did.

At last they were down the stairs and in the car, but just before they pulled away Gamal appeared. Sir Alexis rolled down the window, and he and Gamal greeted one another. Gamal spoke with him for a minute, Sir Alexis laughed and smiled, gave a few instructions, dismissed Gamal and turned to Isabel. With a broad smile he said, “You have conquered Gamal.” Then he told the driver something in Arabic, and they were on their way.

“You do not remember me, do you?”

Isabel did remember him, but not from that night at the Chicago Art Institute. “Yes, I do, Alexis. But I will confess that you are not the man I thought you were when I spoke to you on the telephone.”

“And who did you think I was?”

Isabel looked straight into Alexis’s wonderful face, his piercing dark eyes, hawklike nose and thick black hair flecked with gray. She found herself smiling, and that led to roars of laughter. He sensed that she was not laughing at him, and her laughter was infectious. Laughing madly, the two of them sat in the back seat of the Rolls that sped towards Cairo.

He finally said, “Isabel, what are we laughing about?”

She brought herself under control and told him.

“The night you called me in London and told me where we met, I racked my brains trying to remember the men that I met that night. Then it came to me: I remembered meeting very briefly a man who was from either Cairo or Jeddah. He was about five feet tall, wore a banana-colored suit, had eyes that were the size of pinheads, and
when he focused them on me I knew that he was having a momentary fantasy. He was one of the most singularly unattractive men I have ever come across.”

Her smile played at the corners of her mouth, as she continued. “So you see, when you called me and were so charming on the telephone, I had only the image of that man to fall back on. And that was even a blurred image inasmuch as the moment I saw the look in the man’s eyes, I said, ‘How do you do,’ and left as quickly as possible, not to get involved and not to be rude to him since I am sure he was a nice enough person.” She stopped to catch her breath. “Actually, as you spoke to me all I really saw clearly was the banana-colored suit. But there was something about the way you spoke, something about your voice that made me unsure if you were that suit. Now, you will understand that when you greeted me a short time ago on the plane, I was quite bowled over to see you were more than five feet tall and that, when you looked at me, I realized you had the largest, most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. Don’t be embarrassed, I have calmed down now.”

They both started laughing again.

“But you said that you did remember me. From where?”

Isabel touched his arm. “Oh, look, Alexis! They are marvelous! I love camels!” She pointed out of the window at a herd of camels racing along next to the road. They were being herded — all fifty or more of them — by half a dozen drivers. The camels, their hooves beating with dull echoes from the density of the sand, their strange bleating sounds, and the Arabic curses coming from the drivers, high up in their saddles, bouncing along in the clouds of dust, raised quite a contrast to the shiny, sleek Rolls racing along beside them.

“Where are they going? They are so wonderful looking! I adore watching them race along,” Isabel cried.

“They will be driven through the heart of Cairo to the camel market.” He did not want to tell her that most of them would be sold to the slaughterhouse and be on someone’s table before dark.

“Have you ever been to a camel market?”

“Oh, yes, many times. I know a few Arab countries quite well, but this is my first time in Egypt.”

She was then distracted by a bicycle they were passing.
Two sheeps’ heads stared at her from a pole that had been lashed to the back of the bicycle seat. Blood still dripped from their severed necks. With their curly hair still on them she could hardly believe they were dead, except for the bright red blood dripping on either side of the rear wheel, leaving a spotted wavy trail along the black tar road as the bicycle zigzagged along. Pedaling the bicycle was a young man in a filthy galabia and brown cotton turban, wound sloppily around his head. Sitting along the crossbar was a younger boy in a wide, blue-and-white-striped, rough cotton galabia that was torn and mud-spattered. In front of the handlebars was another pole with two more heads hanging down. These heads had not been severed with clean cuts, and the jagged flesh moved back and forth all red and wet. Occasionally the boy on the crossbar would slap the mutilated flesh with his dirty, scabby bare foot.

Isabel felt quite queasy as they left the bicycle behind them. She turned towards Alexis.

“You look quite pale, Isabel. Come now, this is Egypt.” He touched her cheek. “They are coming in from the country to deliver to the butcher.”

“I know, but it is such a macabre sight, and I am a bit on the soppy side about animals, alive as well as dead. I live in England and you know how mad the English are about animals? Well, we Americans are even worse!”

“Oh, dear, you
are
upset.” He picked up her hand with the palm up, brought it up to his mouth and kissed it.

Isabel felt a tremor of excitement go through her and was slightly taken aback. As soon as it was possible without being too abrupt, she removed her hand from his with the pretence of having to find something in her handbag.

“You are very kind indeed to rise so early in the morning and meet me,” she stuttered. “I hope that my choosing this hour to arrive has not been inconvenient.”