Palace Circle (39 page)

Jerome immediately gave her a bear hug. Petra, he noted, was keeping her distance, though he also noted that her eyes followed Jerome wherever he went. Hard as he tried to read her expression, he couldn't. All he could assume was that she was aware of the nature of Jerome's relationship with her mother and wanted as little to do with him as possible.

The conversation between Jerome and Davina had become earnest. He heard the words “Shibden Hall” and “Andrew,” and tension churned his guts. He turned away, not wanting to be reminded of the devastation that would take place in his life on the day Davina adopted Andrew.

Leaving the party early, he arrived back at the
Egyptian Queen
not long after midnight to find Constantin seated on one of the deck's loungers.

“What's the matter?” he asked abruptly, not in the mood for a late-night chat. “I thought I'd told you I'd be at the Conisborough party this evening.”

“Did you? I'd forgotten. Still, if you're not in the mood for a drink I'll wander off.” He waited for Darius to dissuade him and then, as Darius remained silent, he heaved himself to his feet.
“Noapte buna,”
he said, wishing him good night in Romanian.

“‘Night,” Darius said, knowing he'd been inhospitably churlish.

By April Rommel was advancing on Egypt at such a pace that the British, fearful that the Egyptian army units stationed near the frontier would surrender, replaced them with Allied troops.

“And our generals acquiesced!” Anwar said explosively to
Darius. “If only Rommel had contacted us, agreeing to meet with one of our officers and sign the treaty, it would have been the perfect time to stage an uprising. As it is, there is still no word from Rommel. Why, Darius? Why?”

By May the war in the desert was being conducted on such a vast scale that the streets of Cairo were clogged with dispatch riders and trucks packed with equipment and men. The talk in the Long Bar at Shepheard's was that the Germans could be expected to arrive at the pyramids within the week.

Tobruk, a coastal town of great strategic value because of its deep harbor, had been encircled by Rommel. Darius didn't expect talk of anything else, but was wrong. The news Davina brought superseded even that of Tobruk, at least in the British community.

“My parents are divorcing,” she said, white-faced, as she stepped aboard the houseboat.

“Sit down,” he said. “I'll make coffee.”

Only when the coffee was made did he allow her to begin talking again.

“My father is going to marry Kate,” she said dazedly. “And the incredible thing is, my mother doesn't mind. She says that as Kate is thirty-nine and is desperate to have a baby, it's best they marry now before it's too late for her to have one.”

Davina passed a hand across her eyes. “I feel so odd, Darius. Knowing Kate was having an affair with my father was one thing. But I never dreamed my father would divorce my mother so that he and Kate could marry. He and my mother have always been so close. He tells her absolutely everything. And that is how my mother says it will stay. She says that they will always be each other's best friend.”

She took a sip of her coffee and added, “My mother seems
relieved
by the divorce. She says it is something that couldn't
have happened when my father was an adviser to King Fuad. A divorce then would have meant his immediate recall to London and the end of his career. Now, even if their social life suffers, I don't think either of them cares. And it probably
won't
because the war has changed everything. People think differently now.”

“Where will Kate and your father marry?” he asked, bemused.

“I don't know. In the Church of England, people who have been divorced can't have a church wedding. My mother is hoping—as it matters to Kate so much—that after a civil marriage ceremony they will be able to have a blessing on their marriage in the English cathedral.”

“If that's what your mother is hoping for, then I daresay it will be what your mother gets,” he said, aware that Davina was soon going to have to face the even more profound shock of learning her mother was in love with Sir Jerome Bazeljette.

“Who is going to be the one to move out of Nile House?” he asked, wondering how the three protagonists were going to survive the deluge of gossip.

“My father. He's already moved into a house here, on Gezira Island, close to the sporting club.”

She looked exhausted and he said abruptly, “Let's go to Fleurent for lunch. You can tell me about Petra's reaction to the news over a glass of wine.”

According to Davina, Petra hadn't revealed even a glimpse of what she was feeling. Instead she had affected great indifference. It wasn't a reaction shared by anyone else in the British community. Wherever he went, Darius heard about the Conisborough divorce and Lord Conisborough's intended remarriage. For any another couple it would have been social death. The Conisboroughs, however, rode out the storm with admirable
élan, thanks mainly to Delia, who behaved as if nothing very extraordinary was happening. She continued to give the best parties in Cairo at Nile House.

In order not to prejudice the proceedings, neither Ivor nor Kate was present at any of the parties, but even the most blinkered of Cairenes realized that if Delia could have had them there, she would have.

“Of course, she's
American,”
Darius often overheard in Shepheard's or Groppi's, but it was always said with admiration.

“She's sassy,” he once heard Lady Lampson say, using an American expression often used by Delia.

It had amused him. He'd wondered if Lady Lampson also regularly told her husband that the jig was up.

As the first shock waves died, conversation reverted to the continuing siege of Tobruk. The garrison there consisted of the Australian Ninth Division, under General Morshead, and British troops who had withdrawn there before the start of the siege.

“They make a total of twenty-five thousand men,” a brigadier said in Shepheard's Long Bar.

It was the kind of careless talk Constantin would have been euphoric to overhear.

Two days later the Free Officers received a coded message from Rommel. He was agreeable to meeting with one of them and would give consideration to the treaty. To guarantee the safety of the plane flying the officer over German lines, he requested the date and time of his flight.

Sadat called Darius, saying, “I'll be at the houseboat tonight at midnight, to transmit.”

Darius had a party to go to that evening—in Cairo there
were always parties to go to. He and Davina had been invited by Momo Marriott, wife of Brigadier Sir John Marriott. Momo had transformed the basement of her house into a lavish private nightclub and was nearly as popular a hostess as Delia.

Even though it would mean leaving the party early Darius didn't consider not going. All the usual crowd would be there, which would include Bruno Lautens. Darius knew that Lau-tens was smitten with Davina and that there was nothing he would like more than to be able to spend time with her when Darius wasn't around.

The moment they stepped into Chez Marie, the name Momo had given her nightclub, they were swallowed up in a glittering throng, for Momo went out of her way to play hostess to many European royals who had sought sanctuary in Egypt when their countries had been overrun by the Germans.

King Zog of Albania was dancing with his wife, Queen Geraldine. King Victor Emmanuel of Italy was also dancing, though not with his wife. Prince Wahid al-Din, Princess Shevekiar's son, was standing by the bar talking with Petra. Jacquetta, Lady Lampson, was laughing at something Sholto Monck was saying. Winston Churchill's son, Randolph, who was in Cairo as a press officer, was flirting with Momo.

There were a score of glamorous fishing-fleet girls; an entire contingent of British officers on leave from the front; a rowdy bunch of New Zealanders, also on leave, and an even rowdier bunch of Australians. The singer Momo had purloined from the Scarabee Club was singing Johnny Mercer's “Jeepers Creepers” and Archie Somerset was doing an energetic quickstep with Boo Pytchley.

“Squeeze through the crush and get a couple of glasses of champagne!” Davina shouted to him over the music. “I'll wait for you here!”

He launched himself into the fray and as he did so Princess
Shevekiar accidentally bumped into him. She was elderly and he immediately steadied her.

“Thank you so much,” she said regally, not seeming to recognize him. Then, looking in the direction where he had left Davina, she said, “Lady Russell Pasha has just pointed out to me what a wonderful match Bruno Lautens would be for Davina Conisborough. He's a widower with a seven-year-old son, did you know that? His little boy would make a perfect stepbrother for the child Davina is going to adopt.”

Darius swung around. Several couples now separated him from Davina, but she was no longer standing alone. Lautens was with her. Seeing them together it was as if he had been transported in time to the future; a future where the war was over and he was part of the government of an independent Egypt. A future where Andrew Sinclair was Davina's son. A future where she and Lautens were married and Darius, as Egypt's minister of justice, was doomed to seeing them together at every social occasion he attended.

As passionately as he loved his country, he knew in a moment of blinding revelation that high office would never compensate for losing Davina. She was as essential to him as breathing. So what if her father was English? And what if her adopted child was Scottish? It was something the Free Officers Movement would simply have to accept.

And if they didn't?

If they didn't, he would still have Davina and as long as he still had Davina then his life would be worth living.

As the singer began singing “All the Things You Are,” he understood for the first time why King Edward VIII had renounced his throne rather than give up Mrs. Simpson.

Darius weaved a way through the dancers to Davina. He saw Lautens turn toward him and ignored him.

Davina smiled. It was the smile that had entranced him
when she had been little more than a child. It was the smile that would entrance him as long as he lived.

He took her hands and held them tightly in his. He knew that if Petra asked him now if he intended marrying Davina, the answer would be “of course.” Any alternative to the two of them being together was totally unthinkable.

1941

Jack's satisfaction when his commanding officer told him he was to be transferred to Cairo was so deep it was all he could do to keep from punching the air.

“You'll still be part of Security Intelligence Middle East, but you'll liaise with Cairo's Special Investigation Branch.”

The officer shuffled papers into a file.

“All the usual rules apply. You can wear civvies or the uniform of any other rank below your own as the situation necessitates. And the situation, I may tell you, is grim. Someone in Cairo is passing classified information to the enemy. Your task is to hunt him out before Rommel is on the terrace at Shepheard's ordering a beer.”

The officer leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers.

“I see from your file that your wife is Egyptian and is living in Cairo.” He frowned slightly. “It's a situation that could prove good cover for intelligence work, but I think I'd keep it under my hat. And there are no married quarters. Army wives, apart from those of brigadiers and generals, have been evacuated. Not many went willingly and so you can see the bad feeling that would arise if you were to move in with your wife.”

Jack nodded. The minute he'd heard of his transfer his thoughts had flown to Fawzia and the difficulties his work
would cause them. Not being able to live together would ease those difficulties immeasurably.

He flew from Jerusalem to Cairo crammed uncomfortably in a Wellington bomber, realizing to his shame that his thoughts were centered not on Fawzia but on Petra.

The last time he had seen her was when he visited Cairo after his marriage. She'd spent as little time as possible in his company, and when she'd been in his company she hadn't wanted to talk to him. She hadn't even seemed to be the same woman. She had been so tense, so buttoned-up that it was as if she were going to explode at any moment. Only one thing had been clear. If she had ever been in love with him, she no longer was. Their affair was over. And to make sure he had got the message she had married that long shallow streak of facile charm, Sholto Monck.

Monck, he knew, was still in Cairo and because of his position at the embassy, he was someone Jack was going to have to rub along with. It wasn't something he looked forward to.

As the Wellington set down at an airstrip near Hilmiya Camp he put aside all thoughts of Petra, allowing the pleasure of returning to Cairo to flood through him. Without doubt, Cairo remained his favorite city in all the world.

Stepping onto the tarmac and breathing in the familiar hot, spicy air, he suddenly relaxed. After eighteen months he was about to be reunited with his wife, and though his marriage had always been far shakier than he had ever admitted, it was a union he was determined to make work.