PETRA.

19301933.

EIGHT.

Petra was lying flat on her back next to Jack on the gra.s.s beside the tennis court at Nile House. They had just finished a hard-fought game and were in a state of pleasant exhaustion.

"I don't think anyone else knows, apart from myself and Davina-and now you-but Darius is a very committed Egyptian nationalist," she said, shading her eyes from the sun.

"I doubt it." Jack swatted a fly away from his face. "Fawzia probably just told you he was in an attempt to impress you."

"How would her brother wanting to kick my father out of Egypt impress me? I think she was speaking the truth and I'm rather glad, as now I don't feel bad about not liking him."

"Are you sure you don't like him?" There was teasing amus.e.m.e.nt in Jack's voice. "Last year I thought you had a crush on him."

Beneath her tan Petra blushed and sat up so her back was toward him. "Last year I was fifteen and didn't know better."

"That's good. I don't like the thought of you mooning over Zubair Pasha's heir." Though there was still amus.e.m.e.nt in his voice there was also something else, something which caused her to blush even more furiously.

He rolled over to lie on his side, resting his weight on one arm, saying, "Do you think Zubair Pasha knows of Darius's political inclinations?"

"G.o.d, no! He'd skin him alive if he did." She hugged her knees. "Zubair Pasha is very pro-British. If he wasn't, my father wouldn't be such close friends with him." Her blush had safely receded and she turned toward Jack again. "As it is, Papa is almost as close to him as he is to your father."

"Which is why it's such a shame your father has meetings in Alexandria for nearly the entire length of our stay. They must both be bitterly disappointed, but it seems always that way. The last time we were here your father had to attend a meeting in Alexandria. I'm not sure, but I think my father caught up with him there for a few days. I had to stay in London for the Foreign Office exam."

"Is the Foreign Office the reason you're so interested in Darius's politics?"

He plucked a blade of gra.s.s. "No. It's just I've known Zubair Pasha's family for almost as long as you have and I've always liked Darius. I wouldn't like to see him end up in a British prison."

"Land's sakes!" The blood drained from her face. "Is that what could happen?"

It wasn't often she used any of her mother's Virginian expressions and despite the grimness of the subject, a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"If he's joining the violent extremists, yes. If he's merely a member of the Wafd, which is a pukka political party calling for full independence, then possibly not."

"He may be a member of Wafd. I don't know. All I'm certain of is that his father doesn't know of his opinions."

"And does your father?"

"Do you mean did I tell him what Fawzia told me? Of course I didn't. I'm not a sneak. Besides, if my father were to suspect how anti-British Darius is, he'd probably forbid me to see Fawzia."

Jack picked up his tennis racket and rose to his feet. "How is the lovely Fawzia? I'm surprised she didn't leave the Mere de Dieu and go to the lycee when you did. She's bright enough."

Petra stood up and brushed the gra.s.s from her tennis skirt. "She may be bright, but she's also lazy. For all her Western att.i.tudes, life in a harem would suit Fawzia down to the ground."

He chuckled. "You're wrong, Petra. Lying about eating chocolates would make her fat-and Fawzia would die rather than lose her figure. She would also hate to wear veils when out in public. Hiding her beauty is not something Fawzia would ever do."

Crossly Petra picked up her racket and began walking back to the house. Fawzia was beautiful, but Petra didn't much like hearing Jack say so. She looked across at him. In his white shirt and flannels, his curly hair slicked back, he was stunningly good-looking. Over the last year, since he had left Oxford, he had become a very sharp dresser. Like his father, he stood out in any crowd. She just didn't want him doing so with Fawzia at his side.

As they neared the terrace, Davina stepped through the French doors and shouted good-naturedly, "Come on, you two. Hurry up and get changed. You're going to be late for lunch and, as Papa is away and Uncle Jerome is here, we're eating Virginian fashion. Fried chicken and lemon pie."

Petra smiled. Her mother was always in an exceptionally good mood when Jack and his father visited. Later on they were all going to the Gezira Sporting Club where Jack had been invited to play polo.

"The Prince of Wales played polo at the Gezira when he visited Cairo in 1922," Delia said chattily to Jack as lunch was served. "It was before we came here, but it's still talked about."

She was wearing a new calf-length lemon silk dress. A heavy amber necklace hung to precisely the right depth of the softly draped neckline and her fiery-red hair had been tamed into a cap of fashionably sleek waves.

"That's only because one of the other players was Seifallah Youssri Pasha," Davina said, helping herself to green beans in a mustard sauce. For her uncle Jerome's benefit, she added, "Youssri Pasha was one of the club's first Egyptian members- and he still plays a mean game of polo. If you're Egyptian you have to be royalty or an intimate friend of royalty to be a member of the Gezira. Darius is only a member because his father is such a close confidant of the King. He'll be playing this afternoon."

"Interesting," Jack said, his eyes meeting Petra's across the table.

She knew what he was thinking. Why on earth was Darius playing polo at the Gezira, when the club epitomized the foreign domination he hated?

"And talkin' of the Prince of Wales," Delia said, bringing the conversation back in the direction she had initially been trying to steer it, "everyone in Cairo was mightily disappointed that he didn't play polo when he was here last spring on his way back to London after tourin' Kenya and Uganda. He just viewed some antiquities. Even Ivor didn't get a glimpse of him. What is the London gossip, Jerome? Has he really left Freda Dudley Ward? Gwen wrote me that he has eyes for no one but Lady Furness."

Petra was intrigued to see that Jerome looked distinctly uncomfortable. "For goodness' sake, Delia," he said in fond exasperation. "Do you really expect me to discuss such a subject in front of Petra and Davina?"

"It won't shock them. You forget they live in Cairo. They're quite used to scandal."

Davina and Petra both raised their eyebrows. Scandals were never discussed in front of them. The very thought would give their father a fit, but neither girl was about to say so. Not when the conversation was so interesting.

"Well, if you must have scandal over the lunch table, yes- Gwen is doing a good job of keeping you up-to-date."

"She may be keepin' me up-to-date, but she doesn't have access to as much inside gossip as you. Do King George and Queen Mary know of David's latest infatuation?"

"Who," Davina asked, "is David? I thought you were talking about the Prince of Wales."

"He's known as David to his family and friends, honey."

"And are you one of his friends?" Davina was clearly impressed.

Petra rolled her eyes, annoyed at having her mother sidetracked.

Delia, who never minded talking about the Prince, said breezily, "I was before I left England. We are about the same age and he likes Americans. Freda Dudley Ward's mother is American and I'm guessin' Thelma Furness is half American."

"Her father was U.S. consul in Buenos Aires," Jerome said. "Her mother is Irish American and her mother was Chilean and reportedly a descendant of Spain's royal house of Navarre. Which is why Thelma is p.r.o.nounced the Spanish way: Tel-ma."

Petra sighed. From her rare visits she knew how fascinated Virginians were with family trees. If she wasn't very careful the conversation was going to veer off onto Spanish royalty and she would be left no wiser about the Prince of Wales's current love life.

"The King and Queen, Uncle Jerome," she said, prompting him in a way she could never have if her father had been present. "Do Their Majesties know about Lady Furness?"

Jerome smiled. "The answer is that I don't think they do. Not yet. And now that you're sixteen, Petra, I think you're old enough to drop the honorary 'uncle' t.i.tle. If your mother agrees, of course."

He looked across at Delia whose eyes held his for so long, Petra actually thought she was going to object.

"Of course not," Delia's voice was filled with warmth. "So silly to use it when you are most definitely not her uncle."

"No, indeed."

Petra wasn't sure, but she thought her mother blushed. As this was patently ridiculous, she wondered if her mother had been wise to serve hot spicy chicken when the temperature was in the nineties.

"And what is the gossip about Margot?" Delia asked. "How is she coping with widowhood?"

"She spends most days at the House of Commons, in the Ladies' Gallery."

"And the Churchills?"

"I haven't seen Clemmie for a while. Winston is very hangdog. To be honest, I quite understand his depression. Unemployment is escalating-George Curzon's son-in-law, Oswald Mosley, was recently asked to solve the problem, but the cabinet has blocked every scheme he's put forward. I suspect that by the time I get back to London he will have resigned. In Germany, unemployment is even worse. Winston actually thinks it will bring that ruffian Hitler to power."

Petra stopped listening. London gossip about the Prince of Wales was riveting. London gossip about politics wasn't. Jerome, however, was a Liberal member of Parliament and politics was one of his favorite topics of conversation.

From the other side of the table Jack gave her a wink. It was a common joke between them that when her father wasn't there, the atmosphere often bordered on the risque.

"It's because Mama is an American," she had once said a little apologetically. "And not just an American, but a Virginian. She seems to think she can say whatever she pleases to whomsoever she pleases-and she's embarra.s.singly affectionate to the servants. Bellingham and Parkinson were always treated as members of the family-and she's no different with Adjo. He speaks to her as if she's an equal, not an employer, much to my father's fury."

"However free and easy she is, it works," Jack had said. "All the homes you've lived in have had the most welcoming atmosphere I've ever experienced. And there are never any staff problems. No one who's worked for your mother ever wants to leave her."

Petra was brought back to the present moment by her mother saying in a voice that brooked no argument: "I'm not surprised the Denbys are divorcing. He's an awful screw."

"Screw?" Davina said.

"Mean with money, pet. Never marry a man who is mean with his money, because he'll be mean with his affection as well." And deeming it an appropriate note on which to end lunch, Delia rose to her feet.

It was customary for everyone to retire to their rooms after the meal, to sleep until it was cooler.

Petra had far too much on her mind to rest. Staring up at her ceiling fan, she replayed the scene by the tennis court when Jack said he didn't like the idea of her mooning over Darius. Had he meant he would far prefer her to be mooning over him? And if he had, how did she feel about that?

Though everyone referred to Fawzia as being her closest friend, Jack was really her best friend and had been so for as long as she could remember. Could they ever become romantically involved? And would she even want to?

She thought of the way his hair curled at the nape of his neck, of his finely chiseled mouth and the slight cleft in his chin. She loved his perpetual good humor and the way he always made her laugh.

And then she thought of Darius.

She didn't like Darius, but he certainly had an effect on her. Just what the nature of that effect was, though, she couldn't decide. It certainly wasn't romantic in the way she envisioned romance. How could being intimidated be romantic? She thought of the narrow slanting eyes set above high cheekbones, of the intensity of his lean, dark face. Her mother had once said that Darius reminded her of Rudolph Valentino. There was the same panther-like grace about him, the same sense of barely controlled power.

She would much rather be with Jack than with Darius.

But it was Darius she couldn't get out of her head.

The Gezira Sporting Club had four polo grounds and Jack and Darius were to play on number one.

"Though on opposing sides," Petra heard Davina say to Jerome. "Jack will be playing on the visitors' team. They usually lose against the home teams."

"They may very well win today," Jerome said drily. "Jack is a barbarian on the polo field."

Davina giggled, but Petra didn't. She was sure that if any rider proved to be a barbarian it would be Darius and she didn't want to see Jack unhorsed.

The stands were crowded with Cairo's creme de la creme. Delia was in her element. "Don't you just wish you were goin' to play today?" she said to Jerome. "I know I do. The minute we have a women's polo team I'll be first on the field!"

Happy at having her girls at either side of her, she acknowledged a nod from the British high commissioner and then shot a dazzling smile in the direction of Zubair Pasha who, with Fawzia, was walking toward them.

"Seeing Jack and Darius on opposing teams is quite an event, isn't it?" Delia said as he and Fawzia seated themselves.

"It is indeed, Lady Conisborough." Zubair Pasha beamed broadly. "And making it even more special is that Fawzia is to present the winning trophy."

Petra leaned forward and looked at her friend who grinned, her self-satisfaction so evident she was positively purring. Petra smiled back, happy for her. No one loved being the center of attention more than Fawzia.

When the eight riders trotted onto the field Petra saw that Jack was a.s.signed the Number Two place on his team, a position that required a keen eye and high maneuverability. Darius was Number Three on the opposing team, a position always given to the best player.

"Since you were a member of a crack cavalry regiment, you must be an excellent player also," Zubair Pasha said to Jerome.

"I carry a nine-goal handicap."

Zubair Pasha was impressed. "Then I should like to see you play. Though not for the visitors," he added with a chuckle. "With Darius."

As one of the mounted umpires prepared to start the match by bowling the ball between the two teams, all chatter ceased.

Moments later Darius made a long powerful hit, feeding the ball to his Number Two and a roar of applause went up.

From then on, play continued at terrific speed. The visitors' Number Four player made a backhanded stroke, shooting the ball away from their goal and toward his own teammates. Despite Darius riding hard against him, Jack scored a goal.

Petra rose to her feet, cheering till she was hoa.r.s.e. Only when she sat down did she realize that Fawzia, too, had been on her feet.

"I think she has a crush on Jack," Davina said to Delia under the cover of applause. "Have you seen her expression? Her eyes are on him the entire time."

As one chukker followed another, with both Jack and Darius changing their exhausted ponies, Petra realized that Davina was right and that Fawzia was most certainly not rooting for her brother's team. Despite the presence of her father, she was rooting for Jack.

In the sixth and final chukker, with the home team ahead on goals, both sides played more and more aggressively.

"Land's sakes!" Delia said anxiously. "I hope Jack doesn't unseat Darius. Darius would never forgive him."

"They're both going to fall if they aren't careful," Jerome said tautly and then, barely before he'd finished speaking, Darius broke into a full gallop, bearing down on Jack who was in possession of the ball.

The crowd rose to its feet.

Jack tried to twist his pony away to avoid being hit, but was a split second too late. The impact was enormous. Both Jack and Darius were sent flying to the ground. Fawzia screamed. Umpires raced to the scene. Zubair Pasha and Jerome hurried from the stands.

"Oh G.o.d!" Delia said devoutly. "Oh dear G.o.d!" Her face was ashen.

As first-aiders ran to join the umpire and as the other players slid from their saddles, the air was filled with dread. Fatal polo accidents were not unknown and, as neither Jack nor Darius showed any signs of movement, everyone was gripped by the worst possible fear.

Fawzia had her hands to her mouth, but Petra remained motionless. In a moment of blinding clarity she knew that if Jack was dead, her life would have lost all meaning.