"Aunt Sylvia, how nice to see you!" she said, forcing warmth into her voice as Bellingham sent a footman upstairs to inform her mother.

Sylvia tilted her head to one side, regarding her with interest. "You're looking well," she said in her cracked-ice voice. "Being back in London obviously suits you."

Willowy as a woman twenty years her junior, she was wearing a dove-gray grosgrain suit, gray suede shoes, and a small hat with spotted veiling. A silver fox fur, complete with head, was casually draped over one shoulder. Her eyes were heavily mascaraed; her flawless skin was as pale as porcelain; her lips were a glossy j.a.ponica-red and her perfume was heady and sensual. Petra found the mix of restrained elegance of the suit-it could have been tailored only by Mainbocher or Chanel-and the blatant sensuality in the way that it was worn deeply disturbing.

Good manners necessitated that she entertain Sylvia until her mother came downstairs. As she led the way into the drawing room she said, "You must be looking forward to Jack's visit to London. I expect it's an age since you've seen him."

"Jack?" Sylvia's pencil-thin, beautifully arched eyebrows rose as if she were trying to place him. "Possibly," she said at last.

Not for the first time Petra wondered what on earth her mother found to talk about when in Sylvia's company-not, she reminded herself, that her mother often was in Sylvia's company. Though Jerome had come out to Cairo often, Sylvia had never done so. "The heat wouldn't suit her," Delia had said when Petra had asked why this was.

"Davina's begun doing voluntary work in a Cairo orphanage," Petra said, drumming up the only item of interest she could think of. "It's something she's always wanted to do."

"Voluntary work?" Without removing her silver fox, Sylvia seated herself on one of the room's many sofas. "But surely she's still at school?"

"She does it at weekends."

"How extraordinary." The expression on Sylvia's exquisite face was one of bafflement. "I'm surprised your father is allowing it."

"I don't think it was easy, but Davvy can be outstandingly persistent when she wants."

There was no answer.

Just as she was wondering what would engage Sylvia's interest, she saw her eyes had turned to the c.o.c.ktail cabinet.

"Would you like a drink, Aunt Sylvia?" Petra asked with a touch of her mother's breezy manner. "A martini? I've just learned how to mix them."

"Then I hope you've discovered that the secret is to mix them very dry."

Taking this to mean that the drink would be gratefully received, Petra crossed the room, glad of the diversion.

Sylvia rearranged her fur. "Is Delia going out this evening? I ask, as she isn't expecting me."

Petra was tempted to say that her mother was out every evening, but she said only: "I believe she's dining with Margot Asquith. How do you like your martini garnished, Aunt Sylvia? With an olive or a twist of lemon?"

"A twist."

The door opened and Delia entered the room, looking sensational in a halter-necked evening gown of turquoise slipper satin.

"Sylvia! How unexpected!"

"It is rather, but then so is my news."

Petra handed her the martini. Neither Sylvia nor her mother looked at her. It was as though she had become as invisible as a maid or a footman.

"Has something happened to Jerome?" Delia's voice was taut with fear. "To Jack?"

The last possibility froze Petra.

"No. Theo has just told me his father has terminal cancer. It's come as rather a shock. I hadn't antic.i.p.ated his succeeding to the dukedom quite so soon. However, now that he is to do so, I have made a decision." She paused, took a sip of her drink and said, "I thought you should be the first to know, Delia, that I'm going to divorce Jerome."

Petra gasped.

"You can't mean it," Delia said, sinking onto the sofa facing Sylvia.

"But I do." Sylvia looked completely unperturbed. "Theo has wanted me to marry him for eons. Until now I've never seen it as being in my best interest. I always thought Jerome would reach a position of great distinction in the government, even become prime minister, but now the Liberals are no longer in the majority, it won't happen. That being the case, rather than face a future as the wife of an MP who will never enjoy a t.i.tle any higher than that of a baronet, I prefer to seek a divorce and become a d.u.c.h.ess."

"The divorce-" Delia came to a halt and licked her lips.

Petra wasn't surprised. Her mouth, too, was dry with shock.

"The divorce ..." Delia said again. "Has Jerome agreed to it?"

"He doesn't know yet I want one. And in case I've given a different impression, I shall be the one doing the divorcing and I shall be doing so on the grounds of his adultery."

"Sylvia ... if you're intendin' to do what I think you are ... If you're intendin' to name names ..."

Sylvia cleared her throat and looked in Petra's direction.

Delia looked toward her, too.

"Please leave us, Petra," she said stiffly, as if she was having trouble moving her mouth. "And what Aunt Sylvia has said is private. You must not repeat it to anyone, d'you understand? Not even to Aunt Gwen."

Giddy with the enormity of what she had just heard, Petra nodded that she understood.

As she began to walk unsteadily from the room, Sylvia said, "Naming names won't be necessary, Delia. Jerome will simply book into a hotel with a blonde. The hotel register and a private detective will do the rest."

"It will ruin his reputation." Her mother sounded as though she was having difficulty breathing. "It will destroy his political career."

"Maybe so." Sylvia sounded bored. "But the alternative is for him to divorce me on the grounds of adultery, and if he did, I wouldn't admit to adultery with Theo. I'd admit to my affair with the lover who preceded him."

Petra reached the door and closed it behind her. As she leaned against it, trying to stop her legs from trembling, she heard her mother say with pa.s.sionate vehemence, "You cannot, cannot, ruin the career of such a distinguished man by dragging his name through the divorce court!"

Petra forced herself to move toward the stairs, wondering which of her friends' husbands her mother was referring to- and wondering why Sylvia had told her mother she was seeking a divorce from Jerome, before she had even told Jerome.

She walked into her bedroom, all thought of writing to Kate forgotten.

The person she wanted to write to was Jack. And she couldn't. The divorce was news that should only be given by his mother.

As Petra thought of Jack's reaction, the breath hurt in her throat. The next few weeks, weeks she'd been looking forward to for so long, were going to be very difficult, and not just for the people most closely involved.

She hugged herself, thinking of her own difficulty. It was one that was all too clear. With his parents' marriage in disarray, Jack wouldn't be in any mood to embark on a long-overdue love affair with her. And she, G.o.d help her, didn't want to embark on one with anyone else.

TEN.

Annabel's party was great fun-but Petra wasn't escorted to it by Jack, LEAVE POSTPONED his telegram read, SEE YOU IN JUNE.

It was a great disappointment, but fortunately Petra didn't have time to brood. Just as they had always planned, she, Annabel, and Boudicca were being presented at the same court. It was an evening court which made it seem more glamorous. As Ellie helped her to dress and her mother and Aunt Gwen stood by ready to help with the Prince of Wales feathers, she felt sorry for the debutantes who had been allotted an afternoon slot.

"Now remember, darling," her aunt said anxiously, "when you have been presented and before you back away from Their Majesties, your train must be securely draped over your arm. Otherwise you will trip over it-and why doing so is such a rarity I shall never know."

"And when Ellie has secured your headdress, do one last practice curtsey," said Delia. "A full curtsey in full fig is trickier than walkin' a tightrope blindfolded."

"Stop! Please! You're making me even more nervous than I already am. Ellie, you will make sure the feathers won't come loose, won't you? And what if they do?" she added in real panic to her mother. "Do I leave them where they fall? Do I pick them up?"

"You do nothing, honey. A gentleman-in-waiting will be only feet away from you and he'll sort out any disaster. And if there is a problem-say your train looks as if it's in danger of it tripping you up-he'll adjust it."

Her mother secured her headdress and Petra gave a sigh of immense satisfaction. Worn slightly to the left side, with the center plume of the three the highest, it made her feel like a queen.

Her gown was an absolute dream. Made of pearly-white chiffon over satin, short-sleeved and low-necked with white roses embroidered on the bodice and skirt, it looked like a cloud.

Once again she thought of Jack.

The purpose of coming-out, with the almost nonstop parties and b.a.l.l.s that accompanied it, was to meet as many eligible men as possible and make a suitable marriage-which meant marriage to someone rich and t.i.tled.

Boudicca's dream was to attract the attention of the Prince of Wales, but Petra was certain that by the end of the season Boo would be engaged to a lesser mortal.

Annabel was already engaged, so she didn't have to bother about husband-hunting.

And as she already knew very well whom she hoped to marry, Petra had no intention of husband-hunting, either.

"Your gloves," Aunt Gwen said, handing them to her as Delia fastened the pearl necklace she had worn for her own presentation around her daughter's neck.

"There!" Delia, resplendent in a tiara and dripping with diamonds and emeralds, stepped back to look. "You are stunning, darling. Absolutely the bee's knees."

"You look beautiful too, Mama," she said truthfully. "I just wish Papa and Davvy were here to see us."

"That they aren't you can blame on nasty Egyptian politics. Your father isn't the high commissioner but you would think he was, the way the prime minister relies on him. As for Davina, she couldn't possibly have traveled to England on her own and there was no one leavin' Cairo for England who could have chaperoned her. Even if there had, being here would have been no fun for her when she's too young to be invited to any of the b.a.l.l.s and parties."

Gwen traveled with them to Buckingham Palace. By the time they entered the Mall the stream of Rolls-Royces was seemingly endless and the road was crowded with sightseers who had come to watch the long line of cars and their occupants.

"It's like being in a zoo," Petra said as a woman carrying a toddler pressed so close to their car that the child was able to bang on the window.

"It will be like this all the time for whoever the Prince of Wales marries," her mother said, cheerily blowing a kiss in the direction of the baby.

"I think you're wrong about that," Gwen said. "The Prince always has outriders. And I have to say that I wish we had them, too. I find it unnerving hearing what the hoi polloi are saying about my gown and jewels."

As they ascended the palace's grand Carrera marble staircase, Petra saw Annabel and Boudicca ahead of her. At the top of the stairs they were shepherded into an anteroom filled with stiff gilt chairs. There were perhaps forty girls and Petra had no opportunity to speak with her friends. Under the stern eyes of the courtiers they lined up according to the importance of their father's t.i.tle and all she could do was give a small, excited wave.

After what seemed to be an age she heard the national anthem.

"That means the King and Queen are entering the Throne Room," said the girl next to her. "Any minute now the head of the queue will be going in."

After handing a presentation card to a footman each girl was escorted from the anteroom. Petra watched Annabel raise her hand to her headdress to check that it was secure. Boudicca was so nervous that she dropped her card and a gentleman-in-waiting had to retrieve it for her.

At last it was her turn. At the entrance to the Throne Room a gentleman-in-waiting spread out her train. Another handed her card to the lord chamberlain.

The room seemed vast. On both sides were tiers of seats, every one occupied. In front of her, on a dais beneath a scarlet canopy, were the King and Queen. A little to the left of the King was the Prince of Wales and a little farther distant, in glittering gowns and uniforms, were minor royals and other notables.

The lord chamberlain announced her name and seconds later she was in front of King George and Queen Mary. She made a full court curtsey, her knee bending until it almost touched the floor. Then, holding the position, she made a low bow and, most difficult of all, rose without losing her balance. Her relief when her second curtsey had been successfully executed must have shown on her face, for she was quite sure she saw a rare glimmer of amus.e.m.e.nt touch the corner of the King's mouth.

Afterward, in a room on a different floor, there was champagne and small hors d'oeuvres called Windsor pies, and she was at last able to grab a few words with Annabel and Boudicca.

"I wobbled," Annabel said, not sounding too upset about it. "I wobbled so badly my mother said my feathers were bobbing as if they were still on the ostrich."

"I didn't know Prince Edward would be present!" Boudicca was starry-eyed. "I was so busy looking at him I hardly noticed the King and Queen. Didn't he look absolutely spiffing in court dress? He's more handsome than any film star. Oh, I do hope he noticed me."

"I don't think he noticed anyone," Annabel said. "I thought he looked bored to tears."

Annabel's mother sailed up to them, resplendent in a diamond stomacher that rarely left the family vault. "Who are you talking about?" she demanded, having caught only the tail end of the conversation. "If you are talking about the lord chamberlain, of course he wasn't bored. Now say goodbye to Boudicca and Petra. We have an appointment with a photographer and are already late."

Reminded that they also had similar appointments, Boudicca and Petra bade each other a hasty goodbye.

As the family Rolls sped toward the Chelsea studio of London's most prestigious society photographer, Delia said with satisfaction, "What a day! And to think that I shall be doing all this again when Davina is presented."

Petra looked at her, startled. "Are you sure Davvy wants a season?" she asked, sounding a note of caution. "She doesn't like being the center of attention and she has no friends in London."

"Which is why she needs to be presented and have a London season." Davina making suitable friends was one subject Delia was firm about. "That way she'll make lots of suitable friends, which is what the whole exercise is about. A wide social circle will help her adjust to life back in England when your father is recalled."

"Recalled?" Petra stared at her mother. "Is that going to happen? I mean, is it going to happen soon?"

They were speeding along Chelsea Embankment, the Thames shimmering on their left-hand side like black silk.

Delia made an exasperated sound. "Well, of course it must happen soon, Petra. When your father went to Egypt as a British adviser, he went believin' he would be there for four or five years, six at the most. That was ten years ago. What has kept him there is the very troublesome political situation and the fact that he has such a good relationship with King Fuad. Your father is a great help to the present high commissioner and so your father's tenure just keeps being extended. But he's sixty-two and enough is enough. He intends to be back in London by the end of the year and if he isn't, I shall be. I've enjoyed seeing all my old friends and I don't intend remaining in exile any longer."

There was underlying steel in her voice and Petra sank back against the upholstery, stunned.

She had always known that her father's tenure in Egypt would eventually come to an end, but until now she'd never realized what it would mean to her. For the first time, she understood just how much her life would change.

Nile House would no longer be her home. And if she couldn't return to Nile House, how could she return at all? Where would she live?

She had always planned to return to Cairo at the end of the season. Most girls were engaged by then and she hoped to become engaged to Jack. As his diplomatic posting was in Lisbon, it hadn't occurred to her that she would be spending the obligatory year or eighteen months of their engagement anywhere else but in Egypt-with frequent visits on his part to Cairo. After that, her life would be wherever he was posted and she'd seen no reason why, with a few discreet words in high places, he shouldn't be sent to Cairo.

That was the ideal scenario. And even if it didn't come to fruition, she still had never imagined regarding anywhere other than Cairo as home.

"Does Davvy know you and Papa are leaving Cairo?" she asked as the Rolls came to a halt.

"I've no idea, but though she's managed to worm her way out of going to finishing school, there's no way she's going to worm her way out of havin' a London season. It's tactless of me to say so since Papa has always thought you were the headstrong one, but I rather think it will be Davina who will turn his hair white. Beneath her sweet and gentle demeanor Davina is very unconventional."

As her mother swept into the studio Petra didn't know whether to be pleased her mother thought her unlikely to ever cause her father grief, or miffed. In the end she was miffed. It made her sound so dull. And to be thought of as dull in comparison to her little sister was the living end. Deciding that her mother didn't know what she was talking about Petra prepared to have a photograph taken that would, with a bit of luck, find its way into Tatler and perhaps even into Vogue.

Dear Petra, What a boot having your picture in Tatler/ The high commissioner's wife has just come back from London and brought a copy with her to show us. Papa says Mama is sending him a copy of the photograph so that he can frame it and have it on his desk. I expect it's the Prince of Wales feathers that make you look so regal. What on earth happens to them if you have to cross Buckingham Palace courtyard in a gale?