It was not a new impression.

As their mother approached, radiant in a mauve gown shimmering with crystal beads, Davina had a sense of deep foreboding. Perhaps her mother was right to be apprehensive. Perhaps there was far more to Petra's breakup with Jack than Davina had realized.

Delia touched Petra's elbow in order to gain her attention. Petra turned and flashed their mother a wide smile. As her mother spoke, Petra's smile vanished.

The blood drained from her face.

The gla.s.s of champagne in her hand fell, spraying her gown and splintering into shards on the floor.

Sholto, who had been at the far side of the room chatting with a young diplomat from the Argentine legation, excused himself and began making his way to her.

Davina crossed the room toward her and as she did so, Petra turned on her heel and ran out.

It was an exit that Davina knew would be the talk of Cairo for weeks to come.

It was quite obvious that her mother was also well aware of this. She was saying loudly, "Poor gal. News of the death of a dear friend in London. I'm afraid I chose a bad moment to break the news."

Sholto, deceived, said merely, "Then she probably wants to be alone for a while," and made his way unhurriedly back to the Argentinean diplomat.

Her mother said softly, "Please don't go after Petra, Davina. Sholto is right. She'll want to be by herself for a while."

Because Davina always trusted her mother's judgment she did as Delia asked, but it was hard-and it was even harder realizing that her mother knew something about Jack and Petra's breakup that she didn't.

Next morning, straight after breakfast, she left Nile House for Petra's villa.

Petra was sitting on the terrace, an untouched breakfast on a cane table before her. She was still in her dressing gown, her hair unbrushed.

"Don't ask, Davvy," she said wearily before Davina even spoke to her. "It was a bad time of the month. The news was unexpected and I reacted to it badly. The coffee is still hot. Why don't you have a cup and tell me what you are wearing to Farouk's wedding?"

As Petra so obviously didn't want to confide in her, Davina reluctantly went along with the abrupt change of subject; but she hated knowing there were secrets between them and desperately hoped that Petra would eventually open her heart to her.

She didn't do so.

Petra never spoke about her reaction to the news of Jack's wedding, but that summer, when Jack and Fawzia came to visit Fawzia's family, she acted as if she was happy for the two of them. Jack seemed completely at ease. The only person who behaved with slight reservation was Sholto.

"And that's probably because he's jealous," her father said when Davina mentioned it. "Jack's been moved into MI6. With war on the horizon, I rather think Sholto fancies himself as an intelligence officer and doesn't like the fact that Jack has pipped him to it."

Her father's prediction that war was imminent proved correct. On September 3, 1939, Prime Minister Chamberlain announced in the House of Commons that, as from noon that day, Britain was at war with Germany.

"And Egypt?" Ivor said grimly. "Who will Egypt support? Germany? Or us?"

Part Four.

DARIUS.

19401941.

TWENTY.

Darius preferred the Groppi's nearer to the Opera House. He liked its garden better than the more famous one on Soliman Pasha Square. It was small and intimate and much less crowded. Here, white jasmine and purple bougainvillea climbed the trellised walls and provided a feeling of secluded intimacy. He was early for his meeting, but he didn't mind. He had a lot to ponder and couldn't think of a better way of doing it than over thick Turkish coffee and pastries drizzled with rose water and honey.

The Egyptian government was outwardly complying with the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of Friendship and Alliance. Martial law had been established. Known n.a.z.is in the city-and there were a lot-had been interned in the Italian School in Alexandria. The railways and aerodromes had been put at Britain's disposal. To all intents and purposes Egypt was supporting Britain, but the government had not declared war on Germany. And it would not, Darius thought grimly.

He wondered if Sir Miles Lampson, no longer a high commissioner but, since the signing of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty, an amba.s.sador, was taken in by the dutiful actions of Ali Matter, the prime minister. Darius doubted it. Lampson was too smart. And Germany was well aware that Egypt would give no real help to a country it wished so heartily to be rid of.

He ordered another coffee and wondered what would happen to the mighty British Empire when she lost the war. She would no longer be an imperial power-and that would end the British presence in Egypt. It was reason enough for not wanting to see Britain emerge victorious. Someone else who didn't want to see Britain emerge victorious was a Romanian he had become friendly with. Constantin Antonescu was a diplomat at the Romanian legation, and it was Constantin he had arranged to meet.

At a nearby table an elderly businessman in a tarboosh and Savile Row suit was sharing what Darius judged to be a few stolen moments with a beautiful girl young enough to be his granddaughter. At a farther table two Egyptian matriarchs were making great inroads into cream-filled cakes piled high on a gla.s.s cake stand. No one was paying any attention to him.

He looked at his watch, not because Constantin was late- he wasn't-but to envisage where Davina would be and what she would be doing. It was nearly five o'clock and as it was a Wednesday, he knew she would be at the Old War Horse Memorial Hospital, putting her skills as a nurse to veterinary use.

A shadow fell across the table. "I see we have the garden more or less to ourselves," Constantin said as the two matriarchs heaved themselves to their feet, leaving an empty cake stand behind them. He glanced over toward the businessman and his companion, adding, "I think we had better wait until we are completely alone before I tell you my plans. If they are successful, Germany will win the war."

That evening he and Davina went to the Continental Hotel for dinner. Opposite Ezbekiya Gardens, the Continental boasted a rooftop restaurant with a small dance floor that they were particularly fond of.

As they walked through the crowded public rooms they pa.s.sed the entrance to the bar and spotted Sholto at the center of a noisy group of people. He shot Davina a quick glance to see if she had noticed him. Seeing the way she was avoiding eye contact, he guessed that she had.

"You don't like him, do you?" Darius said matter-of-factly as they took the caged lift to the restaurant.

"No. Not much. He's not making Petra very happy."

"Because of his drinking?" he asked when they were seated. "Or because of his gambling?"

"I don't think she likes the fact that he spends more time propping up the bar here or at Shepheard's than he does with her, but his drinking is something Petra would take in her stride if everything else was all right."

Davina didn't say anything about the gambling, but there was a frown on her face and Darius knew she was deciding whether to divulge something Petra would rather he didn't know.

At last, toying with her champagne gla.s.s, she said, "Sholto's background isn't all he's claimed. His having lied about it has shaken her trust in him."

"And in this background was there another woman?"

"No. s.e.x doesn't come into it at all."

She looked across to the small band. They were playing Cole Porter's "Night and Day" but no one was dancing. It was too early.

Darius didn't say anything, just looked at her.

Her fair hair was held away from her face with ivory combs and fell satin-smooth to her shoulders. Her evening dress was the same shimmering color as her eyes. Her fingernails were painted silver and instead of her mouth being a fashionable crimson red, her lipstick was a pale rosy pink. He thought she looked like an ancient Egyptian moon G.o.ddess and it was a look that aroused him far more than Petra's obvious glamour, or the hard sophistication of the fishing fleet.

Still looking toward the band, she said, "Sholto lied to Petra-and to everyone else-about being Anglo-Irish. He's simply Irish."

"And there's a difference?"

"There is where cla.s.s is concerned. The Anglo-Irish are the landed elite."

"And so an Anglo-Irish son-in-law would have been acceptable to your father while a merely Irish one wouldn't have been?"

She nodded.

"Then it's quite obvious why he practiced a little deceit."

"But not why he lied to Petra." Davina took a sip of champagne and finally looked away from the dance band and toward him. "It's also a question of money. Sholto always gave the impression that he had family money and that he would inherit considerably more, but in reality there isn't any family to speak of and there isn't any money, though he behaves as if there were. Petra's terrified of what will happen when his bluff is called."

"Your father will sh.o.r.e him up," Darius said, rising to his feet and leading her out onto the still-empty dance floor. "And I'm not surprised Petra is terrified. At the thought of breaking such news to your father, I'd be terrified too."

After that conversation Darius found himself watching Sholto Monck more closely. And on Constantin's advice, he began to play down his fierce anti-Britishness.

"You have social access to people very few Egyptians have," said Constantin. "It is something that could be very useful to your fellow nationalists. Think of it, Darius. In the home of a man such as Lord Conisborough you will be at the heart of the British government in Cairo!"

Darius had seen the sense of the advice. Within a few months he had managed to once again be on social terms with Davina's father. Constantin's belief that Nile House was virtually the center of British government in Cairo had, though, proved optimistic.

Although for many years Lord Conisborough had enjoyed the confidence of King Fuad, primarily as his adviser, his position had become defunct when Farouk became king. The sheer length of time he had known Farouk-which was for most of Farouk's boyhood-ensured that he was still welcome at Abdin Palace, but the days when Farouk could be influenced by a man who had been his father's friend were long gone. Darius knew this from his own father, whose role at the palace had also come to an end.

"The problem is that the King is too young for his position," his father had said on one of the rare occasions when they had spoken on almost friendly terms. "He thinks more about his cars than he does about politics. Getting him to take the present situation seriously is almost impossible."

Now in his late sixties, Ivor Conisborough had not been recalled to London and no longer held any high official position. He had not, though, chosen to return to England.

"He's been in Cairo for so long that he can't bear the thought of acclimatizing himself to London," Davina had explained. "Most of his friends there are dead and when the prime minister let him know that there would be no wartime post for him he decided against returning. At least here, in Cairo, his long experience in Egyptian affairs makes him very useful to Sir Miles Lampson."

Darius also knew that Davina's father would not have found it as easy to continue his relationship with Kate Gunn in London as it was for him to do so in Cairo.

His visits to Nile House usually took place only when he knew Ivor Conisborough was elsewhere and even then he always parked his distinctive Mercedes discreetly, a little way from the house.

On one such visit Davina was upstairs getting ready for an evening at the Gezira Sporting Club and he was enjoying a large gin and tonic in the drawing room. The s.p.a.cious room faced the lawns and though the French windows were open, he didn't hear Ivor's Rolls sweep up the front drive. The first he knew Ivor was home was his unmistakable cut-gla.s.s voice as he strolled around to the terrace.

Darius sighed in irritation, knowing exactly how unwelcome his presence was going to be. He sat down on the sofa and, one knee carelessly over the other, pretended to enjoy his drink.

Instead of entering the house, Ivor and his companion sat down in fantail chairs on the terrace.

"It's a shame you are on such a tight schedule," Ivor said. "Petra and Davina would have loved to spend a little time with you."

"I'll do my best to lunch with them at least once," replied his companion and Darius tensed in shock.

The voice was Jerome Bazeljette's.

"So your brief is to a.s.sess Cairo's civilian wartime readiness, is it?" Ivor continued. "Trust Chamberlain to be fussing about something unimportant."

Jerome laughed in agreement and then said, "Important or not, I was glad of the opportunity to see you. We have a problem, you and I, and it needs to be dealt with."

He heard Ivor give a long, heavy sigh, as if well aware of what the problem was.

"You cannot allow Delia to remain on her own in London. The city is certain to be bombed," Jerome said bluntly. "Either you must return to London or, while there is still time, Delia must join you here. Winston is first lord of the admiralty again. There'd be no problem about her leaving England."

"And is the problem that she doesn't want to come?"

Darius could sense Bazeljette's annoyance when Ivor did not even mention the possibility of returning to London.

"Of course she doesn't want to come! Good G.o.d, Ivor! If she comes we'll be separated for as long as this show lasts- and unlike the optimists in the cabinet, I think it's going to go on a devil of a long time. I want to be separated from Delia as little as she wants to be separated from me. But I want her to be safe-and Cairo isn't likely to be bombed."

"It could fall into enemy hands. Ethiopia is part of the Italian empire. Italians are also to the west of us in Libya. There's bound to be a buildup of German troops in both countries."

"Italy isn't as yet at war with us-and even if she were, any fighting would be hundreds of miles away, in the desert. Any real danger to Cairo and there would be a ma.s.s evacuation of British women and children to Palestine."

Darius's head reeled: not at the speculation as to Cairo's safety as opposed to London's, but at the way the two men were talking about Delia Conisborough.

Ever since their trip together to Old Cairo Darius had maintained a definite friendship with Davina's mother. It wasn't something he had discussed with Davina, but he knew she was aware not only that he liked her mother but that Delia was more than a little simpatico where Egyptian nationalism was concerned.

Now he wondered how long Delia had been Sir Jerome Bazeljette's mistress. And how long had Ivor Conisborough known? Did Petra and Davina know? Did Jack know of his father's affair?

He hadn't seen Jack in years, but they had once been very good friends.

"I need your help in persuading her to leave London," Jerome was saying. "She takes great notice of your opinion and if you emphasized that she was needed here, it would probably do the trick."

There was a short silence and then Ivor said gravely, "Yes. You're right, Jerome. London is no place for Delia if the Germans start bombing. She must come here. Leave it with me. I'll make sure she does so."

Darius heard Jerome give a sigh of relief and knew it was time for him to make an exit.

As quietly as possible he eased himself off the sofa and then, as he heard Ivor say, "I think you'd better have a snifter before you hare off to the emba.s.sy, Jerome," he walked quietly from the room.

Just as he reached the stairs Davina came down them. He put a finger to his lips.

"Your father is on the terrace with a guest," he mouthed, purposely not telling her who the guest was. "Let's leave quietly and PDQ."

She nodded and, slipping her hand into his, allowed him to hurry her toward the front door.

A month later, two weeks after Jerome had returned to London, Delia arrived in Cairo. But she did not arrive alone.

"Good gracious! Fawzia is with her!" Davina exclaimed to Darius as the train from Alexandria steamed into the station and she saw the two figures leaning from an open window.

Lord Conisborough, Petra, and Sholto were also there to welcome them. Darius was so curious to see the way Ivor Conisborough greeted his wife that he barely noticed his own sister.

"Sorry you had to slum it on a troop train, sweetheart," he heard Ivor say as Delia kissed him on the cheek while scores of soldiers streamed past them. "Under the circ.u.mstances I expect your journey was ghastly."

He couldn't hear Delia's response as Fawzia flung herself into his arms with a quite unexpected display of sisterly affection. He responded in kind, wondering if marriage had made Fawzia forget that they rarely had time for each other.

As he released his hold of her he saw the expression on Petra's face. It changed swiftly to one of delighted welcome when Fawzia turned toward her, but he knew that Petra was more appalled than pleased by his sister's return as Mrs. Jack Bazeljette.

"Isn't this grand?" Delia said as, hemmed in by Tommies, they made their way down the platform. "So nice to know you are doing well in your new law practice, Darius," she said, referring to his growing professional reputation and flashing him her wide, beguiling smile.

"And what news of friends in London?" Ivor asked, returning her attention to himself. "How is Margot Asquith? When Jerome was here he said she now went out very rarely."