Palace Circle (34 page)

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 spacious 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-glass 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 assess 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 God, 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 mass 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 embassy, 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 circumstances 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.”

“That's true, but I don't think she minds. Marie Belloc Lowndes keeps her company. They have been friends forever and have similar worries.”

“Which are?” Ivor asked as his Rolls came into view.

“Family abroad. Margot's daughter is in Romania. Her husband was the Romanian ambassador in Paris until war broke out, and when he was recalled to Bucharest she went with him. Margot is terrified that she won't live long enough to see her again. As for Marie—all her family are in France.”

As the chauffeur opened the door Ivor said smoothly, “Fawzia is coming with us, and Petra and Sholto are following. Davina and Darius have an engagement.”

It wasn't true, but when Davina opened her mouth to protest, Darius squeezed her arm. That he had been tolerated in the family party to greet her mother was improvement enough.
If Lord Conisborough didn't want him intruding any further on the reunion that was okay with him. There would be other occasions when he would visit Nile House and possibly pick up other useful nuggets of information.

A few days later when he and Davina had tea with Petra at the Gezira Sporting Club, Petra brought Davina up-to-date with their mother's London gossip. “Delia thinks Winston Churchill will soon be stepping into Chamberlain's shoes,” she said, adding with a wry laugh, “Hitler will have to look to his laurels if he does. And Ivor's old friend, Sir John Simon, will probably be out. Winston thinks he is indecisive.”

“What about Uncle Jerome?” Davina asked as Darius continued to affect disinterest by watching the cricket match taking place nearby.

“Jerome?” A studiedly careless note entered Petra's voice. “Jerome still doesn't have a ministry of his own, but Chamberlain has kept him very busy ever since war was declared and, as his relations with Winston have always been good, no doubt if he becomes PM, Winston will keep him equally busy.”

Later he shared the news with Constantin, who said enviously, “You probably know more about what goes on behind the scenes in the British government than anyone else in Cairo, Darius.”

Having Fawzia back in Cairo was something of a mixed blessing.

“I don't trust this apparent abandonment of fierce anti-British feeling,” she said when he visited the family home—a home he hadn't lived in for years—to see her.

“I haven't abandoned it. I've just stopped giving noisy and futile expression to it.”

She was lying in a hammock slung from the lowest branch of the cedar tree. Her orange sundress revealed a great deal
of flawless olive skin and her fingernails and toenails were painted a searing scarlet.

“Father doesn't approve, either,” she said, sensing his disapproval, “but I'm a married woman now and I'm no longer answerable to him.”

“And where is Jack?” Darius asked. “Still in London?”

He was lying sprawled on the grass, a drink in his hand.

She laughed. “Would you believe me if I told you I don't know? London isn't Cairo. No one talks about where people are posted—that is, if they know. Most of the time they don't. It's the kind of security consciousness Cairo could use. I've heard rumors that the city is awash with spies. You aren't one of them, Darius, are you?”

The look he gave her was withering. “Hardly. What do I know of troop movements and troop numbers? What I am curious about is you. Why did you opt to come back to Cairo with Delia? I thought you were enjoying yourself in London.”

“I was when I first went. But that was when I was single. Once I married the fun faded because my going to parties without Jack wasn't the done thing—and though Jack's posting was London, he was always being sent abroad.”

She sat up, swinging long legs over the side of the hammock, her scarlet-painted toes touching the grass.

“And Jack is not as wealthy as I thought. I couldn't shop the way I had in Cairo—”

“When Father paid.”

“—and we didn't live in a grand house as I had imagined we would,” she said, ignoring his interruption. “We lived in a small flat in Knightsbridge that would fit twenty times over into this villa.”

“And court social life?” he prompted.

She pulled a face. “Court social life doesn't exist in England. King George and Queen Elizabeth are the most boring married couple you could ever hope to meet and, anyway, Jack
scarcely knows them. It will be different here. With a king as young as Farouk, the palace circle is bound to be glamorous.”

“It may be,” he said drily. “I wouldn't know. I haven't been inside Abdin Palace since I was in my teens. As far as I'm concerned, Farouk is as useless and corrupt as his father and his grandfather, but as he's only three generations out of Albania, what can you expect?”

Fawzia wasn't interested in King Farouk's heredity and didn't answer him. Instead, she said, “I've heard rumors that he's already unfaithful to Queen Farida. I wonder how generous he would be to a mistress? Do you think he would shower her with jewels?”

It was said carelessly, but Darius's eyes narrowed.

He knew discontent when he saw it. And he knew his sister.

“Stay away from Farouk,” he said bluntly. “He would be far more trouble than you can handle.”

Throughout February and March Allied troops continued to pour into the city. Everywhere one looked there were men in uniform: Englishmen, New Zealanders, South Africans, and Indians began to arrive. Cairo seemed to be drowning in khaki and Darius, like so many of his countrymen, gritted his teeth, appeared indifferent—and hated it.

“There are so many suede boots and swagger sticks in Shepheard's that it's nearly impossible to get a drink these days,” he said exasperatedly.

They were on his houseboat, the
Egyptian Queen.
Moored at the north end of Gezira Island it had been his home ever since he had moved out of his father's house.

Davina was lying in the crook of his arm, naked apart from a cream-colored silk slip. He was wearing a galabia made of expensive black cloth lavishly edged with gold braid. When on the houseboat, he always wore a galabia. Western clothes were for when he was making a public statement to the British and other Europeans.

As Davina slid her arm across his chest and he hugged her even closer, he thought about the British.

If they had been a thorn in the flesh before they had declared war on Germany, they were more so now. Though Egypt itself was not at war, the city had become a military base. The
Semiramis Hotel on the banks of the Nile had been turned into the military headquarters for British troops in Egypt and was known simply as BTE. A large block of luxury flats in Garden City had been commandeered as the General Headquarters Middle East and cordoned off with great rolls of barbed wire. Open-air cinemas had sprung up everywhere to entertain the troops. The brothels in the squalid El-Birkeh district were busy day and night and the British Tommy was noisily—and often drunkenly—making his presence felt.

Hating that presence, Darius avidly gleaned every bit of gossip he could to relay back to the Romanian legation. He wasn't sure where his nuggets went, but he was fairly sure he was helping the German war effort.

“And if Germany wins the war, it will be the best possible result for Egypt,” he had said unthinkingly to Davina.

She was so horrified that it had nearly ended their relationship.

“I want an independent Egypt as much as you do,” she said vehemently, “but helping Germany isn't the way to achieve it. Have you any
idea
of what the world would be like if Hitler won the war? It might end British presence, but they would just be replaced by Germans. Instead of British soldiers at Suez, there would be German soldiers. German propaganda telling Egyptians they'll give Egypt independence are blatant untruths. It isn't in Nazi Germany's nature to give any country its freedom.”