Three Rivers (5 page)

Alexander Gordon-Spencer turned out to be far from an errand boy. He was, in fact, the managing director of one of the Hyatt companies, whose offices were the handsome seventeenth-century house on South Audley Street, just a few doors away from the Egyptian Embassy.

While Endo served drinks Mr. Gordon-Spencer gave Isabel a few more slivers of information: A car would pick her up at eleven on Sunday evening; there would be two other people on the plane; on arrival in Cairo there would be someone to take her from the plane to Sir Alexis’s villa. She sent Endo for her passport, asked when she could have it back and was told on her arrival back in London.

Isabel was not happy. She had lived in Arab countries
on and off for years and had made many a scene in order not to let that passport out of her sight for longer than ten minutes. Once in Ethiopia they had held it for four hours, and she almost had apoplexy, for how could she call for the Marines to get her out if she did not have her precious American passport, an instant exit visa from any and all trouble? Never mind that the slim little book contained a photograph of her looking more like a resident of a prison than an honest citizen, and that the official stamp of approval from the State Department had managed to land the eagle on her face, so that she not only looked like a prisoner but a Mongoloid as well. With her passport Isabel felt protected; without it, utterly alone. Except, of course, in England, where one
never
feels the need to be protected.

Isabel and Mr. Gordon-Spencer had been talking about Egypt when Endo returned with the passport and gave it to Isabel. She hesitated, and was about to demand that she have her passport returned to her as soon as she landed in Cairo, when Mr. Gordon-Spencer went over to Isabel, took her hand, raised it to his lips and said, “Miss Wells, you must not worry. Your passport will be safe. I am to see that you are
both
well cared for. You are, after all, under the protection of Sir Alexis.”

Isabel still wanted to say something about the return of the passport, but somehow did not feel anxious once Mr. Gordon-Spencer had put it in his inside jacket pocket.

It was only after Endo had seen Mr. Gordon-Spencer out that Isabel began to wonder if there had not been a twinkle in his eye, and a knowing twinkle at that, when he said that Isabel was under the protection of Sir Alexis. Again it crossed her mind that Sir Alexis wanted an affair. Then she checked herself, remembering Ava’s words, and Sir Alexis’s very businesslike manner on the telephone. God, how she hated Ava for being so realistic.

II

When Isabel drew the draperies open in her bedroom on Saturday morning it was raining. A nasty cold October wind drove the rain down, sometimes in heavy sheets that in their turn were dashed away by more gusts of wind. There was no letup in the rain all day, and by late afternoon a thick wet fog had settled in as well. It was the same on Sunday, and one could feel the gray, cold wetness of it right through to one’s bones.

Isabel loved it. It was the perfect excuse to stay tucked in the house with the animals, and the fires going. She worked a bit on
Ashanti Sun
, packed her cases and played with Rita, Winston and Arthur. She read the Sunday papers and did some cooking for Sunday lunch: roast beef (sublime), Yorkshire pudding (a flop and into the rubbish), baked apples filled with nuts and cinnamon (sheer ambrosia). Endo arrived on the scene and, horrified by the mess of his kitchen, took over and made the salad. Isabel sat in a rocking chair watching him and waiting for the phone to ring telling her the plane had been canceled and the job was off.

She was completely relaxed and ready to go, but for some reason she had a feeling that something would happen, and it was not going to come off. She had heard nothing more from Sir Alexis. The only call she’d had was from Cecil, wishing her a good trip. She’d broken down and asked Cecil if he was sure Sir Alexis was reliable — he had her passport. Cecil’s annoyance cut through, followed by a brief lecture on the “chance of a lifetime.”

By nine that evening the rain was still pelting down, but it did seem that the fog had lifted, for she could see through the tops of the trees in Berkeley Square. No one had called to cancel the flight, so she went up to her room, bathed and changed into her traveling clothes.

She went into the kitchen to tell Endo that he could
close the cases and bring them down, then into the drawing room where she stood close to the window looking at the rain. The garden seemed to be absolutely waterlogged. Her dress, in a white thin wool, with its rare white jade discs that buttoned down the front, dolman sleeves and a built-in elastic waist, fell smoothly across her hips, but was full in the skirt; it was an easy dress for traveling. She wore no stockings and high-heeled white sandals. She had planned to look perfect when she stepped off the plane in Cairo, but there was all this water to get through first ….

Well, never mind, she knew that an umbrella would cover her as she was whisked into a car and then into the plane, but all she could do was hope for the best about her lovely shoes. What was most important was to be dressed as well and as lightly as possible, in preparation for when she stepped out of the plane and the heat of Egypt hit her. She had learned long ago to dress for her destination when traveling from a cold climate to a hot one. Now at least she would not wilt away in London clothes as she tried to get through the landing, customs, and getting unpacked syndrome.

She went over to the fireplace and put another log on the fire. Standing there watching the flames she became sad. How she hated having to leave her animals and “Meredith Montague” behind, not to mention Max. She was more than a little upset because she had heard nothing from Max since Friday, and he
knew
that she was going away on a job. There was something wrong there, but she put the thought from her mind out of fear of losing what she did have with Max by wanting something more. Sometimes free love does backfire; she wistfully sighed.

Isabel had picked up the poker and was rearranging the logs in order to gain more heat when the doorbell rang. The dogs raised their heads just a little to see who came into the room. When they saw it was Endo, they went back to their dozing. He told Isabel that the car had arrived and someone was on his way up. She picked up her white alligator shoulder bag and made no fuss whatsoever about saying good-bye to the dogs, because she could not bear to. Quickly she left the drawing room, closing the door as gently as possible. It was too late: Just as the door was about to shut she could see them bounding towards her. Endo told them to be quiet in a firm
voice, and much to Isabel’s surprise they were. Then, going to the chair in the hall, she picked up her raincoat, which she threw around her shoulders. She would take it off once she was settled in the car, and give it to Endo to return to the house. She turned around, and much to her surprise, standing in the hall was Alexander Gordon-Spencer.

“I had no idea you were coming to take me to the airport — or are you?” Isabel smiled.

Kissing her hand, he said, “No, I’m
not
going to take you to the plane. I’m going to take you to Cairo.” With that he turned to a Sudanese servant who had come in with him and gave instructions for Isabel’s cases to be put in the car.

“I did not realize that you were coming to Cairo when you were here on Friday evening.”

“The truth is,” he said, “I did not know that I was going when I was here on Friday.”

“But surely you are not making this trip just to accompany me? I assure you, I am quite capable of getting there on my own.”

“Now, Miss Wells, I have no doubt that you are most capable in all that you do, but as it happens Sir Alexis has two other guests going on the same flight, and when I spoke to him this afternoon, he thought it might be more hospitable for me to accompany the three of you. I do think we should go now.”

He took Isabel — who was feeling quite foolish — by the elbow, and they went down to the car. Isabel had a few words with Endo as the three of them went down the winding staircase.

The rain had not let up, and although it was only a few steps to the car, Isabel looked with dismay at the water she would have to prance through in her nearly bare feet. She braved it with Endo holding a large umbrella over her head, and dashed into the waiting dark blue Mercedes 600. Settling in, she removed the raincoat and handed it to Endo, who had been waiting by the open car door under the umbrella.

Endo said good-bye and gave Isabel a small bow, something he never did unless he was trying to impress someone. Isabel picked up his cue and said, in perfect Japanese, “Good-bye. Take care of the house, and most of all, the animals.” He closed the door with his head
slightly bowed and stood waiting in the rain until the car was out of sight before he went into the house.

There was only the chauffeur in the front and Mr. Gordon-Spencer in the back seat, next to Isabel. She wondered what had happened to the Sudanese servant, and where the other guests were; why did this Gordon-Spencer call
her
a guest — she was, after all, an employee — and where was her passport? Her feet were cold, and as she fought off the impulse to rub them, she wondered why she was not more anxious, which was usually the case with Isabel.

As the extra-long, dark Mercedes shot through the shiny wet streets of Mayfair, she and Alexander, on first-name terms at last, spoke about London, her ability to speak Japanese (so he
was
impressed; clever Endo) and his knowledge of Arabic. In spite of their trivial conversation, there was something nice about Alexander. She felt he was holding something back, but then so was she. Why were they both so cautious? He was kindness itself and certainly doing all he could to make her comfortable, but of course he was under instructions from Sir Alexis to do just that. She wondered if he knew that she was going there as an employee. If he did, he never mentioned the matter. All she knew was that she was feeling well cared for and she settled even deeper into the royal blue velvet cushions as the car sped on.

Isabel noticed that the rain had let up considerably, and by the time they drove around to the back of Terminal 3 at Heathrow Airport, the rain had stopped. The car pulled up at a pair of high, open, wire-mesh gates set into a fence that ran to the left and right as far as Isabel could see. The chauffeur sounded the horn. Two guards came forward, flashed a light at the license plate and opened the gate. Then one of the guards spoke to the driver, took a pass from him and came to the rear of the car. Alexander pushed a button and the rear window went down. He spoke to the guard, and it was quite evident that they knew one another. The guard tipped his hat and wished Alexander and Isabel a good flight. He went back to his partner and they pushed the two large gates wide open. The car sped through, passing a few cars parked in a vast empty space, headed onto the tarmac of the airfield and pulled up at a flight of stairs leading up to the open entrance door of Sir Alexis Hyatt’s jetliner.

Isabel looked up at the huge aircraft. All the lights in the plane were on. It looked like some great prehistoric bird that had been grounded. It was painted white and glistened with rain, looking altogether mysterious and beautiful as it stood on the slick, wet tarmac against the black of the night.

Alexander turned to Isabel and asked her to wait in the car for a few minutes. He opened the door and went up the stairs to the airplane. Isabel noticed that there was still a fairly heavy wind, but no rain. She could see into Terminal 3, all ablaze with light, and thought of the many times she had been stuck in that dismal place. So why did it look so inviting from where she was sitting?

After a few minutes Alexander appeared on the platform at the top of the stairs, while the same Sudanese servant who had taken Isabel’s cases descended with a thin cashmere shawl over his arm. The chauffeur opened the door for Isabel, and the Sudanese servant smiled and said, “Welcome, madam,” draping the shawl around her shoulders. It was as soft and as light as feathers, and she drew it around her body against the cold wind as she hurried up the stairs. Alexander took her hand and helped her off the platform and into the plane, the servant following behind. As she turned from the entrance to enter the main cabin she saw two men running across the tarmac. When they reached the stairway one went on each side to pull it away. A young man came out of the cockpit, looked Isabel over, closed the door and double-checked the lock.

The main cabin of the plane had large, comfortable easy chairs, upholstered in navy blue glove leather and mounted on swivel bases. The chairs were arranged in groups, around coffee tables piled with periodicals. All the walls of the plane were paneled in American cherrywood. It looked very elegant, simple and comfortable; what one imagined the ambience to be in the most luxurious club car on the old Twentieth Century Ltd.

The main cabin took up about one third of the plane. There were a pair of doors that opened up to the next section, which had a closed-off kitchen to the left of the entrance, and to the right a small room equipped with desk and typewriter. Straight ahead was the dining room, dominated by a long, oval table with ten chairs on each side. At the end of this room was another pair of doors
that led to a hall with bathrooms to the left and right. Straight ahead was the last pair of doors. Alexander stepped aside as the servant unlocked the doors and then threw them open.

Sir Alexis’s private room had the atmosphere of a study in a French country house. There was a large Provincial desk, and two chairs covered in camel-hair cloth and trimmed in chocolate-brown-colored braid. The sofa was a country bed of polished steel with curved ends. The mattress and cushions were plump with down and made up for sleeping, with deep peach linen sheets and pillow cases trimmed in cream-colored lace. Folded at the end of the bed was a lightweight blanket of fine cashmere in a small checkered pattern of peach and white; all four sides of the blanket were scalloped and the edging on the scallops was of thick, white silk thread, so tightly stocking-stitched together it looked like piping. There was a Provincial commode with heavy brass mountings and on the yolk-yellow marble top there were decanters of whiskey, one of water, and glasses on a heavy baroque silver tray. In front of the sofa bed was a long slim table whose top was no more than six inches off the floor. Isabel recognized it as an Arab tailor’s table, one of the finest she had ever seen. She guessed its age to be about 150 years. On the inlaid wooden top of the table was a low bowl filled with jasmine which trailed aimlessly, almost covering the table’s surface in some places. She saw a white card in an envelope among the blossoms, but chose to ignore it for a moment.

“Isabel, Sir Alexis hopes that you will make yourself comfortable. You are welcome to sleep in this room if you like. Your luggage is in the dressing room beyond, and the bathroom is beyond that.” Alexander pointed to a door at the end of the room as he continued. “This is Gamal, and he is to be your servant until you return to London. If there is anything that you need, he will help you. His English is quite good.” He then turned to Gamal and said, “This is Miss Wells, Gamal. Sir Alexis wants you to help her in anything she needs.”

Gamal said he understood and smiled at Isabel approvingly. He showed her where the button was to call for him if he was needed. Then he turned to her and asked if there was something she wanted now. She
thanked him and told him there was nothing for the moment.

Alexander asked Isabel if she would join him for a drink in the main cabin. The other two guests were in the cockpit and would be joining them presently. He went to the desk and picked up the telephone receiver, buzzed through to the cockpit and asked when they were to take off. Turning to Isabel, he told her that the plane would be ready to leave in ten minutes. The only rule that Sir Alexis had on this aircraft was that when the captain announced takeoff, everyone on board had to be in the main cabin, buckled into a seat, which they could not leave until the captain announced that the plane was safely airborne.

Isabel asked for five minutes to comb her hair. Gamal opened the doors and Alexander and the servant left the room.

The moment the doors clicked shut, Isabel went directly to the table and reached down to the jasmine blossoms, whose heady scent had filled every inch of the room. She plucked out the little white envelope: It was sealed.

Isabel felt a flutter of excitement as she tore the envelope open and quickly pulled out the little white vellum card. Written in black ink with a wide nib fountain pen was “Alexis Hyatt.” Nothing else, simply “Alexis Hyatt.” Isabel took the card and her profound disappointment over to the mirror hanging above the commode. She opened her handbag, slipped the card and its torn envelope inside, took the small hairbrush out of her bag and ran it through her hair briskly.