Three Rivers (50 page)

He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose and smiled. “We will be all right, my darling. Do not look so worried. We will do this burying as painlessly as possible.”

He looked at his watch and said, “In an hour’s time we will dock and be driven to a small airfield a few miles out in the desert. A plane has been waiting for us for two days now. We will be in Sharia el Nil, your new home, in time for lunch.”

He kissed her and told her to dress. She need take nothing with her but her jewels and whatever things she would want in New York that were aboard the felucca.

He watched Isabel walk around the room naked as she gathered her things together and made up her face. She put her diamonds on her fingers, her scarab necklace around her throat, which he fastened for her, and the Phoenician gold hoops through her ears. On her wrists she put her ancient gold bangles. She slipped her feet into high-heeled sandals and went to reach for a beautiful, thin, sand-colored, handwoven cotton shift with heavy, soft, slub yarns of the same color going through it.

He walked up behind her and stopped her. She felt his naked body and his heavy cock standing high against his belly as he hugged her, taking her breasts in his hands. She turned round, and Alexis told her how much he enjoyed watching her dress and bejewel herself. She kissed him tenderly on the lips and said, “I thought you were all dressed and ready to go. Now I want to dress you with me.”

His desire for her, his virility, always excited her, even now, because it had nothing to do with the outside elements, not even the presence of death that seemed to be in her thoughts at the moment.

He lifted her by the waist, and with one of her hands, she took him and he went high up into her. He saw her eyes go liquid with passion, and when he lifted her off and she stood before him, his cock glistened with the wetness of her. How they handled each other, what they did to each other, almost drove them mad with passion until they could bear it no more and drained each other dry.

Whatever she may have felt about the deaths that had occupied her mind, he knew she would not be able to sublimate, and taking her the way that he did, he knew that he would release her tension. He was clever about her and he knew it. That was why he had not taken her tenderly and gently, but violently. He left her with bite marks deeper than she had ever had before and welts across her bottom that he kissed. He fucked her so long and so hard and she came so much; and still he would not stop until she begged him to.

Afterwards they lay together in each other’s arms, both exhausted. While they rested and regained their strength, he was, at last, at ease about her sorrow, for he knew that he had broken even the barrier of the deaths. He broke it through the act of love, and she knew why he did it and was deeply grateful to him for it. She kissed him tenderly and finally said, “I think we should dress again and go. I am ready to bury the ghosts if you are.”

They said their farewells to everyone on board and gave their thanks to the crew. Walking to the plane across the primitive sand-covered runway, Isabel realized that the unpleasantness they were going to go through now had nothing to do with their lives and how they would live out the rest of their days. She loved Alexis, at that very moment, more for not allowing her to wallow in self-pity. Kate and Ava were gone. It was over.

As Alexis followed her up the steps of the plane, he gave her a light smack on her bottom. She turned to him, smiling, and said, “Remember! Your turn might come. There may be a day when I will have to love
you
into life again, and I will.” She caressed his cheeks, turned and hurried up the steps.

Alexis sighed deeply and thought to himself,
She is the only woman in the world for me
.

The pilot, after taking off, circled back. They flew low over the
Mamounia
and buzzed it. It was already in the mainstream of the river and homeward bound.

Tears came into Isabel’s eyes, and she said, “Alexis, those were the happiest days of my life. Thank you, darling.”

The Lear jet followed the Nile to Cairo. The jet flew very low so that she could see the river all the way home.

XIV

“New York is a city built on rock and one-liners,” Isabel exclaimed. “It is kept going on adrenaline. If you are low on adrenaline and you cannot get your one-liners together, you had better get out of town. They say it is tough, rough and violent and it is. It is called the Big Apple and the Baked Apple. Actually, I see it as one enormous apple strudel, the richest, the most delicious, fattening apple strudel in the world, served up with a bowl of heavy whipped cream. Now, if you can afford to eat it, you can live well and happy in New York, because it is a city like no other city in the world. One has to be very rich, a millionaire. Or better still, a multimillionaire: very young, student young,
enthusiastic
student young. No in-between. It is rotten for children and old people.

“If you are born in New York, you usually end up being a smart-ass who thinks that Los Angeles, California, is built on sunshine and low IQ’s. If you are born in Manhattan, you’re a high-class New Yorker; in Brooklyn, a Jewish intellectual of distinction; in the Bronx, you have to struggle harder for distinction, a great deal harder; in Queens, you had better move if you want distinction.

“It is a city filled and supported by institutions. Museums and department stores, universities and department stores, hospitals and department stores, the United Nations and Bloomingdale’s. What is left is divided between big corporations, lawyers and means of communication such as the telephone company, and master classes in EST.

“Some say it is very Jewish, but it was once very Irish,
and times change; the potato latke and the knish are being replaced by the soul food of the black and the Spanish beans of the Puerto Ricans. It has the best Chinese food, Japanese food, Italian food and seafood in the world, but the worst French food. The coffee is terrific, but it is impossible to find a decent cup of tea. You can buy anything and everything in New York. It has better theater, dance, art and literature. You could also die of culture shock if you are not prepared. You could also die of loneliness if you are not very bright, rich, well-read, amusing, beautiful, successful and read every word of the
New York Times
on Sunday.”

Alexis bent over his wife Isabel and laughed. “You’re bright, you’re terrific at the one-liner, as you have just demonstrated, you’re beautiful, you are now a millionairess, and you are married to me. I think you are going to have a great time in New York, in spite of the unpleasant tasks ahead.”

“I agree,” said Alexander. Isabel put her arm around Alexis, and they looked out of the window of the helicopter as they flew lower than the tops of some of the buildings, through the steel and glass canyons to the landing deck.

They were, by now, over the East River Terminal. The vast towers of concrete and steel shone with electric light through all the glass running up and down their facades. Honeycombs of people, buzzing like bees working for their lives. They began to spiral down and plumped themselves on the ground like a duck hitting on a lily pad.

A few minutes later they were riding up Park Avenue in a maroon Rolls Royce lined inside in beige leather. It was an early day in December and it was very gray. There was that wonderful nip in the air that told you that Christmas was not very far away.

Isabel watched the people hurrying up and down the streets. The women looking terrific, if not a little terrifying, as all New York women always did. Just a little too well turned out, a little too well shod (didn’t their heels ever run down?), uncreasable, wrinkle-proof. They were smart, chic, professional women of New York, whether in the bed, the office, playing mother, mistress, executive wife or liberated super-swinger.

The streets were filled too with the successful New York male. They all seemed much taller; their suits well
cut and fitted: Their light-weight overcoats with too much style. Their hair too well cut and blow-dried to perfection. It was image, all image, obsessively calculated image. One wondered — for what? The New York man was now wearing his hair longer (but unfortunately his trousers still too short). There was even the occasional white sock to be seen inching its way between the dark trouser and the black shoe. But as Isabel watched them, she felt their
freshness
. They looked clean, honest and neat. They looked packaged — the American dream with a cock. They all looked married but on the lookout for a good fuck on the side.

It suddenly occurred to Isabel that she was riding up Park Avenue with her husband. She turned away from the window and looked at him. Alexis smiled at her and said, “Is it strange for you to return to your country with a husband from the desert?”

“It is not so much strange, Alexis, as it is different. Everything in my life since I met you is so different.”

As Alexander chuckled, Isabel thought about Kate and Ava. They were all the family she’d had until she’d met Alexis, only a little more than a month ago. Now they were both gone. Nothing was at all the same.

One thing that had certainly not changed was the Sherry Netherland. They were received warmly by the manager, who shook Alexis’s hand and patted Alexander on the shoulder. The elevator took them directly to Sir Alexis’s suite.

The suite was on the thirty-second floor and extremely handsome. There was the main drawing room, which was enormous and had one of the little turrets of glass suspended over Fifth Avenue. There was a banquette built in all around it with soft cushions in a bold, bright flower pattern. One could curl up in this little glass cage hung over Fifth Avenue and watch the city and the park.

There was a lovely fire going in the yellow-and-white marble Louis XV fireplace. The furniture, two huge sofas facing each other, was covered in beige damask. There were dozens of white lilies on the coffee table. All the furniture was rich-looking but easy and comfortable. There were six large Bergères covered in cream-colored raw silk. The walls were painted white, and the Aubusson carpet was of the palest shades of iced greens, blues and creams, with a strong touch of peach.

The paintings were sublime. There was a magnificent, dark and rich Soutine of considerable size over the fireplace. It was a brooding painting with a life of its own. She recognized a superb Gauguin and then realized that these were Alexis’s paintings. Although he had said nothing, she now knew that this was his New York residence.

Alexis helped Isabel off with her coat. He walked to the little turret, where they stood together as he said, “I have given you Cairo and Upper Egypt, and now I am going to give you New York.”

He then led her by the hand through the rest of the rooms. In addition to the drawing room, there was a small but very charming dining room. Done in shades of yellow, it was a room in which no more than six could dine. There was a small kitchen, more like a butler’s pantry, but that was all that was necessary since the superb hotel’s service was available to them at all times. Next was a smaller sitting room with a large and beautiful boule desk with a worn black-leather top. The room was of a rich brown walnut French
boiserie
. All the furniture was covered in a pale coffee-colored silk velvet, and there were rough white scatter cushions for color. There was a wing chair behind the desk, covered in a seventeenth-century tapestry, and the draperies were white, lined in silk velvet, the same material as the furniture. The paintings were four large and wonderful Mirós that sang to you and made the room come alive and vibrant. Very chic, very New York.

There was a huge master bedroom and a dressing room and bath. The bath was marvelous, obviously done in the early thirties, with green onyx bathtubs, very deep as well as wide. The basins were of the same onyx, and all the taps were sterling silver.

There were two more guest bedrooms and baths, and just off the paneled sitting room was a small but charming library. A circular room, its book-covered walls alternated with floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a view of New York that was spectacular.

The library’s floor was white marble with a dark green vein. Thick, fluffy polar-bear skins were scattered about. There was a chaise longue covered in a magnificent old Bokhara of ruby reds in great roundels. The chaise sat in the window section with the best view. In the center of
the room, there was a white marble desk on a pedestal base of bronze dolphins.

The top of the desk held a typewriter, dictaphone, pads and pencils, dictionaries and a telephone. Behind the desk was a high-back Queen Anne wing chair covered in white cotton, with heavy slub yarns making an interesting rough texture.

“I thought you might like to use this room as your own little study when we are here in New York,” Alexis said, from behind her. “You must, of course, change anything in it that does not please you.” He pondered a moment. “As a matter of fact, Isabel, you must change anything in
any
of our houses that you do not like. We could re-do them
together
. But will this do for the moment?”

“Oh, yes, darling, it certainly will do!” Isabel smiled.

They went back to the drawing room, where they found Alexander sitting with a drink in his hand. Alexis and Isabel offered him one of the guest rooms for as long as he would be in New York, but he declined, saying that he had made arrangements for a small suite on the floor below them.

The two men spoke of some people that they wanted to see while in New York. Alexis and Isabel accepted Alexander’s invitation to dine. He then kissed Isabel and left.

Alexis had made arrangements to conduct his work from the city for as long as Isabel felt she needed to be in the United States to finalize her family affairs. He’d told her that it was important to him that they should not leave before Isabel had buried all the ghosts. He had brought his secretary form Sharia el Nil, and Gamal, to serve him; Maryka and Juju to serve Isabel.

Doreya had been left in Athens to help Alfred dispose of Ava’s things and close up their home. Alexis had offered her services to Alfred when he saw how upset Isabel was at the thought of going through her sister’s things.

Alexis saw a certain kind of indifference in Alfred about Ava and her death. He’d found it extraordinary that Alfred had left the house just as Ava had. He was clearly waiting for her mother or sister to come along and empty it.

All things considered, Alexis thought that Alfred was a gentleman who had made the day as painless as possible.

He had met their plane at the airport and they all drove to lunch together at the
Grande Bretagne
. It was
not a strained lunch by any means, and finally, over coffee, Alfred spoke briefly of Ava and how he could not bring himself to arrange a service for her that he was sure she would have snickered at.

Tears had come into his eyes as he looked at Isabel knowingly, saying, “I only hope that she can find peace at last.”

With that he had put the keys to the closed-up flat in Kolonaki on the table and said, “You are her only living relative. You take all her things.”

Both Isabel and Alexis had expected him to do that, which was why they had brought Doreya along to take over. Alexis was anxious not to have Isabel too involved, so when Isabel explained that her wish was that Ava’s things, including all her jewelry, be packed and given to an orphanage in Patras, he was greatly relieved. Ava’s ghost was about to be buried once and for all.

If only Alfred had not said to Isabel, “Ava would be very angry at us for giving her things to mere peasants. I think she always thought that you would die first. Her things were precious to her, and she always spoke of them as to be sacrificed only if you had a fatal illness and there was no one to care for you. She saw them as your insurance policy, because you were not a success, and had no husband to support you. You know what a responsible person she was. In a way, at least she was spared your happiness. You cheated her of her martyrdom.”

Alexis thought of those words now as he sat in the drawing room. He thought of how pale Isabel had gone, how she’d never said a word to Alfred, and how she’d held the palm of her hand over her heart for a few minutes, as if in great pain.

Alexis poured himself another drink and offered one to Isabel, who said no. He went and sat beside her, and she snuggled up next to him after kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath her. They stayed that way for a long time without speaking.

Alexis went on thinking about her, and his heart went out to her with pity and love. He thought of her eyes and how they had filled with tears after she had said good-bye to Alfred and Doreya. He had taken her hand to help her into their car so as to start back to the airport and their plane. It had been ice-cold and trembling. What
could
he say? He said nothing.

The car had been moving for a few moments when she had turned to him and said, “Please, Alexis, I cannot go like this. I must do something for her. It will only take ten minutes.”

They’d driven back, past the
Grande Bretagne
, to the very beginning of Basilies Sophias, where there were dozens of little flower stalls. Isabel had the driver stop, and she asked Alexis for money. It was the very first time she had done that. He gave it to her, and she went with the driver to several stalls, buying armfuls of flowers. They put them in the trunk of the Mercedes.

She then told the driver to take them to the Tomb of the Fallen Warriors, and Alexis watched her cross the empty marble pavings with her arms full of the rich and colorful flowers. The driver followed a few paces behind, loaded down with more blossoms. She arranged all the flowers along the steps at the base of the statue of the warrior. She did it meticulously and then stood back and looked at it for a few minutes before returning to Alexis.

She slipped her arm through his and said, “You did not know her, Alexis. She was a fighter, a warrior. She deserves some tribute from me. I always brought her flowers. I would like to think I am doing this for her now, but I am not so sure. Perhaps I am doing it for me. Can you understand that?” And then Isabel said, “Please Alexis, let’s get out of Athens as soon as possible.”