Three Rivers (6 page)

My God, what did you expect?
she lectured herself.
Disappointed over a man you don’t know and can barely remember meeting! Behaving like a schoolgirl or a desperate old spinster. Pathetic. Must Ava always be right?

Her five minutes almost up, she went swiftly to the dressing room, where she opened the smallest case and took out the latest Iris Murdoch. She was looking forward to reading it, and she hurried along to the main cabin.

Alexander greeted her and ushered her to a section of the cabin where four chairs had been swiveled around to make a circular setting with a coffee table in the center. The tabletop, of soft beige Travertine marble, had two circular wells cut into it. One of the wells held a silver ice
bucket filled with crushed ice and two bottles of Taittinger Conte de Contes. The other well held another silver container overflowing with a sumptuous arrangement of fruit: peaches and pears, apples and plums, bananas, tiny sweet green and huge voluptuous purple Colma grapes, mangoes, ishta and fresh lychee nuts. There were magazines and newspapers, an ashtray of heavy silver and a few ecru-colored linen napkins edged in an inch of heavy Ghent lace. Rounding off the array was a silver salver filled with handmade Belgian white chocolates.

Isabel sank into one of the chairs and swiveled it slightly to look out of the window. Alexander sat in the chair next to her and was pointing out a Concorde slowly traveling up the tarmac to its berth, when two stewards appeared and said good evening to Isabel and Alexander; one bent down and buckled Isabel into her seat, then Alexander into his. The young men were very smart in their slate gray uniforms as they announced that as soon as they had an all clear from the captain they would serve caviar, scrambled eggs, toast and coffee. Assorted sandwiches and other hot drinks were available on request. At that time the champagne would be opened and glasses and plates brought. They smiled and went to the rear of the plane towards the dining room, where they fastened themselves into seats. Isabel noticed two more stewards come out of the kitchen and take seats as well. Gamal was already in a seat near the cockpit.

The captain announced the usual over the intercom, and two minutes later the Boeing taxied across the shiny wet surface to the runway, where it revved its motors until Isabel could feel the surge of power right through her body. Suddenly the brakes were released, and the plane pushed forward down the runway and soared into the air.

Isabel always found takeoff thrilling. This night, in these privileged circumstances, she found it more than thrilling — she felt it was positively sexual. She swiveled round, faced Alexander and was about to say something to him when she saw it again — that hidden meaning in his eye.

Not for the first time did she feel a fool. Was it in her mind? No, damn it, it was
not
, and so instead of telling Alexander what a thrill she always felt on takeoff, she said most aggressively, “Alexander, I have the distinct feeling …”

He held up his index finger. “Shhush, please, Isabel, don’t say anything.” He bent forward as much as his seat belt would allow and gently turned Isabel’s chair slightly away from him, towards the window again. “Not now. Let’s just look out at the lights of London.”

He had done it again — silenced her questions and foolish feelings with just a gesture. They watched the city light disappear as the plane climbed into the night, and soon Isabel felt calm again.

Alexander asked her if she was a game player — cards, backgammon, roulette? He was not very impressed when she said she was a bad gambler, a poor gin rummy player and mad about Scrabble. Isabel learned that he was a keen backgammon player and that one of the men in the cockpit at the moment was a world champion at the game.

Just then the captain told them over the intercom that they could remove their seat belts and smoke. The same steward that had fastened them into their seats helped Isabel remove the belt. Alexander did his own, stood up, stretched and asked the steward to open the champagne. Isabel stood up as well and wandered aimlessly around the large main cabin of the plane, picking up a book and reading the title, putting it down and going to another table to look through the papers. She heard the cork pop and turned to see the wine being poured into huge tulip-shaped Lalique glasses. Alexander called her back to their table and handed her a glass.

While the four stewards busied themselves with various chores in the main cabin, Alexander touched his glass to Isabel’s and said, “To you, beautiful Isabel. Egypt will love you.”

“I hope so, Alexander, because I’m ready to love Egypt.” Isabel raised her glass in a toast to Alexander and said, “And to you, Alexander, the best nanny I’ve ever had and, I have no doubt, Sir Alexis’s best emissary.”

“You’re a very lucky girl, Isabel.” Alexander grinned as he gave her a warm kiss on her cheek while he caressed her shoulder. The steward put down a large bowl of Beluga caviar set in a silver bucket of crushed ice and refilled Alexander’s glass. When the steward went to top up Isabel’s glass she put a hand over it. Isabel told Alexander just how lucky she really was. Why Alexander thought she was lucky was unimportant and she did not venture to ask.

During their conversation Alexander noticed her half-empty glass, and asked her why she did not have more of such a splendid wine. Isabel explained that she did not like alcohol, or what it did to her, although she appreciated and drank fine wines, but never more than a glass or two at the most.

Alexander teased her about not having many weaknesses. No gambling, not a drinker — what were her vices?

“I suppose that my biggest vices are sex, hashish, writing books and wanting enough money to practice my vices,” Isabel said, not in the mood to play coquette and deciding to play along with Alexander by telling him the truth.

“And pursuing whatever I do to the ultimate.” She smiled at him, clinked her glass to his and sipped a little more of her champagne.

Alexander was amused. “Now, Isabel, since I am your ‘nanny’ at the moment, and do have instructions to give you anything you so desire, should you care to practice any of these vices, you have but to ask me and I will arrange things for you.”

Now, this was more like it, a fun game of cat and mouse. No, Isabel told him, she did not need him to handle her sexual life; the writing had been put away until after this business trip and as for the hashish, since it was not addictive, she had no problem and could easily do without it. She had left it at home since she would have had to take it through customs and she would not want to cause Sir Alexis any problems.

“My, my, Isabel, you are an interesting girl.”

“Oh, dear, Alexander, have I revealed too much? That was far from my intention.”

“No, not really. Any man who knows women and looks at you would know that you are sexual. As to the hashish, it is always a possibility because of our day and age. Something about your presence, I think my son might call it your ‘creative awareness,’ makes your writing a book not at all extraordinary. I certainly did not know that you were going to Egypt on a business trip. Sir Alexis never mentioned why you were going. Now, summing all that up, I would say that no, you did not reveal too much, but I do know more about you and would like to learn even more.”

“I’m a fool! Ever since we met I wanted to know what
you knew about me, and for you to tell me about Sir Alexis and my trip to Cairo and what happens: I tell all and you tell nothing. I would make a rotten CIA agent.” With that Isabel pouted effectively.

Alexander put his empty glass down and went to Isabel. He put his arms around her, giving her a great cuddle, and touched her lower lip with his finger. “Now, my pretty, since I am your best nanny and I am to give you everything to make you happy until I turn you over to Sir Alexis, I will tell you that in Sir Alexis’s study on the commode there is a lapis lazuli box with gold mounts. If you open that box you will find inside cigarettes rolled with the best Lebanese hashish. They are there for the guests of Sir Alexis and you are welcome to smoke them, except in front of one of the other guests, who will soon come out of the cockpit. He is the older man, André Beshawi, a business associate and friend of Sir Alexis, and would not approve. As for the other man who will join us, he is an American painter, and it will not matter in front of him.”

Alexander was about to say something more when the steward appeared to pop open the second bottle of champagne and fill his glass. Alexander accepted it with one hand, and with the other around Isabel’s shoulder, he bent and whispered in her ear, “Isabel, I am a person who gets a great deal of enjoyment out of arranging things for people. If ever you should have need of my talents, I am at your service.” He gave her a peck on the cheek and drank down his glass of Taittinger.

Isabel realized that Alexander was well on the way to getting drunk and wondered what kind of a Mayfair millionaire’s pimp he was. Well, she had learned nothing about Sir Alexis, except that he obviously told this man nothing.

He was bending down and filling his glass again when Isabel asked Alexander, “Why did you think I was going to Egypt?”

“Now, Isabel, that is what’s called a leading question. Being an American, you will understand very well if I plead your Fifth Amendment. I believe it goes something like ‘I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that it might incriminate me.’ ” Both were laughing when they were distracted by the entrance of the two other guests.

Alexander introduced André Beshawi, a Syrian who had lived for fifty years in Beirut. Isabel remembered him
the moment that she saw him. They had met fifteen years before when Isabel had been in that part of the world.

André Beshawi had the most beautiful and famous of the old Arab houses in Beirut, as well as one of the finest collections of art and artifacts in the Middle East. Isabel remembered she had been brought there to tea by a mutual friend. The only other time they had met was the day she was leaving Beirut. He presented himself at the St. George Hotel, where she was staying, and asked if she would have tea so that he could congratulate her on having bought the finest piece of Syrian sculpture that he had ever seen. It was a most gentlemanly thing for him to have done since there had been a running battle for more than a week between the dealer handling the piece, Mr. Beshawi, and Isabel over who would get it. Isabel had held her ground, and with the backing of the museum, she’d had the courage to outbid him. Seeing him in this plane was a great surprise. He greeted her warmly with a smile, called her his most beautiful opponent, kissed her hand, turned to Alexander and said, “Alexander, be careful of this woman. She knows what she wants.” Then he told them the story of how she had defeated him.

It was all very flattering to Isabel, who during the telling of it had a great deal of trouble keeping her eyes off the American painter who, in turn, had much the same problem. Finally Alexander introduced them.

“Anthony, you have not met Isabel Wells. Isabel, this is a compatriot of yours, Anthony Moressey.”

They exchanged greetings and Anthony turned to Alexander and said, “Alexander, you’re wrong. I
have
met Miss Wells, many, many years ago. How are you Isabel? Time has done well by you.”

“And you, Anthony.”

“I say, Isabel, you seem to know everyone. That is jolly,” Alexander interrupted. “Come, do sit down and have some drinks and a snack.”

The stewards filled the glasses, and fortunately, the three men started to talk. All Isabel had to do was listen. It gave her a chance to pull herself together. For years she wondered how she would behave seeing Anthony again. The years went by and she stopped worrying about it, then more years went by and she rarely even thought about him, and now here he was. He had been her great love, the man who ultimately changed her life long after
she had left him. It was over long, long ago, but seeing him now she realized that she still loved him.

The stewards brought plates, knives, forks and antique Russian caviar spoons. The long straight handles were of ivory, and the bowls and tips of the handles were made of an ancient and rare wood that was as hard as stone; the color and pattern of the wood was not unlike bird’s-eye maple. The Russians always preferred wooden spoons for caviar, never metal, no matter how valuable that metal might be.

All the trimmings were brought for the caviar, along with a platter of hot, fluffy scrambled eggs. There were also tiny sandwiches — smoked salmon and
pâté de foie gras
— on thin brown bread.

A great deal of champagne was consumed along with the delicious food, and over the small cups of hot sweet Arab coffee, fruit and chocolate, it was decided that André and Alexander would have a six-game tournament of backgammon, the prize a case of Mouton Rothschild ’66. The backgammon table was set up at the end of the cabin near the cockpit.

Isabel and Anthony, meanwhile, huddled over a selection of movies that had been recorded on video tapes. Isabel suggested that he select the movie he wanted, for she would watch only for a short time, and then go on to the study and have a sleep before the aircraft landed in Cairo.

Anthony chose an old Bogart/Bacall film,
To Have and Have Not
. He had never seen it and had always wanted to. The steward asked if it was convenient for them to take the pair of chairs set together at the end of the cabin nearest the dining room, since the cassette recorder and TV set were already in place there. He pointed out that it was the best place because the chairs had their high backs to the rest of the room and they would not be disturbed by the players or the light at the other end. They agreed it would be fine and the steward said whenever they were ready, just to let him know.

The three men and Isabel sat a while longer over their wine and coffee, and eventually the two players went off to their end of the cabin to start their tournament.

All through supper Anthony had said nothing meaningful to Isabel. He was utterly charming, and on the one or two occasions when his eyes met with hers, her heart
turned over while her mind drifted back to the years when they loved one another. Then, she had wanted nothing more than to make him happy. Those were the years in New York together during the late fifties and early sixties, when he had painted better than he ever had, or ever would again.