City of the Sun (26 page)

“Are you only just now arriving?” Linda asked after introducing Mickey, the only “stranger” in the group, and calling the ambassador’s wife “Jac.”

“
Mea culpa
, as usual,” Jac hastened to explain. “Miles accuses me of shaving one day off his life every time I’m late. Now isn’t that the saddest thing to say to your wife?” She intertwined her fingers with the ambassador’s and nestled against him, looking minuscule by comparison.

“I have a nephew who just returned from studying in America, Mr. Connolly,” Jac said. “All he talks about are Rita Hayworth and baseball.”

“Then he’s halfway to becoming a citizen,” Mickey replied. “I fear you won’t find many baseballers here in Egypt,” Jac commented.

“I’m afraid not. It seems that everyone here prefers cricket,” Mickey agreed.

“A gentleman’s game, Mr. Connolly,” Lampson remarked.

“Well, in that case, I should probably steer clear of it,” Mickey countered, provoking laughter from the group, though the ambassador remained poker-faced.

“Is the king here?” Lampson asked as he picked up a fizzing flute brimming with champagne while Jac helped herself to a canapé from a passing tray.

“I’m afraid not,” Linda replied. “Madame Mosseri is up in arms. We’re supposed to weigh anchor in fifteen minutes.”

“Pshaw!” Lampson muttered, nodding to a well-wisher nearby. “I’m sure the boy is racing his cars around the palace grounds, killing time so he can make a grand entrance. Teach him a lesson and get started without him.”

“Of course, he does not mean that,” Jac quickly added, laughing. A woman with a large, beaded black hat passed by and Jac whispered to Sally, “That’s Delsyia.”

“I understand she will be singing in French and English,” Sally said. “And I saw Madame Samina earlier.” She elbowed Mickey.

“No dancing tonight,” Lampson firmly warned Jac, placing a gentle hand on her stomach.

“Oh, Miles!” Jac protested. “I’m just pregnant, for God’s sake; I’m not ill!”

“Everybody is eager to hear your speech tonight, Ambassador,” Mickey said. “Will you be talking about the situation at El Alamein?”

“There is no need to worry,” Lampson answered casually, before offering his hand to a short, corpulent man who looked as if he had been shoehorned into his tuxedo.

“Ah, Sally, good to see you,” he exclaimed. “This must be your beautiful daughter.”

Mickey recognized the Egyptian prime minister, who warily shook Lampson’s hand. Lampson leaned toward the man to say something when a British officer urgently pulled him away and whispered something in his ear. Lampson turned red. “That little tyke,” he said through gritted teeth.

“What is it, dear?” Jac asked.

“The boy has arrived in his red Mercedes, that’s what. I’ve half a mind to put the little blighter across my knee and wallop some sense into him.”

“Miles!” Jac exclaimed. “You’re talking about the king of Egypt!”

“He’s an ungrateful little sod!” Lampson exclaimed as he stormed off.

“Miles, please,” Jac pleaded after her husband in vain. She exhaled loudly, at her wit’s end. “King Farouk has arrived in a car that was a gift from Hitler. He’d promised to return it.” She shook her head. “These two with their cat and mouse game. Excuse me.” She rushed out, cupping her belly with both hands.

“Gossip has it that MI5 caught a note the king wrote to the führer welcoming him into Egypt,” Sally commented.

“That’s bollocks,” Randolph said. “The king is for the king and no one else.”

“Whatever the case, the king would be crazy if he really thought the Germans would make better partners than the British,” Mickey declared.

“I think it’s lovely of him to lend his yacht for this affair,” Linda said. “That speaks volumes about his loyalty.”

“I don’t like to sound cynical,” Sally said, “but we all know we owe the use of his boat to Riri Charbit alone. She orchestrated the whole thing.”

“Who’s she?” Mickey asked.

“The king’s mistress,” Linda responded. “Like his father, he seems to have a weakness for Jewish girls.”

“Should we go to the deck and see what’s happening?” Sally suggested, but just as she started, a delicate tinkling sound was heard.

“The king has arrived, the king has arrived,” announced a woman jingling a small bell, parting clusters of guests as she walked through the room. She was wearing a superb long scarlet dress with ruffles at the shoulders and too much makeup.

“That’s Madame Mosseri,” Sally whispered into Mickey’s ear, “the organizer of the ball.”

The ship’s horn blasted loudly, provoking shrieks of delight from
the guests, and Mickey felt the yacht slowly begin to move. The piano player led the band in a lively rendition of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” and balloons descended from the ceiling.

The ball had officially begun.

“Shall we?” Sally asked, offering Mickey her arm, but he thought he recognized a familiar silhouette turning the corner. “Go ahead without me,” he apologized and rushed away.

“You’re Maya’s cousin, Lili,” Mickey said as he walked up to the girl, recognizing her.

“She’s here,” Lili whispered.

CHAPTER 25

With only two hours of sleep out of the last twenty-four, Maya was surprised she wasn’t exhausted. In fact, she was feeling oddly energized as she inscribed the name
David Caro
on what must have been the six hundredth seating card she’d written this evening. Her calligraphy, which had won her the job of writing Cousin Henri’s Bar Mitzvah invitations, was a saving grace for Lili today, who had volunteered her father to have the menus printed for the fund-raiser on the king’s yacht. But Joe, usually as reliable as a Swiss watch, had somehow forgotten to get the task done, and with the printers closed on Saturdays and less than twenty-four hours before the big event, Maya had stepped in and offered her services. The organizers of the ball had liked the beautifully scripted menus so much that they had asked Lili if she could bring her cousin to the ball to help with the dinner seating cards as well, since last-minute seating changes were to be expected.

Maya happily agreed. Even though she would have to work for the first part of the evening, she would later have the rare opportunity to mingle with pashas and beys and sirs, and to be in the company of not one but three kings. Besides, she was feeling suffocated by her family, trying to make peace between her father and brother.

She grabbed every chance to get out of the house and had come up with an elaborate alibi that would allow her to spend
a whole afternoon with Mickey next Wednesday. She was surprised how often she caught herself thinking about him and how much time she spent plotting how to make her next call to him. She loved their talks, even though he always teased her about all the drama and secrecy she brought to them.

He was handsome for sure, and funny, and he was also a man of substance—steady and real. An anchor in her tumultuous world. He was a wealth of information about what was really going on in the war as well as what was going on in Cairo. He liked history and movies and claimed to be as big a Charlie Chaplin fan as she was, though that would be impossible. At the end of their talks, she could almost fool herself into thinking that life was bright and promising.

She hated all the lies she had been telling him, yet it was probably a good thing that she was not more available because frankly, she was starting to fall for him, and it frightened her—what was she thinking? Soon she’d have to say good-bye. She cringed at the thought, but the timing was all wrong.

Maya put her quill down and, bringing the card close to her lips, blew on it gently to dry the ink. There were still over a dozen to write. The organizers of the ball had miscalculated the number of tables, and the seating cards for all three hundred guests had to be rewritten. Hearing the hoopla emanating from the rooms on the upper deck, she was jealous of Lili, who must be waltzing from guest to guest offering appetizers while she was confined to the dining room with an aching hand.

“Lights off, please,” a woman’s voice commanded.

The room went black, but a few seconds later a soft green light emerged from the overhead spots. Its effect on the shimmering gold silk fabric that draped the ceiling and covered the walls and tables dazzled Maya. With the chairs upholstered in green satin with large green ribbons affixed to their backs, it was like being inside a secret glade. It was magical.

“Green is the king’s favorite color,” a matronly woman in a sparkling caftan pronounced as she approached Maya and nodded approvingly when she saw that only a few cards remained. “You’re looking lovely in white.”

Maya smiled brightly at the compliment as she watched her leave the room. Having had no time to make or buy a dress, she made do with one of Lili’s old ones. Cut low in a V, it tied around the neck, and with handkerchiefs stuffed inside of her brassiere and a few tacks along the seams, it molded to her figure sensuously, showing off her best feature—her long, thin waist. But what made the dress stand out was the gold belt she’d cinched just below her breasts. Accessories again! With gold shoes, gold bangles and, of course, Mutter’s hairpin, et voilà! She was no Cinderella, but she was more than passable. And with her eyes heavily lined with black kohl, her face powdered with a light bronze color, and her lips glistening in lavish red, she knew she looked good.

“No, you look sensational,” Lili had told her. “You will make many heads turn,” Erik had added. The whole household had trickled into the room to admire her, each with a superlative more flattering than the last. But it was Sayeda, the maid, who had trumped them all when she declared, “You’re coming home with a husband!”

“The guests will be coming any minute,” a woman’s voice announced, drawing Maya out of her reverie.

She turned and saw Madame Mosseri, the chief organizer of the ball, storming into the room, the trailing end of her scarlet dress catching momentarily on the door. The woman studied the magnificent dessert buffet behind Maya and questioned the staff about the whereabouts of a seven-foot-tall mountain of custard balls before she addressed Maya.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “but the girls forgot to arrange for a lemonade stand for the king and his Muslim cohorts who don’t
drink alcohol. We’re rushing to set one up right now. Would you be a darling and manage it?” She indicated an alcove tucked away in the back of the room.

Siberia, Maya thought, trying to smile as she nodded. So much for her plans to mingle with the crowd.

“And we have one more change,” the woman had the audacity to say, her lips pressed forward in the shape of a heart. “Please seat this gentleman at Madame Cattaoui’s table, number twelve.” She handed Maya a piece of paper.

Mickey Connolly.

Maya’s stomach dropped.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats,” a volunteer shouted to the crowd as they entered the dining room to the sound of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and gasped at the magical décor. “The king will not enter until everyone is seated.”

After placing Mickey’s seating card in front of his wine goblet, Maya quickly leaned over to smell the pink lotus flowers that had been arranged in a crystal bowl with Egyptian irises at the center of the table. Almost by reflex, she stroked the back of his chair, still digesting the news that he would be here. And thank goodness that he was here alone. She was happy, nervous, and excited to see him, but was baffled by the fact that he was being seated between a countess and the chief lady-in-waiting for the king’s mother, Queen Nazli. And the other guests at his table were no less impressive. Except for a brigadier general and an Indian prince, they were all Egyptian royalty. What was an American journalist doing at this table?

She took her station at the lemonade bar, but couldn’t just stand there and miss Mickey’s arrival. She slipped away and
stopped close to one of the large columns in the back. While her eyes searched the room for him, she couldn’t help gawking at the fabulous dresses the women were wearing. The influence of Hollywood was undeniable. There were Empire-waisted gowns with ties in the back or trains, low and dramatic necklines edged with wide scallops or ruffles, and butterfly sleeves. Accents such as bows and fabric flowers abounded. Maya spotted a woman wearing a carbon copy of the dress worn by Joan Crawford in
Letty Lynton
, a dress so striking that Maya had never forgotten it, though she was only fourteen when she saw the movie. Her own dress seemed embarrassingly modest compared to these.