Three Rivers (4 page)

Isabel had never been able to find a husband. Ava was convinced that Isabel’s selfishness had never allowed it. Ava thought Isabel incapable of sharing a life with another human being and even if she had once had the chance, she was certainly too old now.

So, what if she does have a great many friends who love her very much, and what did it matter if she had lived with some men on and off all her life. She was never clever enough to make a husband out of one of them. Now the years had passed her by, and where was she? Still dreaming that a man will come along with whom she can make a life. She lives extravagantly, impractically, and if her health goes we will all have to support her. There are only three years between us, and why is it I am the one that has to think and act for the family? She is the older, but I am the wiser. While she plays the artist, I, at least, am the success
.

Ava changed into a swimsuit, went out into the garden and dived into the pool, where she swam fifty laps without stopping.

She lifted herself out of the pool with almost more energy than she had entered it. Wrapping herself in her terrycloth robe, she went back to the bar and poured another large Scotch, drank it down in one go, looked in the mirror, smiled and called her hairdresser. She put down the receiver, jogged into the bedroom and dressed in her newest dress.

Two hours later a pretty little lady with a snappy figure, sheathed in a pink, pure silk shirtwaist dress, stepped out of the salon. Heavy gold jewelry set off her dark tan and
brought a sparkle to her pretty face. Her terrific-looking legs with their trim little ankles were shod in pink, calfskin pumps that clicked away on the pavement as she wiggled provocatively up the street to meet her husband. Any man over sixty would have looked at her and thought, “That is some hot ticket”; any man under forty would have thought, “That gal is looking for a good fuck.” Both would have been right.

While Ava was arrogantly flirting her way across Kolonaki Square, Isabel was working on
Ashanti Sun
, her fourth Meredith Montague to go to press in three years.

While Ava was belting back Scotch at a smart Greek restaurant bar with her husband and friends, Isabel was dining alone on a perfect
soufflé
, a salad of endive, and Scottish raspberries, all prepared and served by Endo.

And when Ava was blowing out the candles on her birthday cake and taking bows to a room full of strangers for being born, Isabel was lying in bed being ravished by Max’s tongue. He brought her to orgasm a few times, and when he could hold back no longer, he entered her, and they made love slowly till they came together.

After Max left, Isabel, feeling glowing, lay in a deep, hot bath smoking a joint and listening to
The Dark Side of the Moon
.

Late the next morning Isabel was propped up among the pillows in bed with pad and pencil, her personal telephone book and a box file with last night’s Meredith Montague pages that had to be gone over for corrections before Joanna arrived. The first thing to be done was to organize herself, arrange the work schedule for her absence and give Endo instructions on what she wanted done in the house.

Isabel had been at this for about ten minutes when she remembered to call Cecil Davenport. She was put through to him immediately. She gave little away when she asked about Alexis Hyatt. And Cecil gave even less away. What he did do was to ask her to lunch at Wilton’s, which he said was better than talking on the telephone.

“One-thirty all right for you, Isabel?”

“Yes, lovely, Cecil. But are you sure you have the time?”

“Yes. Have you had your first pheasant of the season yet?”

“No, I haven’t and it will really be nice to have it with you.”

“Well, it will give me great pleasure to take you to lunch; we’ll talk then. By the way, Isabel, it isn’t quite right to call him Alexis Hyatt. Once he was called Hyatt Bey, then there was a time when he was called Excellency, and now he is
Sir
Alexis Hyatt. His title was bestowed upon him by the queen for his services to the Court of St. James and the Arab world, which he well deserved because he is a brilliant diplomat and as pro-Arab as he is pro-West. I’ll send the car around for you.”

An American in the know who thinks he is chic and very cosmopolitan would include Wilton’s high on his list of London restaurants. Down through the years Americans have loved Wilton’s because they believe it is the height of English chic. It is, without question, the English gentlemen’s restaurant. Not far from their tailors, just around the corner from their clubs, down the street from Fortnum & Mason’s, right in the heart of St. James.

A Frenchman dining in London, on the other hand, would go to Wilton’s because it looks like an Englishman’s French restaurant, with Edwardian cooking.

An Englishman dining at Wilton’s would very likely be of the aristocracy, a stockbroker trying to look like English aristocracy, a property developer trying to look like a stockbroker, or an industrialist trying to look like a country gentleman with an O.B.E., who in fact looks like a property developer or a stockbroker, but never an aristocrat.

A world-famous antique dealer whose club is Brooks, who is married to a duchess, is as much a scholar as a dealer and is an honorable gentleman would dine at Wilton’s because it is a great restaurant and a habit.

As Cecil and Isabel entered the restaurant, they were warmly welcomed by the owner, who graciously called for a man to take Isabel’s sleeveless coat of mocha-colored, rough buffalo suede. Cecil looked with approval at the Jean Muir silk jersey dress with its voluminous sleeves held tight at the wrists, its deep V-shaped neck which revealed nothing but suggested everything, and its slim skirt. The sash of the same material was held not by a buckle but by an antique Cartier brooch of diamonds.

Isabel looked around the room and received a few admiring looks in return. There were the usual English gentlemen
on the company lunch, a few foreign men, but hardly any women in the dining room. The women that were there were purely decoration for their escorts — an Englishman always likes “a bird in the hand.”

Over champagne and oysters Isabel told Cecil about the telephone call from Sir Alexis Hyatt, omitting that she thought he desired her. Actually, Ava had done her work well the night before. What Isabel had interpreted as a personal interest in her, she now no longer thought even a remote possibility. Isabel saw herself through Ava’s eyes: a woman alone, only to be used.

Cecil was a good friend and a shrewd businessman. He made it very clear that he was available to her for anything that she might need on her project with Sir Alexis.

As Isabel sipped her wine and dissected her moist and sweet roast pheasant, Cecil told her what he felt she should know about her new client.

Before the pheasant carcass was removed from the table Isabel had learned that Sir Alexis Hyatt was one of the richest men in Egypt. His father was Coptic, and the family could be traced back to 250
A.D
. Historically the family had always been involved in both church and state, serving under kings and presidents. The name Hyatt had never been tarnished by scandal.

Sir Alexis’s mother was a Moslem whose ancestors had come to Egypt in 645
A.D.
and had ruled that country under the Ottoman Empire. Saladin, Muhammed Ali and a most unusual slave who became queen around 1245
A.D.
were only a few of her famous family.

The Hyatt estate included vast tracts of rich land, some agricultural and some prime property in many capital cities around the world. There were corporate holdings, art collections, a fleet of ships. The scale was such that no one had ever thought to estimate the family’s worth. For all their wealth the Hyatts always kept as low a profile as possible.

There were two younger brothers who handled most of the business side of things, along with their advisers. The eldest always went into the service of his country, which was what Sir Alexis had done so admirably. But he was the head of the family, make no mistake of that.

As Isabel listened, she realized why sweet old Cecil was springing for vintage champagne and wine. He was so happy to see her get a really top client. Cecil was a
snob, perhaps, but Isabel knew that he was just enough of a softy to want this all to work out well, not to mention that he would be happy to deal with Sir Alexis Hyatt anytime through her. She knew, however, that personal gain was not Cecil’s reason for taking her to lunch, so she decided to repay the favor by having a jolly time listening to him. As she did, she scooped up spoonfuls of
fraises de bois
, tiny wild strawberries whose taste was so pure and fresh that it sparked memories of a beautiful day made of laughter, sunshine and love in a wood somewhere in the heart of Provence long ago.

Over coffee Cecil wound up his biography with what, for a man, were usually the least important details, but for a woman, were usually the ones that added the spice of life. Sir Alexis Hyatt was married once when very young to an extremely rich, beautiful Persian girl. About fifteen years ago they divorced when she ran off with a famous architect. The marriage left him with two sons — one a doctor and one a farmer on a grand scale. Around fifty-five years old, Sir Alexis usually traveled with one or the other of the two women who had been in his life since his wife left him.

“Well, my dear, that is just about all I know of your Sir Alexis Hyatt, except that he is a gentleman.” Cecil smiled. “Don’t let him go.”

“But, what does he look like?” Isabel asked impatiently.

On this point all that Isabel could get out of Cecil was that Sir Alexis was very tall and slim, with dark coloring. Her luncheon companion shrugged off her queries with an irritable, “I have no idea what you mean by ‘handsome’; let’s just say that he is pleasant to look at and leave it at that.”

Considering the slight touch of annoyance in Cecil’s voice, and knowing his vanity, Isabel realized that Sir Alexis Hyatt must be at least as good-looking as Cecil, and most likely better-looking. She was inwardly amused and thought,
How dark, Cecil? Tan, the color of milk chocolate, or perhaps Cadbury’s dark bitter kind? Are his eyes tiny as pinpoints and does he wear thick lenses, or are his eyes big, dark and liquidly sexy? What do you mean by “tall”? Do you mean he is tall for an Arab, or taller than you? Never mind slim; that’s always good, especially when it’s how one man describes another
.

Isabel leaned towards Cecil and, turning his head, gave
him a very gentle kiss on the cheek. He smiled, reached out and stroked her hair, then launched into an anecdote concerning the Louis XV chairs that he had just bought. She went with Cecil to see them after lunch and they were indeed marvelous, without question the best chairs for sale anywhere in the world.

Rubinstein and the Chopin ballades, Joy’s sweet singing and the rhythmic click of the loom as she threw the shuttle, changed treadles and pulled forward and back on the batten, these were the sounds that set the atmosphere in the studio. Isabel was at the very opposite end of the room, sitting at her drafting table, selecting various things to take with her to Egypt. Drafting pencils, tracing paper, templates, tape measure, slide rule, quarter-inch scale, small triangle and T-square were all standard equipment for an assignment abroad. Other things she would take included a color chart in small book form, a lighting catalog, her smallest recorder for dictation, and a small, blank-paged book covered in fabric. In it she would write down everything of importance on the Hyatt job; her way of keeping a record.

After putting all the things in a wicker basket, where they would stay until packed, she covered her drafting table and walked through the potted trees and sculpture that were scattered the length of the large room, to see Joy. Isabel gave her a list of the things to be done during the week she was away. As usual, all the animals converged on them wanting to take part in the conversation. The dogs had to be held, and Arthur the cat had to find his way to Joy. There seemed no other way to silence them except to send them downstairs, which neither woman would ever think of doing.

The hum of the elevator told them someone was coming. The dogs began barking and Arthur went into a Nijinsky jump. The two women laughed as the pets squirmed this way and that until all three animals were lined up, waiting for the elevator door to open. Out came Joanna and the din started all over again. No-nonsense Joanna shooed them down the first few stairs of the staircase that wound down around the elevator shaft, and the three women spoke and then went down to the library where Isabel paid them for the week’s work and the following week as well. Joy wished Isabel a good trip
and went off for the weekend. Joanna went over her work with Isabel, and Endo came in to ask if they wanted tea. Isabel ordered tea for Joanna, but passed it up for herself, since she was invited to tea with the Hayakawas.

The phone rang, and Endo announced that a man who introduced himself as Alexander Gordon-Spencer was calling on behalf of Sir Alexis Hyatt.

It turned out that Mr. Gordon-Spencer was responsible for the travel arrangements concerning Isabel’s journey. The Hyatt jet was ready to take off from Heathrow on Sunday evening at five, which meant that they would arrive at Cairo airport at midnight Cairo time, or the plane could take off at midnight from Heathrow, arriving at Cairo at seven, Monday morning, Cairo time. Isabel told Mr. Gordon-Spencer that she did not mind a night flight and thought that it would be better to arrive early Monday morning rather than at midnight on Sunday.

“The night flight would be best,” the caller agreed. “I have some information you might want to have, such as the address where you will be staying and the telephone number where you can be reached,” he continued. “I have the address where you are to send your invoice. When would it be convenient for me to come round with the information and at the same time pick up your passport? I will need it for passport control and security clearance, to avoid unnecessary delays.”

They agreed that 7:00
P.M.
would be the best time for both of them. Isabel had a delightful hour with the Hayakawas and then a catnap before Endo announced her visitor.