'What's the matter with Althea? Is she feeling ill?' asked his wife.
The tall, elegant figure backed away from them, groping with her scarf, and as they hurried to her side the chiffon fell back, revealing the tragedy, and the owner of the scarf, endeavouring to mumble between closed lips, pointed to the impaled teeth on the piece of bread within her bag.
'Oh, I say,' murmured Eric Chaseborough, tad luck. What a wretched thing to happen.'
He looked about him helplessly, as if, amongst the people mounting the steps, there might be someone who could give them the address of a dentist in Jerusalem.
His wife, sensing the humiliation of her friend, held on to her arm.
'Don't worry,' she said. 'It doesn't show. Not if you keep your scarf over your mouth. You're not in pain?'
Lady Althea shook her head. Pain she could have borne, but not this loss of pride, this misery of shame, the knowledge that in that one moment of biting the bread she had thrown away all grace, all dignity.
'The Israelis are very up to date,' said Eric Chaseborough. 'There's sure to be a first-rate man who can fix you up. The reception clerk at the King David will be able to tell us.'
Lady Althea shook her head again, thinking of the endless appointments in Harley Street, the careful probing, the highspeed drill, the hours of patience to keep beauty intact. She thought of the lunch ahead, herself eating nothing, while her friends tried to behave as if all was quite usual. The vain search for a dentist who could at best patch up the ravages that had taken place. Phil's gasp of astonishment. Robin's curious gaze. The averted eyes of the rest of the party. The remainder of the tour a nightmare.
'There's someone coming up the steps who seems to know you,' murmured Eric Chaseborough.
Kate Foster, having inspected the Al Aqsa Mosque, had resolutely turned her back on the entrance to the Wailing Wall-too many Orthodox Jews pressing forward over the enormous space where their government had had the ruthless audacity to bulldoze Jordanian dwellings and condemn more Jordanians to desert tents-and returned towards the Dome of the Rock. There she caught sight of Lady Althea being supported between strangers. She hurried to her rescue.
'What on earth's wrong?' she enquired.
Lord Chaseborough introduced himself and explained the situation.
'Poor Althea is very distressed,' he murmured. 'I'm not quite sure what's the best thing to do.'
'Lost her front teeth?' said Kate Foster. 'Well, it's not the end of the world, is it?' She stared in some curiosity at the stricken woman who, proud and confident, had strolled by her side such a short while ago. 'Let's have a look.'
Lady Althea, her hand trembling, lowered the chiffon scarf, and with a tremendous effort tried to smile. To her consternation, and that of her sympathetic friends, Kate Foster burst out laughing.
'Well, I must say,' she exclaimed, 'you couldn't have made a cleaner job of it if you'd been in a prize- fight.'
It seemed to Lady Althea, as she stood there above the steps, that all the people pressing forward were staring, not at the Dome of the Rock, but at her alone, and were nudging one another, whispering, smiling; for she knew, from her own experience of mocking others, that there is nothing more likely to unite a crowd of strangers in a wave of laughter than the sight of someone who, with dignity shattered, becomes suddenly grotesque.
'Straight on for the Via Dolorosa… Straight on for the Way of the Cross.'
Jim Foster, dragging Jill Smith by the hand, was held up at every turn by kneeling pilgrims. Jill had expressed a wish to visit the markets, or the suks, or whatever they called themselves, and to the suks she should go. Besides, he could buy something for Kate, and make his peace with her.
'I think I ought to wait for Bob,' said Jill, hanging back.
But Bob was nowhere to be seen. He had followed Babcock to the Praetorium.
'You didn't want to wait for him last night,' replied Jim Foster.
Amazing how a girl could change gear between midnight and noon. She might have been a different creature altogether. Last night under the trees, at first protesting, then moaning with pleasure at his touch, and now prickly, off-hand, it was almost as if she wanted nothing more to do with him. Well, fine, O.K., let it be so. But it was a bit of a slap in the face all the same. A guilty conscience was one thing, a brush-off another. He wouldn't put it past her to have run bleating to her fool of a husband last night, telling him she had been the victim of assault. Though Bob Smith would never have the nerve to do anything about it. Well, it was probably the last thrill she would ever get out of sex, poor girl. Something to remember all her life.
'Come on,' he urged, 'if you want that brass bangle.'
'We can't,' she whispered. 'That clergyman there is praying.'
'We adore thee, 0 Christ, and we bless thee.'
The priest, just ahead of them, was on his knees, his head bowed.
'Because by the Holy Cross thou hast redeemed the world.'
The response came from the group of pilgrims kneeling behind him.
I shouldn't have let him, thought Jill Smith. I shouldn't have let Jim Foster do what he did last night. It wasn't right. I feel terrible when I think of it. And we came here to see the Holy Places, and all these people praying around us, and Jesus Christ dying for our sins. I feel awful, I feel really bad. On my honeymoon, too. What would everyone say if they knew? They'd say I was nothing but a scrubber, a slut, and it's not as if I were in love with him, I'm not, I love Bob. I just don't know what came over me to let Jim Foster do what he did.
The pilgrims rose to their feet and passed on up the Via Dolorosa, and thank goodness it didn't seem so holy once they had gone. The street was full of ordinary people, women with baskets on their heads, and they were coming to stalls full of vegetables, butchers' shops with carcasses of lambs hanging up on hooks, and traders shouting and calling their wares, but it was all so close and huddled together you could hardly move, you could hardly breathe.
The street was dividing, and there were booths and shops on either side, and flights of steps to the right flanked by stalls piled with oranges, grapefruit, enormous cabbages, onions, and beans.
'We're in the wrong suk,' said Jim Foster impatiently. 'Nothing but blasted foodstuffs here.'
Through an archway he espied a row of booths hung with belts and scarves, and next to it a stall where an old man was displaying cheap jewellery. 'Here, this is more like it,' he said, but a donkey loaded with melons barred his path, and a woman with a basket on her head tripped over his foot.
'Let's go back,' said Jill. 'We're getting hopelessly lost.'
A young man sidled up to her, a sheaf of pamphlets in his hand.
'You wish to visit Holyland Hill for superb panoramic view?' he enquired. 'Also see the Artist Colony and Night Club?'
'Oh, please go away,' said Jill. 'I don't want to see any of them.'
She had let go of Foster's hand, and now he was the other side of the street, beckoning to her. This might be the moment to give him the slip and try to retrace her steps and find Bob, yet she was scared at the thought of being on her own in these narrow, bewildering streets.
Jim Foster, standing by the booth selling jewellery, picked up one object after another and threw it down again. Complete junk. Nothing worth buying. Medallions with the Dome of the Rock, and head-scarves printed all over with donkeys. Hardly do to buy one of those for Kate-she might think it was a joke in bad taste. He turned round to look for Jill, forgetting that he still held one of the despised medallions in his hand. He could just see her disappearing down the street. Bloody girl, what was the matter with her? He started to cross the road, when an angry voice shouted after him from the stall.
'Three dollars for the medallion. You owe me three dollars! ' He looked back over his shoulder. The vendor behind the stall was red with anger.
'Here, take it, I don't want the damn thing,' said Jim, and threw the medallion back on to the stall.
'You pick it up, you buy,' shouted the man, and he began jabbering to his neighbour, and the pair of them started shaking their fists, attracting the attention of other vendors in the market, and other purchasers. Jim hesitated a moment, then panicked. You never knew what might happen with a Middle East crowd. He walked quickly away, and as the uproar rose behind him, and heads turned, he quickened his pace and began to run, elbowing people aside, head down, and the crowds intent upon their shopping, or merely strolling, stepped back upon one another, causing more upheaval. 'What is it? Is he a thief? Has be planted a bomb?'
Murmurs were all behind him, and as Jim mounted a flight of steps he saw two Israeli policemen coming
