sometimes it seemed to her that she had left something else behind with it, something she could not do without. In Alexandria when she was a child people would put blue palm prints on the red mud walls, hand shapes to ward off evil. Elene did not believe in the efficacy of the palm prints; but despite the rats, despite the nightly screams as the moneylender beat both of his wives, despite the ticks that infested everyone, despite the early death of many babies, she believed there had been something there that warded off evil. She had been looking for that something when she took men home, took them into her bed, accepted their gifts and their caresses and their money; but she had never found it.
She did not want to do that anymore. She had spent too much of her life looking for love in the wrong places. In particular, she did not want to do it with Alex Wolff. Several times she had said to herself: 'Why not do it just once more?' That was Vandam's coldly reasonable point of view. But, each time she contemplated making love with Wolff, she saw again the daydream that had plagued her for the last few weeks, the daydream of seducing William Vandam She knew just how Vandam would be: he would look at her with innocent wonder, and touch her with wide-eyed delight; thinking of it, she felt momentarily helpless with desire. She knew how Wolff would be, too. He would be knowing, selfish, skilful and unshockable. Without speaking she turned from the view and walked back toward the car. It was time for him to make his pass. They had finished the meal, emptied the champagne bottle and the flask of coffee, picked clean the chicken and the bunch of grapes. Now he would expect his just reward. From the back seat of the car she watched him. He stayed a moment longer on the edge of the bluff, then walked toward her, calling to the driver. He had the confident grace that height often seemed to give to men. He was an attractive man, much more glamorous than any of Elene's lovers had been, but she was afraid of him, and her fear came not just from what she knew about him, his history and his secrets and his knife, but from an intuitive understanding of his nature: somehow she knew that his charm was not spontaneous but manipulative, and that if he was kind it was because he wanted to use her.
She had been used enough.
Wolff got in beside her. 'Did you enjoy the picnic?'
She made an effort to be bright. 'Yes, it was lovely. Thank You!, The car pulled away. Either he would invite her to his place or he would take her to her flat and ask for a nightcap. She would have to find an encouraging way to refuse him. This struck her as ridiculous: she was behaving like a frightened virgin. She thought: What am I doing-saving my-self for Mr. Right?
She had been silent for too long. She was supposed to be witty and engaging. She should talk to him. 'Have you heard the war news?' she asked, and realized at once it was not the most lighthearted of topics. 'The Germans are still winning,' he said. 'Of course.'
'Why of course'?'
He smiled condescendingly at her. 'The world is divided into masters and slaves, Elene.' He spoke as if he were explaining simple facts to a schoolboy. 'The British have been masters too long. They've gone soft, and now it will be someone else's turn.'
'And the Egyptians-are they masters, or slaves?' She knew she should shut up, she was walking on thin ice, but his complacency infuriated her.
'The Bedouin are masters,' he said. 'But the average Egyptian is a born slave.'
She thought: He means every word of it. She shuddered.
They reached the outskirts of the city. It was after midnight, and the suburbs were quiet, although downtown would still be buzzing. Wolff said:
'Where do you live?'
She told him. So it was to be her place.
Wolff said: 'We must do this again.'
'I'd like that.'
They reached the Sharia Abbas, and he told the driver to stop. Elene wondered what was going to happen now. Wolff turned to her and said: 'Thank you for a lovely evening. I'll see you soon.' He got out of the car. She stared in astonishment. He bent down by the driver's window, gave the man some money and told him Elene's address. The driver nodded. Wolff banged on the roof of the car, and the driver pulled away. Elene looked back and saw Wolff waving. As the car began to turn a comer, Wolff started walking toward the river.
She thought: What do you make of that?
No pass, no invitation to his place, no nightcap, not even a good-night kiss-what game was he playing, hard- to-get?
She puzzled over the whole thing as the taxi took her home. Perhaps it was Wolff's technique to try to intrigue a woman. Perhaps he was just eccentric. Whatever the reason, she was very grateful. She sat back and relaxed. She was not obliged to choose between fighting him off and going to bed with him. Thank God.
The taxi drew up outside her building. Suddenly, from nowhere, three cars roared up. One stopped right in front of the taxi, one close behind, and one alongside. Men materialized out of the shadows. All four doors of the taxi were flung open, and four guns pointed in. Elene screamed. Then a head was poked into the car, and Elene recognized Vandam
'Gone?' Vandam said.
Elene realized what was happening. 'I thought you were going to shoot me,' she said.
'Where did you leave him?'
'Sharia Abbas.'
'How long ago?'
'Five or ten minutes. May I get out of the car?'
He gave her a hand, and she stepped on to the pavement. He said: 'I'm sorry we scared you.'
'This is called slamming the stable door after the horse has bolted.'
'Quite.' He looked utterly defeated.
