Palace Circle (32 page)

Thanks to self-imposed censorship by newspaper magnates loyal to the King it
was
kept out of the newspapers—but only out of British newspapers. American newspapers had a field day.

The passion of Delia's feelings showed in the flamboyance of her handwriting.

In October, Davina learned Wallis had been granted a decree nisi. Delia was distraught.

When, in December, the King abdicated and Prince Albert became king, announcing he would be known as King George VI, the Conisboroughs were not surprised.

Egypt too had a new king, the sixteen-year-old Farouk.

“Not that I think things will change much,” Darius said darkly when, fifteen months later, they attended Farouk's investiture. “Even with the new treaty granting Egypt independence the British still have control of the canal and British troops remain on Egyptian soil.”

The ceremony took place in the Hall of Deputies. The Queen Mother and other dignitaries sat facing the Egyptian king. Behind them were members of the court circle. Davina could see Zubair Pasha's stout figure and scores of senior officials and European dignitaries—including her parents and Sir Miles and Lady Lampson.

By rights Darius should have been seated with his father, but he made his way across to Davina, forcing the people next to her to squeeze uncomfortably closer.

“He's young,” Davina whispered as the gold crown that Tutankhamen had worn 3,300 years earlier was placed on Farouk's head. “He's going to feel as you do, Darius.”

“Good,” he said, bending his head so close to hers that his lips brushed her ear. “It's time Egypt changed, Davina—and it's time our relationship did as well.”

She gasped as the imam placed the crown on Farouk's head, proclaiming, “In Allah's name! Farouk, King of Egypt!”

“When we get out of here,” Darius said, his eyes on hers, “let's drive to Giza and ride into the desert.”

Even though there was a celebratory ball that night at the palace, she didn't hesitate for a second.

“Yes,” she said, her heart hammering.

They left Garden City with champagne and a picnic of pita, hummus, and figs.

Getting out of Cairo wasn't easy. Thousands of people had flooded the city for the coronation. The streets were jam-packed with flag-waving fellahin. Farouk's picture was everywhere. The Kasr el-Nil Bridge, usually choked with donkey carts and gharries, was filled with limousines and Cadillacs as guests began inching their way toward the Abdin Palace.

By the time Darius's Mercedes-Benz swooped into Giza it was dusk.

They parked at the Mena House Hotel, its gardens and balconies thronged with partygoers, and made straight for the stables.

Saqqara and the Step Pyramid—and Davina knew they would be riding to nowhere else—was an hour's ride south and by the time the distinctive shape of the pyramid loomed before them their horses were wet with sweat.

Darius reined in and speedily dismounted. Seconds later his hands were hot on her waist as he helped her down and pulled her hard against him.

“Why now?” she asked, her mouth a millimeter from his, a pulse beating wildly in her throat.

“Because it's time,” he said. One hand moved to the ribbon that held her hair back and pulled it free, sending her ivory-pale hair tumbling to her shoulders.

As the blood surged through her body, his mouth came swiftly down on hers.

It was a long, sweet kiss. When he finally raised his head
he said, “Until now, you've been too young for this kind of relationship.”

“I'm twenty-one,” she said, so filled with desire she could barely stand. “You could have kissed me years ago.”

“No, I couldn't,” he said with a rare smile. “When you were seventeen you were still wearing headbands and socks. Compared to other girls you've always been young for your age. It's probably why your mother didn't mind waiting for your debutante season until you were nearly nineteen.”

“I didn't go earlier because I didn't want to.”

Though it was hard to believe at such a moment, she knew they were on the point of having an argument.

Realizing it, he said gently, “Let's put a blanket on the sand and unpack the food and I'll explain just why our being in love would have been so difficult for you to handle a year or so ago—and will still be difficult for both of us to handle now.”

He took the blanket roll from off his horse and laid it beneath a date palm. Then he set out the bowls of hummus and figs.

As he began pouring Heidsieck she sat on the blanket, her legs curled beneath her.

“I chose my political course a long time ago, Davina,” he said, champagne fizzing over the top of the glass as he handed it to her. “Your family has only tolerated our friendship because of my father. A full-blown love affair will be viewed very differently.”

“A love affair,” she said, her voice even more unsteady, “is what I want.”

At the blaze of passion in his eyes a tremor ran through her.

“Apart from your father's opposition—and make no mistake, Davina, his opposition is going to be fierce—my nationalist friends will object as well.”

“And a British girlfriend will destroy your credibility with them?”

He shook his head. “Not necessarily. Dating members of
the ‘fishing fleet’ is considered a joke—at least it is among those who are Coptic. But a British wife wouldn't be.”

His eyes held hers intently.

She knew he was waiting for a sign that she understood that nothing was going to be easy for them. There would be no early engagement celebrated by their families and the Egyptian and British communities.

The moonlight fell across his handsome face, highlighting its harsh planes. She was aware, as never before, of the passionate intensity that was so much a part of his personality. Of the sense of danger he carried with him.

She put her champagne glass down. “I love you,” she said. “I don't care what problems we face, Darius, just as long as we face them together.”

She saw the overwhelming relief in his eyes and realized with amazement that he hadn't been certain of her response. He reached out for her with powerful yet careful hands. Knowing that she was as central to his life as he was to hers, she had never been so happy in her life.

“And so we're a couple now, not just friends,” she told her father.

It was early evening and the two of them were in his study. He had just come back from a meeting with Nahas Pasha, the new prime minister.

“Excuse me
?” Ivor slapped a document onto his desk and wheeled around to face her. “Are you trying to tell me that you and one of the biggest political troublemakers Cairo has are unofficially engaged?”

She had never seen him look so angry. Others, she knew, were often intimidated by him, but neither she nor Petra had ever feared him. He had never been overly affectionate, but he had always been approachable.

“I don't know when we can marry, but we are romantically
involved. I thought it best for me to tell you so, before anyone else did.”

She had never seen her ice-cool father splutter, but he spluttered now. “Romantically involved? What, in the name of all that is holy is that supposed to mean? Is his family aware of this ‘romantic involvement’? Can I expect Zubair Pasha to mention it when next we meet? It has to end, Davina. It has to end
now.
D'you understand? Darius is a dangerous young man. His politics are dangerous and the ways he pursues them are dangerous.”

“You don't know that,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. “Most of the gossip about Darius is rumor. If there were hard facts, he'd be in a British prison.”

“The only reason he's not is because his father is so strongly pro-British! And as Britain needs every friend she can get in Farouk's court, Zubair Pasha is not a man we would wish to offend by imprisoning his son!”

He paced to the window.

“No more of this nonsense, Davina,” he said. “I always felt it was a bad move allowing you to continue your friendship with Darius. His politics have already caused his father great distress. Even Fawzia has very little to do with him.”

“Maybe so,” she said quietly, “but I will continue to see him, Daddy.”

He looked ashen. “Then you had better make arrangements to live elsewhere, Davina. That is my final word on the subject.”

“You're asking me to leave Nile House?”

“Only in order to bring you to your senses.”

“Under the circumstances I think you could be more understanding.”

“What circumstances?” He breathed in hard, his nostrils white.

“Kate Gunn,” she said. And left the room.

“I have left the house,” she said the next day to Petra. “I've moved into the Nurses' Home. It will probably be quite jolly.”

Petra stared at her gentle-natured young sister. “Are you telling me,” she said disbelievingly, “that you and Darius are now lovers and that you told Ivor so?”

“I didn't tell him that we were lovers,” Davina conceded. “The expression I used was ‘romantically involved.’”

“And Kate?” Petra asked, quirking a finely penciled eyebrow. “How long have you known about that little secret?”

They were on the terrace at Shepheard's, the position of their table giving a view of the hotel's Moorish Hall, a favorite meeting place for men.

“I don't know,” Davina said slowly, looking at several of their father's friends, deep in conversation, drinks to hand. “It didn't come as a sudden revelation. I just gradually realized the part she played in Daddy's life. I think Mummy knows about it, don't you?”

“Oh, most definitely,” Petra said with the hardness that was so often in her voice when she spoke of their mother. “And as she doesn't appear to mind, there's absolutely no reason why we should.”

She leaned back in her chair, her mahogany-red hair gleaming in the sunlight. “Where Ivor and Kate are concerned there will never be a whisper of gossip—they are both too careful. You, however, are in a different position, Davvy. When news of you and Darius breaks, Cairo society will regard you as an addition to the fishing fleet.”

“They can regard me however they like,” Davina said with her quiet composure. “I really don't care. All that matters to me is what my real friends think of me. And as they are not interested in my personal life, their opinion won't change.”

Gossip among the British community about Davina was eclipsed by talk of war in Europe. There suddenly were a far greater number of Germans in the city than there had been only months earlier. Farouk was rumored to admire them.

“Which could be a bit tricky if Britain declares war on Germany,” Sholto said languidly to Davina. “The recent Anglo-Egyptian Treaty is pretty specific. If Britain declares war on a hostile nation, that declaration includes Egypt—but if Farouk doesn't want to keep to the treaty, it will be hard to make him.”

As Christmas approached and Delia came out for her usual long stay, she brought news which she seemed oddly reluctant to tell Petra.

“But why?” Davina asked her, perplexed. “It's four years since Petra ended her love affair with Jack. She's been married to Sholto for more than a year. Why will she be distressed to learn Jack is to marry Fawzia? And why are they going to get married in a London registry office, and not in Cairo?”