the exact sum required. Then we walked out together into the twilight. I wondered if Xan was reunited with his patrol, and if they were already dug into a wadi within sight of the el Agheila road.
‘Here’s my bus.’ It was one of the ancient dirty-blue Cairene boneshakers, crowded to suffocation point with Egyptians heading home to the city outskirts. Ruth climbed onto the step and somehow melted into the solid mass of humanity within. A second later I saw her face pressed against the murky glass of the nearest window. She gave me a smile that seemed to hang in the air after the bus had trundled on its way.
I started to walk penitentially towards Garden City but the day had begun to seem like a very long tunnel. Riding home through the dawn with Xan felt like a week ago. A taxi loomed towards me and I flagged it down.
‘Yes, Madam, Shepheard’s Hotel?’
‘No.’ I gave the man the address, fell inside and dozed until we jerked to a stop outside the apartment.
As I came in I noticed for the first time in months how opulent Faria’s parents’ furniture was, and how overstuffed the rooms felt.
Sarah was sitting in a circle of lamplight, her knees drawn up and her bare feet on the crimson sofa cushions. She looked pale, but her hair was freshly washed and there was a slick of lipstick on her mouth.
‘Sarah! You’re back. Did you have a good time? You look much better.’
Sarah held out her arms to me. ‘Here I am. And you. Faria told me your news. I’m so happy for you, Iris. I’m really happy. Come on, give me a hug.’
I sat down beside her and we hugged and kissed each other. Sarah smelled of her favourite perfume but the bones in her shoulders and arms seemed much more prominent, and there was a veil of sadness in her face.
‘Are you really all right?’ I asked.
‘‘Course. And you’re going to be Mrs Alexander Molyneux. How exciting. Are you completely thrilled?’
‘I am.’
‘Can I be your bridesmaid?’
Thinking about Ruth Macnamara I said, ‘Of course. You and Faria.’
‘What heaven. Not pink, please don’t say pink. Maybe palest mint green, what do you think?’
‘Where is Faria?’
‘Oh, out.’
‘Ali?’
‘Jeremy, I think,’ Sarah said. She must have bitten her lips from inside because they went pale under the lipstick. Then she stretched out her legs and jumped up with a little laugh. ‘Let’s have a drink. A drink to you and Xan.’
She poured us a significant measure of gin apiece and tilted her glass.
‘To the two of you. Happy for ever,’ she called, and drank.
In the restaurant, waiting for Sebastian, Lesley ranged her cutlery so that the pieces lay perfectly parallel and with the tails exactly half an inch from the table edge. The napkin’s white cone stood in the centre of the rectangle created by the knife and fork, and the autumn sun striking through the plate-glass window was reflected in a starry prism from the blade of her knife.
‘Don’t play with your knife and fork.’
Lesley had been thinking of Iris and the voice in her head was hers. Her mother had been strict about table manners; suddenly Lesley felt her as close as if she were sitting in the opposite chair. Then she looked up and saw her ex-husband. He came across the restaurant, jacket flapping and a scarf trailing, arms out as if to catch the wind.
‘Lesley, hello, hello. Am I late? You’re looking fabulous.’
‘Am I? Thank you.’
Sebastian aimed a kiss at her cheek before taking his seat opposite her, allowing a waiter to retrieve his scarf and carry off his battered leather briefcase, which was the size of a small suitcase.
‘Have you been here long? It’s one, oh God, twenty past. The bloody phone rang just as I was walking out of the door. An author having a crise. I had to deal with it.’
‘It’s all right.’
He leaned forward and put his hands over hers. The table rocked slightly.
‘Good. That’s good. Here we are, then.’
She slid her hands away and replaced them in her lap. Sebastian glanced around the room, checking to see if he knew anyone.
‘Look at this old place. It’s changed a bit since our time, eh?’
When they had first met each other, a year or more before they were married, Sebastian Sawyer used to bring her here for dinner. The restaurant was round the corner from his flat and he had been a regular, with whoever the current girlfriend happened to be. In those days it had been a checked-tablecloth French bistro, with the menu chalked up on a blackboard, and she had hardly noticed anything because she was in love with him. Now it was all blond wood and brown suede. Off-the-shelf restaurant design, Lesley noted critically, professionally.
‘You’re frowning.’
‘What?’
‘Is something wrong?’ Sebastian asked.
‘No, nothing. Well, except that I’m worried about Ruby, of course. You know that. It’s why I wanted us to have this lunch together. You are her father, and …’
He held up his hand. ‘Don’t worry. We’re going to have a good long talk. Let’s order first, shall we?’
Lesley picked two things off the menu at random. Sebastian asked the waiter where the beef was from and peered for long moments at the wine list. At last he folded away his reading glasses, took a mouthful of wine when it arrived and appeared to be chewing on it, then leaned back with a rich sigh.
‘Now then,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Ruby.’
‘Have you talked to her?’
‘As a matter of fact I have. Since you and I were going to meet today, I gave our daughter a call last night.’ Sebastian twinkled at her. As a senior publisher with a large staff of young, attractive women, the twinkle was a well-used weapon in his armoury. ‘I couldn’t get her mobile, of course, so I tried the number you gave me and lo and behold, my ex-mother-in-law answered.’
‘What did she say?’
‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t think she had a clue who I was.’
Lesley made a quick reckoning. Sebastian and Iris had met only a handful of times. Iris had come home from Africa for the wedding, and during the eight years before Ruby was born there had been maybe four or five other encounters. Iris came to London again soon after Ruby arrived, she was sure of that; there was a photograph
