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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 tripand 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.
    Alexander Gordon-Spencer turned out to be far from an errand boy. He was, in fact, the managing director of one of the Hyatt companies, whose offices were the handsome seventeenth-century house on South Audley Street, just a few doors away from the Egyptian Embassy.
    While Endo served drinks Mr. Gordon-Spencer gave Isabel a few more slivers of information: A car would pick her up at eleven on Sunday evening; there would be two other people on the plane; on arrival in Cairo there would be someone to take her from the plane to Sir Alexis’s villa. She sent Endo for her passport, asked when she could have it back and was told on her arrival back in London.
    Isabel was not happy. She had lived in Arab countrieson and off for years and had made many a scene in order not to let that passport out of her sight for longer than ten minutes. Once in Ethiopia they had held it for four hours, and she almost had apoplexy, for how could she call for the Marines to get her out if she did not have her precious American passport, an instant exit visa from any and all trouble? Never mind that the slim little book contained a photograph of her looking more like a resident of a prison than an honest citizen, and that the official stamp of approval from the State Department had managed to land the eagle on her face, so that she not only looked like a prisoner but a Mongoloid as well. With her