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passport Isabel felt protected; without it, utterly alone. Except, of course, in England, where one
never
feels the need to be protected.
    Isabel and Mr. Gordon-Spencer had been talking about Egypt when Endo returned with the passport and gave it to Isabel. She hesitated, and was about to demand that she have her passport returned to her as soon as she landed in Cairo, when Mr. Gordon-Spencer went over to Isabel, took her hand, raised it to his lips and said, “Miss Wells, you must not worry. Your passport will be safe. I am to see that you are
both
well cared for. You are, after all, under the protection of Sir Alexis.”
    Isabel still wanted to say something about the return of the passport, but somehow did not feel anxious once Mr. Gordon-Spencer had put it in his inside jacket pocket.
    It was only after Endo had seen Mr. Gordon-Spencer out that Isabel began to wonder if there had not been a twinkle in his eye, and a knowing twinkle at that, when he said that Isabel was under the protection of Sir Alexis. Again it crossed her mind that Sir Alexis wanted an affair. Then she checked herself, remembering Ava’s words, and Sir Alexis’s very businesslike manner on the telephone. God, how she hated Ava for being so realistic.

II
    When Isabel drew the draperies open in her bedroom on Saturday morning it was raining. A nasty cold October wind drove the rain down, sometimes in heavy sheets that in their turn were dashed away by more gusts of wind. There was no letup in the rain all day, and by late afternoon a thick wet fog had settled in as well. It was the same on Sunday, and one could feel the gray, cold wetness of it right through to one’s bones.
    Isabel loved it. It was the perfect excuse to stay tucked in the house with the animals, and the fires going. She worked a bit on
Ashanti Sun
, packed her cases and played with Rita, Winston and Arthur. She read the Sunday papers and did some cooking for Sunday lunch: roast beef (sublime), Yorkshire pudding (a flop and into the rubbish), baked apples filled with nuts and cinnamon (sheer ambrosia). Endo arrived on the scene and, horrified by the mess of his kitchen, took over and made the salad. Isabel sat in a rocking chair watching him and waiting for the phone to ring telling her the plane had been canceled and the job was off.
    She was completely relaxed and ready to go, but for some reason she had a feeling that something would happen, and it was not going to come off. She had heard nothing more from Sir Alexis. The only call she’d had was from Cecil, wishing her a good trip. She’d broken down and asked Cecil if he was sure Sir Alexis was reliable — he had her passport. Cecil’s annoyance cut through, followed by a brief lecture on the “chance of a lifetime.”
    By nine that evening the rain was still pelting down, but it did seem that the fog had lifted, for she could see through the tops of the trees in Berkeley Square. No one had called to cancel the flight, so she went up to her room, bathed and changed into her traveling clothes.
    She went into the kitchen to tell Endo that he couldclose the cases and bring them down, then into the drawing room where she stood close to the window looking at the rain. The garden seemed to be absolutely waterlogged. Her dress, in a white thin wool, with its rare white jade discs that buttoned down the front, dolman sleeves and a built-in elastic waist, fell smoothly across her hips, but was full in the skirt; it was an easy dress for traveling. She wore no stockings and high-heeled white sandals. She had planned to look perfect when she stepped off the plane in Cairo, but there was all this water to get through first ….
    Well, never mind, she knew that an umbrella would cover her as she was whisked into a car and then into the plane, but all she could do was hope for the best about her lovely shoes. What was most important was to be dressed as well and as lightly as possible, in preparation for when she stepped out of the plane