The Automobile Club of Egypt

25

His Majesty looked bewildered. He started at Mitsy and asked her anxiously, “Are you really ill?”

“Three doctors,” she told him softly, “have concurred in the diagnosis.”

“Isn’t there a treatment for it?”

“I’m taking some tablets and slowly getting better. But they have all confirmed that the microbes in my throat will be contagious for quite some time.”

The king looked at her with incredulity, as if to say, “Why didn’t you tell me about this from the start?”

After a short period of silence, the king stood up, followed by Mitsy. He held out his hand and, as if afraid of catching something, shook Mitsy’s hand by the tip of her fingers. Before leaving, he ordered Alku to have her driven home. The moment she reached her bedroom, she got undressed and ran into the bathroom to take a shower. She was a little tipsy from the wine, and as the hot water ran down over her naked body, she closed her eyes and relished the moment. She was pleased with herself. She had created a moment of truth. This was her greatest delight: to uncover lies and show scheming for what it was. She had made a fool of the king of Egypt and the Sudan, treating him as he deserved. She had accepted his invitation and led him on to within a stone’s throw of his bed. He had been salivating at the thought of ravishing her, almost snorting like a bull in rut, as she was being cornered. Then, out of the blue, she had this brilliant inspiration and started weaving a skillful lie. When she thought back to how confused the king had looked, she could not help laughing out loud as she stood under the shower.

“Oh, your great Majesty, how I would have loved to have the honor of going to bed with Your Majesty, but I am so afraid that you will catch the bacteria ravaging my throat. What is the matter, Your Majesty? Why do you shudder? Didn’t you want me just a moment ago? Were you not just standing there like a ravenous animal? Why have you turned and fled as one possessed?”

Mitsy came out of the bathroom wonderfully relaxed. She slept well, going to university the next morning and getting on with her life. She thought that any question of her involvement with the king was now at an end.

That evening, her father sat silently at the dining table. When she got up and went to her bedroom, she was surprised to find him following her across the hallway. She stopped and turned to face him.

“Mitsy,” he asked her. “Come to my study. We need to have a talk.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“No, now,” he said resolutely and stepped aside to let her pass. Mitsy walked ahead of him into his study. The light was on. She sank down into the leather armchair, and Wright sat at his desk, leaning forward on his elbows.

“How did you get on with the king?”

“I think you know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Mitsy sat up straight and answered, “The king wanted to go to bed with me, but I told him that I have a contagious disease.”

“Did you have to lie?”

“It was the only way.”

“But you went to see the king of your own accord…”

“I only went to make you happy.”

“Nonsense. Are you stupid or just mad?”

“If you’re just going to insult me, I’ll go!”

Wright was breathing heavily, as if trying to control his feelings.

“As usual,” he said, “you never think of the consequence of your actions. You have put us all in a tricky situation. Botticelli called to ask about your health. The king is not stupid, and if he discovers that you lied, both you and I will pay a heavy price. Don’t you realize that the king has stalked women so tenaciously they’ve had to flee the country with their husbands…?”

“Just because he is the king, it means he can do whatever he likes?”

“Have you never heard of an oriental despot? He is not a constitutional monarch as we have in Britain. He is a potentate in the Turkish mold. He owns the country and everyone in it. He can crush anyone who opposes his will.”

“But you are English. The king cannot harm you.”

“He can make it impossible for me to stay in Egypt.”

His visible anguish only provoked her more.

“Well, how do you suggest we calm the situation down?” she asked him. “Should I sleep with him?”

“Don’t be so vulgar.”

“Well, if the only way to make the king happy is for me to sleep with him, wouldn’t that be the clever thing to do?”

“Shut up!” Wright shouted angrily, taking a large drag on his pipe.

“Mitsy,” he continued, “what happened, happened. We have to think calmly and proceed prudently. I suggest that you talk to Botticelli.”

“I’m not going to see that pimp again,” she retorted.

“I can organize a meeting in my office. I just want you to explain to him all about the infection and reassure him that you are on the mend.”

“I don’t owe anybody any explanations.”

“You’re the one who got us into this mess. You will have to do something to get us out of it.”

“Oh, stop it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She turned and marched toward the door. Wright darted after her and grabbed her by the hand, but she snatched it back.

“If I were in your shoes,” she snapped at him, “I’d be ashamed of myself.”

He raised his hand and gave her a slap on the face. She screamed. He reached out to try to grab hold of her, but she rushed out of the study, slamming the door behind her.