Song of the Nile

by Fielding, Hannah

  It was the Egyptian way to enjoy talking in depth about the food while at table and so Phares took time placing his order. He asked the waiter to provide cutlery because, although some Egyptians were accustomed to eating with their fingers and a spoon, it was not the tradition in more Westernised families like theirs.

  After the waiter had gone, Phares’s eyes sparkled playfully. ‘Are you sure you won’t have the pigeon too?’

  Aida met his gaze, her pulse giving a little kick. In Egypt, pigeons were a special dish, regarded quite openly by the working classes as an aphrodisiac. A wife who wanted to please her husband would cook pigeons for him. A mistress would always cook Gose Hamam, a pair of pigeons, for her married lover when he visited her. Aida arched an eyebrow.

  ‘I’m fine with the kofta, thank you.’

  Phares felt in his pocket for his Gitanes, and Aida’s glance was upon his hands as he took out a cigarette and tapped it on the pack. Lean, mobile hands which had caressed her with such maddening skill … The emotion she felt at the recollection made her heart beat faster.

  He lit a cigarette, carrying it to his lips and releasing the smoke on a somewhat troubled sigh. ‘You haven’t yet given me an answer. Have you not yet come to a decision, Aida?’

  She stared back at him. Why was she hesitating? Why was she delaying? She knew she wanted to marry Phares and had promised to give her answer before going back to Luxor … there was less than forty-eight hours left. Still, she sat there tongue-tied, unable to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to share his bed, his life … to be a part of his breath, his soul. He was like no other person she had ever known. Every nerve in her body was keyed up in his presence, yet she kept her feelings to herself as though tied by a powerful spell that forced her to remain mute.

  Her mind wandered to the fashion show that coming evening, and she knew what it was that held her back. Marriage had to be based on trust, and there was still a kernel of doubt in her mind about Nairy Paplosian.

  It’s common knowledge he’s lost his head over her … While the prince’s words about his ‘beautiful mannequin’ had frazzled her nerves, Aida knew he had been trying to bait her. She had refused to let such malicious gossip poison the new and wonderful feelings that had flooded her over these past days. In fact, she was rather surprised at how well she’d coped. She had tried very hard to be her usual self, and succeeded well enough, she hoped, to fool Phares. But inside, she couldn’t help the creeping doubt that assailed her at quiet moments, when thoughts of Nairy came bubbling up, unbidden.

  Tomorrow, she would ask Phares one more time about the Armenian model before giving him her answer, and then she would draw a line under this episode in his life and move on. For now she would say nothing; she would not let anything cloud this beautiful day.

  Aida gave him a look as blue as the sky outside. ‘Please, Phares, bear with me a little longer. I promise to give you an answer tomorrow night.’

  His moody dark eyes slid up and down her face, lingering on her wide and generous lips, and then his gaze settled directly upon hers. ‘Don’t toy with me, Aida. I have never asked a woman to care for me with her heart.’

  If only she could be sure of his.

  ‘You prefer a woman to care for you with her body?’ she fenced, trying to keep her voice even.

  ‘That is all I have known or needed … until you came along.’

  He snapped out of his glum mood. The waiter had brought small dishes of delicious mezzeh to the table, and Phares’s face brightened as if by magic. ‘Right now, this man wants his lunch. Breakfast seems such a long time ago.’

  Serenity had re-established itself between them and they ate heartily, chatting and laughing as though there had never been a cloud in their sky. Still, it wouldn’t be long before the hand of fate dealt Aida a card with a sinister face on it, dark clouds looming behind it.

  * * *

  Every New Year’s Eve the ballroom of the glamorous Shepheard’s Hotel would be converted into the Garden of Eden, a Chinese pagoda or any other scene that took the fancy of the management. Tonight, the sumptuous colonnaded ballroom was decorated with a coloured palette of blue and gold, reflecting the desert’s natural beauty. Displays of waving palm trees and waxwork figures of camels and sultry Bedouins adorned various parts of the magnificent high-ceilinged room in which the blue lighting was designed to mirror a desert night sky illuminated by the moon and stars. Beneath it, the catwalk dividing the room in two was covered in a shimmering, almost translucent sheet of marble to represent the Nile. As if on its riverbanks, at tables and chairs on either side the prince’s dazzling guests were seated, who had come to view the exciting 1946 avant-garde styles the Parisian couturiers had brought to Cairo for the haut monde’s delectation.

  Although the showing of the collection was set for seven o’clock in the evening, by six-thirty, the ballroom was filled with men and women in the most elegant clothes. The place was tightly packed, round tables and chairs almost wedged against each other. On one side at the end of the room the Cairo Philharmonic Orchestra musicians were seated, tuning their instruments for the show. A buzz of chatter rose and fell in the heavily scented air, and the glittering candelabras reflected the sparkle of jewellery. Aida, Phares and Camelia had arrived well before the show in the Pharaonys’ luxurious navy-blue Cadillac and had met up with a large group of friends that made up their party. It was agreed that they would all go on to the Mena House to have a light al fresco dinner and dance in the popular garden café with its unique vantage of the pyramids and distance from the noisier hub of Cairo.

  Aida and Camelia were seated at the small table Prince Shams Sakr El Din had reserved for them next to the catwalk, while Phares stood chatting to Alastair Carlisle and a group of men at the next table. Camelia was surveying the room, talking animatedly, every now and then commenting on notable Cairenes, pointing out to Aida people she might remember, and speculating about the show.

  ‘You know, the newspapers are full of all the avant-garde fashion houses at the moment,’ she said, sipping her rose cordial, ‘and Chiffons à la Mode seems to be high on the list of boutiques with these latest trends. I do love Christian Dior’s new French look.’ She grinned wryly. ‘I must admit, the prince may be not be my choice of company normally but this is definitely the hottest ticket in Cairo.’

  Aida nodded, glancing around the room. ‘Yes, the place looks wonderful. Tonight will be quite a treat after the drudgery of the war years. I missed wearing lovely clothes. I spent most of my time either in nurse’s uniform or practical slacks.’

  Aida and Camelia were certainly dressed elegantly tonight, both looking as though they had stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Camelia was radiant in a cloud of violet organza: a full-length evening gown with square drape shoulders and a beaded neck and waist panel. Her hair was sculpted into fashionable voluminous rolls at the top of her head and fastened in a chignon at the nape of her neck, a matching violet flower nestling to the side above her ear.

  As this was an event not to be missed, and Aida had taken particular care with her outfit. Cleo had shown her the Grecian-style dress at Shemla and she had been attracted by its simple lines. The plunging V-neckline bodice with thick straps embellished with sparkling ton sur ton rhinestone jewels showed off enough cleavage to look sexy without being daring. Ruched to the waist and cinched with a glittering belt, its full-length skirt fell to the ground in shimmering layers of champagne silk chiffon. The gown gave her an ethereal silhouette, and as she walked, every delicate bone in her body made itself known, every beautiful line visible.

  Over the years Ayoub had given first his wife, then his daughter the most fabulous pieces of antique jewellery purchased during his travels. Consequently, Aida had a huge collection of magnificent pieces: earrings, necklaces, bracelets, bangles and even headrests. Tonight, she had complemented her dress with a pair of Greek Serpentine gold arm bands from the fourth century BC and an interesting Hellenistic pair of twenty-fou
r-carat gold Erotes and Isis crown earrings, embellished with garnet and glass. She’d left her neck and décolleté bare, judging that the dress itself had ample adornments as it was, and she didn’t want to look like a Christmas tree. She had simply daubed behind her ears and on her wrists a little of the delicious, heady fragrance that Phares had bought for her.

  She wore her hair differently tonight, using a thin braided piece the colour of her hair, twisted with strings of pearls to give it a Grecian look. Parted in the centre, her hair was combed smooth, pulled back and secured with small gold combs; the braid across her head was held in place with Bobbie pins. A pair of gold high Chilli sandal clogs completed her outfit, together with a gold beaded evening bag that had belonged to her mother and a gold lamé shawl. Before leaving the room to join the others Aida had glanced once more at herself in the mirror. The glamour of the event was not the only reason she wanted to look her best. Tonight, she would be in the same room as Nairy Paplosian, and the idea of seeing the Armenian model headline the show unnerved her.

  Just a few hours before, as she had prepared herself for the event, Aida’s head had been filled with Phares and the wonderful day they had spent together at the Musky. It had been perfect but for the short interlude when Shams Sakr El Din had made his appearance. Aida was curious about Phares’s strong aversion to the prince. Could it be that he was jealous of him because Nairy was one of his models or was there another reason?

  Nairy … Aida had often seen her photograph in glossy magazines, but she had never met her in the flesh. In a few minutes that would change.

  She glanced across at Phares, still deep in conversation with Alastair Carlisle. The dark formality of his dinner jacket and black tie made him seem even more charismatic and handsome if that were possible, coupled with his usual dashing masculinity. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm her nerves.

  Phares caught her eye and a secret smile curved his lips. Glancing at his watch, he murmured something to Alastair and came to join them at the table.

  He looked warmly at Camelia. ‘You look magnificent. That amethyst colour suits your complexion. You look like those pictures of our mother. I’ll be the envy of every man this evening, accompanied by two such ravishing ladies.’

  His gaze travelled to Aida and stayed there. When she had first appeared in the drawing room dressed in her evening finery, his breath had visibly caught and his eyes held the feverish incandescence of desire that she was beginning to know. Now that same look returned and a tremor ran through her entire body.

  ‘And you, Aida …’ he murmured, leaning close to her temple so that no one else could hear. ‘You look like a summer dream wrapped in sunlight, chérie. Mmm … and your fragrance evokes the gardens of heaven. I will never be able to smell a rose or carnation without conjuring your image.’ Aida could feel the warmth of him heating her neck and inhaled his own masculine fragrance, a spicy balm of starched linen and clean male skin that made her almost lightheaded.

  At seven o’clock exactly the overhead lights dimmed, the gold satin curtains draping the dais drew back to form an arch, in readiness for the start of the show. Silence descended on the crowd waiting in the darkened room. Aida watched as a single spotlight focused on the stage and moved to one side of the catwalk to reveal the orchestra. The music of sweeping violins filled the place as a coloured spotlight swirled and fixed over the entrance to the stage. Gasps were heard among the audience as the microphone announced the name of the modelled dress, Clair de Lune, and Nairy Paplosian made her entry.

  Tall, slim, delicate and fabulous, the redheaded model with her pale skin and the most extraordinary grey cat’s eyes stood for a brief moment at the entrance, soaking up the limelight. She wore a magnificent ball gown of foggy grey silk tulle. The flared skirt and train were arrayed with an overlay of scallop-moulded petals embroidered with feather-shaped opalescent sequins, rhinestones and imitation pearls. The shell forms of its skirt and the heart-shaped bodice, nipped in at the waist, were embellished with nacreous sequins, iridescent seed beads, aurora-borealis crystals and pearls. Her lustrous red hair was swept up in a Grecian chignon torsade, showing off a long pale neck, which she inclined gracefully, acknowledging the audience’s applause before treading the path that lay in front of her.

  Aida sat very still, an unpleasant feeling in her stomach. Nairy’s wasp-waisted silhouette, she had to admit, looked like a glittering ethereal nymph appearing out of the Nile and her gaze went straight to Phares to see his reaction. She could only see his profile through the halo of smoke that encircled it, and he seemed to be sporting the inscrutable mask she had seen him wear from time to time. What were his thoughts at this moment? Was he wishing he could marry the gorgeous redhead instead of having to make a prescribed match – one not necessarily based on love?

  ‘What a gorgeous creature!’ Aida heard a man behind her say.

  ‘I don’t see why so much fuss is made about her,’ answered his female companion. ‘She’s too thin and pale … a ghost.’

  ‘She’s fabulous! Honestly, haven’t you got eyes? That Pharaoh man, what’s his name, is very lucky. I certainly wouldn’t push her out of my bed.’

  ‘Shush, you idiot! He’s sitting right in front of us.’

  Camelia turned around and gave them a dirty look while a smattering of applause greeted Nairy, who was almost lost in the buzz of conversation and conjecture as she made her way slowly and gracefully along the room, almost in slow motion, stopping in front of every table, turning twice to show off her garment before resuming her gentle strutting journey down the catwalk. She was stunning.

  The loudspeaker announced ‘Dina, in Nocturne,’ and this time a brunette appeared in a strapless, backless three-tier navy-blue evening dress in alternating velvet and chiffon layers with an embellished net upper bodice. But Aida was not paying attention: Nairy was about to reach their table and the orchestra was playing Perry Como’s new hit, ‘Prisoner of Love’.

  The upturned almond grey eyes settled on Phares impudently. She smiled, turned and sighed, lifting her arm slightly as her hand went to her neck and slid down to her shoulder and arm caressingly before she continued down the catwalk.

  ‘Dolores wearing Inspiration,’ continued the presenter as a blonde young woman walked in, wearing a green jersey backless evening dress, with gathered crossover sash, which flounced at the front.

  The parade continued as one after another the models walked in, displaying dresses that showed off Paris’s corseted, full-bosomed and hourglass New Look. After the deprivations of the war, it was clear that French designers wanted to restore fantasy and luxury to women’s wardrobes.

  ‘Chantal wearing Rêve d’un Soir,’ the presenter continued … ‘Alia, with Belle de Nuit.’ … ‘Christiane wearing Ma Première Soirée, a dream of innocence in a silk voile pink evening gown with full skirt, gathered shoulder and bust panels, and edged with a blue velvet ribbon.’ All the dresses of the collection had one thing in common: a fragile effect that merged Second Empire romanticism with the classical iconography of ideal and eternal beauty.

  And now Nairy appeared again with Chant d’Amour, a romantic off-the-shoulder full-length black evening dress with ruched lace neckline and hem panels embellished with a beautiful red rose at her cleavage. Her voluminous Titian hair was adorned with another red rose which she wore behind her right ear, nestling among the sophisticated long glossy waves, the signature of so many Hollywood vamps. She was glowing, using those almost silver eyes and dark lashes with more deftness than ever.

  This time when she stopped in front of their table, her cat’s gaze settled on Aida, who met her stare with audacity. Beside her, she felt Phares stiffen in his chair, then Nairy’s attention turned to him. Bending down, she whispered something in his ear, which Aida could not hear. Phares nodded almost imperceptibly and Nairy was on her way again.

  Camelia frowned and leaned against her brother. ‘What was all that about?’

  Phares shook his head.
‘Nothing … don’t worry about it.’

  Aida’s heart gave a painful lurch, then thudded sickeningly against her ribs as Shams Sakr El Din’s insinuations came flooding back to her.

  The Collection was now nearing its end and when Chantal and Dolores came out in wild-silk bridesmaids’ dresses, there was an audible murmur of anticipation. The slow strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March seeped through the room and there was another wave of ohs! and ahs! as Nairy stood framed in the archway once more.

  Her dress was a dream of innocence: a subtle blending of tulle and ultra-thin lace that appeared to reveal everything, yet revealed nothing. Apart from her face and hands, she was completely swathed in clouds of material, her hair adorned with a wax flower crown and long net veil. It was a masterpiece of cut and extravagance that could only have been worn to advantage by a girl with as fine a figure as Nairy Paplosian. Her hair was loose, falling in red flames to her shoulders, where it then curled softly upwards, and her face was devoid of make-up, save mascara and a pale gleaming silver lipstick … the perfect angel.

  It was a new facet of the Armenian girl’s beauty that she was showing to the world. Gone was the femme fatale of the past two hours and in her place was a shy, gentle girl, whose defencelessness invited protection.

  In time with the music she walked down the aisle without stopping. Aida was aware that every man in the room was now looking at Nairy boldly, demandingly, lustfully. She had no doubt the model’s exposed vulnerability made each of them, including Phares, want to possess and protect this virginal beauty.

  Aida’s eyes dwelt on the dark head and handsome profile of the man sitting beside her and again her heart gave a painful little pinch. It was impossible to tell what thoughts were quickening in that shrewd, determined brain. The models paraded once more on the catwalk in their dresses before the show came to a thundering end and the room erupted with applause, roses thrown on to the catwalk, the audience shouting bravos from every corner of the room. The models left the stage and after a few moments of silence and a rolling of drums, Prince Shams Sakr El Din took their place, accompanied by Nairy Paplosian, his star model, in a silver lamé gown with plunging neckline.