“That’s very nice of you to say,” said Erica, slightly flustered.

“As a matter of fact, I thought you looked very beautiful tonight, and I am very anxious to see you again.”

“You are?” asked Erica before thinking.

“Absolutely. In fact, I’d be delighted to have breakfast with you in the morning. They serve wonderful eggs here at the Meridien.”

“Thank you, Yvon,” said Erica. She had enjoyed Yvon’s company, but she had no intention of wasting her time in Egypt on a flirtation. She had come to see the objects of her years of study firsthand, and she did not want to be distracted. More important, she still had not decided exactly what her responsibility was to the fabulous statue of Seti I.

“I can have Raoul pick you up whenever you wish,” Yvon said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Thank you, Yvon, but I’m exhausted. I don’t want to get up at a certain time.”

“I understand. You could just call me when you wake up.”

“Yvon, I enjoyed myself tonight, especially after this afternoon. But I think I need some time to myself. I’d like to sightsee a little.”

“I’d be glad to show you more of Cairo,” said Yvon persistently.

Erica did not want to spend the day with Yvon. Her interest in Egypt was too personal to share. “Yvon, how about dinner again? That would be the best for me.”

“Dinner would have been included in the day, but I understand, Erica. Dinner will be fine, and I will look forward to it very much. But let’s set a time. Say, nine o’clock.”

After a friendly good-bye, Erica hung up the phone. She was surprised at Yvon’s persistence. She had not felt that she looked very good that evening. She got up and looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. She was twenty-eight, but some people thought she looked younger. She noticed again the minute wrinkles that had miraculously appeared beside her eyes on her last birthday. Then she noticed a small pimple just forming on her skin. “Damn,” she said as she tried to squeeze it. It wouldn’t squeeze. Erica looked at herself and wondered about men. She wondered what it was that they really liked.

She removed her bra, then her skirt. Waiting for the shower to run hot, she stared at the bathroom mirror. Turning her head to the side, she touched the slight bump on her nose and wondered if she should do something about it. Stepping back to get the whole effect, she was reasonably pleased with her body, although she thought she needed more exercise. Suddenly she felt very lonely. She thought about the life she had willfully left in Boston. There were problems, but maybe running away to Egypt was not the answer. She thought about Richard. With the shower running, Erica returned to the bedroom and looked at the telephone. Impulsively she put a call through to Richard Harvey and was disappointed when the operator told her it would be at least two hours, maybe more. Erica complained, and the operator said that she should be happy because the lines were not very busy. Usually it would take several days to call long distance from Cairo; it was easier to call into the city. Erica thanked her and hung up. Staring at the silent phone, she felt a sudden rush of emotion. She fought back undirected tears, knowing she was too exhausted to think about anything more until she had some sleep.

Ahmed watched the reflected lights forming patterns on the Nile as his car crossed the 26 July bridge to Gezira Island. His driver kept leaning on the horn, but Ahmed no longer tried to interfere. Drivers in Cairo believed continuous honking was as necessary as steering.

“I will be ready at eight A.M.,” said Ahmed, emerging from his car in front of his home on Shari Ismail Muhammad in the district of Zamalek. The driver nodded, made a quick U-turn, and disappeared into the night.

Ahmed’s steps were slow as he entered his empty Cairo apartment. He much preferred his small house by the Nile in his native Luxor in Upper Egypt, and he went as often as possible. But the burden of office as director of the antiquities service kept him in town more than he liked. Perhaps more than anyone, Ahmed was aware of the negative consequences of the huge bureaucracy Egypt had created. In order to encourage education, every graduate of the university was guaranteed a job in the government. Consequently there were too many people with not enough to do. Insecurity in such a system was rampant, and most individuals spent their time plotting ways of ensuring the perpetuation of their positions. If it weren’t for the subsidy from Saudi Arabia, the entire topheavy mess would crumble overnight.

Such thoughts depressed Ahmed, who had sacrificed everything in order to rise to his present position. He had set out to control the antiquities service, and now that he did, he had to face the gross inefficiencies of the department. And so far his attempts at reorganization had met with fierce opposition.

He sat on his Egyptian rococo couch and pulled some memoranda from his attaché case. He read the titles: “Revised Security Arrangements for the Necropolis of Luxor, Including Valley of the Kings” and “Underground Bombproof Storage Chambers for Tutankhamen Treasures.” He opened the first because that was the one he was particularly interested in. He had recently totally reorganized the security for the Necropolis of Luxor. It had been his first priority after reaching office.

Ahmed read the first paragraph twice before he acknowledged that his mind was not on the subject. He kept remembering Erica Baron’s exquisitely molded face. He had been startled by her beauty when he first caught sight of her in her room. It had been his plan to throw her off balance for the interrogation, but it had been he who had been initially thrown. There was a similarity, not in appearance, but in demeanor, between Erica and a woman Ahmed had fallen in love with during his three-year stay at Harvard. It had been Ahmed’s only real love affair, and being reminded of it was painful. The anguish he’d felt when leaving for Oxford still haunted him. Knowing he would never see her again made it the most difficult experience he’d ever had. And it had affected him greatly. From that time he had avoided romance so that he could accomplish the goals his family had set for him.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Ahmed allowed his memory to conjure up an image of Pamela Nelson, the girl from Radcliffe. He could see her clearly through the mist of fourteen years. Instantly he remembered those moments of awakening on a Sunday morning, the cold of Boston effectively screened out by their love. He could remember how he enjoyed watching her sleep, and how he would ever so carefully stroke her forehead and cheeks with his hand until she stirred and smiled.

Ahmed heaved himself to his feet and walked into the kitchen. He busied himself making tea, trying to escape from the memories that Erica had so effectively awakened. It seemed like only yesterday that he had left for America. His parents had taken him to the airport, full of instructions and encouragement, unaware of their son’s fears. The idea of America had been overwhelmingly exciting for a boy from Upper Egypt, but Boston had turned out to be just horribly lonely. At least until he’d met Pamela. Then it had been enchanting. Basking in Pamela’s companionship, he had hungrily devoured his studies, finishing Harvard in three years.

Bringing the tea back into the living room, Ahmed returned to his rock-hard couch. The warm fluid soothed his tense stomach. After careful thought he understood why Erica Baron reminded him of Pamela Nelson. He had sensed in Erica the same intelligence and personal generosity that Pamela had used to veil her sensuous inner self. It had been the hidden woman that Ahmed had fallen in love with. Ahmed closed his eyes and remembered Pamela’s naked body. He sat perfectly still. The only sound was the ticking of the marble clock on the buffet.