“Can he do that?” Dominique exclaimed. “The Canal is owned by British and French shareholders! Wouldn’t that be an act of war?”
Stephen shook his head. “Not because of the nationalization. Look how many businesses and assets he’s seized from Europeans in the four years he’s been in power.”
“But the Suez Canal was a European project! Unless it’s kept safe, every ship passing to or from Asia will have to go all the way around Africa!”
Stephen looked somber. He took a long swallow of his tea. Then he stood up and crossed the floor to a butler’s table that held several crystal decanters. “I’d like something a little stronger, how about you?”
Dominique shook her head impatiently. She wanted to hear what Stephen had to say. “Would it be an act of war?” she repeated.
Stephen poured two fingers of whiskey. He took a sip, then came back to stand in front of Dominique. He looked down at her with a grim expression. “Yes.”
The color drained from Dominique’s face. She plunked down her teacup on the low table beside her, suddenly too shaken to hold it. “Then… what?”
Stephen took a deep breath and sat next to Dominique. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I have to go to England.”
“Oh, Stephen!” Dominique was chilled with fear. “Maybe Mother and I shouldn’t travel. What if we’re in France when all this breaks out? How will we get back? What will happen to our home, everything we own?” She remembered her mother’s warnings during the Christmas holidays. Would they end up like many of their friends? Penniless, forced to flee the only home they’d ever known?
Stephen put his arm around Dominique and drew her to him. “Sssh, it’s not time to upset yourself yet,” he said soothingly. “It’s likely this whole thing will blow over. And if there is an… incident, you’ll have plenty of warning.”
Warning to do what? Dominique felt utterly helpless.
Stephen could see the distress written on her face. He drew her closer. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something different,” he said. Dominique raised her eyes to his, her expression troubled. He continued. “I want you to agree to marry me,” he said firmly.
Dominique drew away from him. “No! We’ve already discussed that.”
“Dominique, be reasonable! Are you prepared to end our relationship here and now?”
“What do you mean ‘end it?’” Dominique’s voice sounded a note of panic.
Stephen grabbed her hands and gripped them tightly. “Serena wants to see me when I’m in England,” he said deliberately. “She wants a reconciliation. And if Nasser succeeds in getting rid of us, I may be transferred there. Don’t you see?”
Dominique stared at him, trying to absorb his words.
He continued, his voice urgent. “Events will force us apart unless you agree to marry me!”
“But… your children?”
Stephen released Dominique. He put his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. Finally he spoke. “I have to make a difficult choice. And I’m asking you to make one, too.” He lifted his head and gazed unrelentingly at Dominique. “I love you.”
Dominique put her hand on Stephen’s arm. “But if Serena’s willing to try a reconciliation and you divorce her now, she may never let you see the children again.”
“I have to make her see reason, that’s all!” Stephen chopped the air with a downward stroke of frustration. He turned imploring eyes to Dominique. “And I have to make you see reason.” He covered Dominique’s hand with his. “Please, Dominique!”
She was in turmoil. How could she give him up? But how could she do something that was counter to everything she believed? As long as she didn’t cause the breakup of his family, she could rationalize their affair. She could tell herself that she was doing no harm. But if he divorced… The very idea was frightening in its burden of responsibility. The image of Stephen’s children flashed in Dominique’s mind. Why, they were almost the same age she had been when her father had died. She remembered her shock, her utter inability to accept that he would never return. She remembered the pain and loneliness. How could she inflict that on two innocent children? She would never be able to live with herself if she did such a thing.
“Stephen, I love you, but it’s… wrong. How would you feel about me if I were responsible for your children hating you?” Dominique wrung her hands. “You would end by hating me! It would be nothing but misery for us!”
Stephen drummed his fist on his forehead. “Dominique, why think of the worst possible outcome? Why can’t you believe it will all work out?”
Dominique leapt to her feet. “It hasn’t so far, has it?” she cried. She leaned toward Stephen. “You’re deluding yourself. I’m not refusing you for some wonderfully noble reason! I wish I were! I just don’t want you to…” She clenched her teeth, trying to choke back tears. “I don’t want everything we have… made ugly.” She held his eyes with hers. “I don’t want us destroyed by fights and court battles and resentment!”
Stephen looked up at her, his eyes glassy. He reached for her wrists and eased her down beside him. Silently, he wrapped her in his arms. He sighed, a deep, tremulous sound. For a long time he was silent.
Dominique’s heart constricted with pain. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Finally Stephen murmured into her hair, “Then I owe it to the children to give Serena one more chance.” His voice was full of misery.
Dominique pushed him back so she could see his face. It was ravaged with grief, and the expression on it made her lose control. She choked, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Don’t… don’t cry!” Stephen said, but even as he uttered the words, Dominique could feel the tremor of emotion that shook him. She encircled his neck with her arms and clung to him as tightly as she could. Her tears burned a path down her face.
Stephen, in return, gripped her so tightly that he almost squeezed the breath from her, but she didn’t care. She wanted to melt into him, to become him, so that they’d never be separated. Her head dropped so that her cheek, wet with tears, rested against his.
“I don’t want us to end!” Stephen’s voice sounded far away, like that of a drowning man.
Dominique couldn’t stand to see his anguish. She closed her eyes and felt the tender heat of Stephen’s lips on her neck. She felt lost… drugged with a surfeit of feeling. Each caress transmitted his emotions like an electrical impulse humming over her skin.
The thin cloth of Dominique’s blouse chafed at her as though it were made of steel wool. If she didn’t feel his skin against hers, she’d go mad with wanting. She fumbled with the buttons on her shirt, her fingers trembling with impatience. Stephen slid the thin garment from her shoulders, kissing the honeyed skin where it had lain. Dominique fell back into the soft cushions of the couch, abandoning herself to the pure, shattering feeling that encompassed her.
Stephen’s embrace became more urgent. Searing. He bent his head and ran his tongue over the dark shadow of her cleavage. His hands cupped her breasts, then caressed them through the delicate lace of her bra. Dominique held her breath, her body quivering. Stephen gently drew off her brassiere, and her nipples hardened in anticipation of his touch. She pressed her naked breasts against the cloth of his shirt. He drew in his breath sharply and tightened his grip on her, then sat back and threw off the garment. A moment later, Dominique sighed, reveling in the masculine feel of his wiry chest hair against her tender skin, then moaned as his thumbs covered her nipples, teasing them with soft, butterfly strokes. He lifted up her arms and, with one hand, gently pinioned her wrists above her head, then lowered his tongue to her breasts. She pushed herself against him, willed him to spread her legs and touch her there, where she was already soaked with desire. She knew he wanted to. She could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh.
Without quite knowing how it happened, she felt the silk of her stockings slip from her legs. Somewhere at the edge of her consciousness, she heard zippers and but
tons, but the sounds were like fuzzy background noise. Then her ears roared with a rush of blood as Stephen’s naked body came to rest on top of hers.
He moved so gently. He caressed her with the lightest possible touch. Caressed her until she was rocking against him, crying out for more. She felt as though a thousand pinwheels were whirring about her head. She was sensation, only sensation.
Stephen sighed and buried his face between her breasts. Then, as if he could resist no longer, he placed the tip of his member at the soft folds of her labia and pushed. At first, she pulled him unreservedly into her. And then she felt the pain. Despite her excitement and her love, despite her overwhelming desire, the pain was sharp. But Stephen was beyond stopping. He pushed into her, oblivious to her cries.
Then Dominique realized that the pain was diminishing. The throbbing soreness was becoming throbbing of a different sort. She found herself moving instinctively to Stephen’s rhythm. As he moved faster and faster, so did she. She was straining toward satisfaction, every muscle of her body taut. The weight of his body on top of hers was bliss. She rocked her hips ever more wildly.
The motion was too much for Stephen. The muscles inside her squeezed the last bit of control from him. With a long groan, he pushed into her.
Dominique felt him shudder. A drop of sweat from his forehead fell onto her chest. And then the pinwheels began to spin faster, faster. She held her breath, tightening against him until the pinwheels exploded into stars. Spasm after delicious spasm shook Dominique’s body as Stephen held her close.
She clung to him, her love for him flooding her heart. She felt bound to him with an intensity she could never before have conceived. She couldn’t imagine letting go of him. Couldn’t imagine separating from his touch.
Her heartbeat was beginning to return to normal when Stephen eased to his side and cradled Dominique’s head in the crook of his arm. She turned her face to his chest and closed her eyes. Soft wool glided comfortingly over her as he pulled a throw over them. She felt as though they were in a refuge, safe from the realities of the world. She wound her arm around his waist and pulled him as close as she could. The cool breeze of evening shimmered over her face, but she was warm from Stephen’s heat. Protected and whole.
Stephen put his free arm over Dominique and hugged her to him. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Dominique’s throat constricted. The words had new meaning for her now. She felt a tight knot of sorrow. How could she do without Stephen? How could she let him go? She wanted to renounce everything she had told him earlier. Renounce both their families. She wanted to flee to a place where they knew no one, where their pasts didn’t matter. She had thought she could walk away from him, thought she was strong enough to end it, but the very notion caused her physical pain, like a knife twisting in her heart.
Dominique’s fingers tightened their grip on Stephen and she felt his responding squeeze. She slid her hands over his chest, which gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. Every breath filled her with his essence. It was as though part of her had slipped into him and no longer belonged to her.
Stephen turned his face to Dominique, then eased his arm from under her head. He propped himself on one elbow and fixed her with a look of such intensity that Dominique felt it vibrate through her. “Dominique,” he said in a voice that betrayed his struggle, “I can’t leave you.” He reached forward and stroked her hair.
Dominique gazed into his eyes. They were smoky in the light of dusk, magical in the love they conveyed. She closed her eyes, unable to bear the heat of his emotion—and frightened by her own.
“Look at me!” His voice was harsh.
She opened her eyes, startled by his rough tone.
He suddenly sat up. He dropped his legs to the floor and leaned over Dominique. He grasped her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. In his eyes was a look of urgent desperation. “You can’t leave me now!”
For one wild moment, Dominique let her imagination take her to a time and place where she was actually Stephen’s wife. She thought of sleeping in his arms each evening, waking with him each morning. Being part of his daily life, part of his family.
Family. She inhaled sharply as the word entered her consciousness with a jolt. Suddenly, Dominique was shivering, as though with a fever. She wrapped her arms protectively across the front of her bare torso.
Stephen gripped her shoulders more tightly and forced her to look into his eyes. “Don’t think about the obstacles!” he cried.
His words, the temptation he dangled in front of her, had the opposite effect. She braked her impulses as sharply as though she were in danger of catapulting over a cliff. Dominique slumped, suddenly drained of the vigor that Stephen had transmitted to her. If he had not been holding her, she would have collapsed back into the cushions. “We wouldn’t be happy that way, Stephen.” Her voice was leaden.
“We’ve talked about it. We’ve agreed.” She shook her head with each word.
Stephen opened his mouth as though to argue, then a change came over his features. His brow furrowed and he closed his mouth without uttering a word. Releasing Dominique, he dropped his head into his hands, his knuckles white with strain.
She reached forward instinctively to comfort him. When he felt her touch, he raised his head, and the pain on his face shocked her. “Stephen!” she cried.
He pulled her close. Dominique could feel his heart thudding, thudding against her breast. A choked sound came from him.
Dominique was stunned to feel wetness seep into the crevice between his cheek and hers. It wasn’t possible that Stephen was crying! It was absolutely counter to his stoic nature. The realization was shattering. Dominique crumpled. Her own tears spilled over and mingled with his. Sobs choked her throat so that her whole body shook, and the sound was trapped in her throat.
They gripped each other, as though dying, sinking in quicksand, helpless to do anything but surrender as they cried together. How long they held each other, Dominique did not know. She was unaware of her body—only emotion. Finally, though, her tears slowed. Her soul was left with a heavy, numbing sadness. She eased her hold on Stephen and, with a deep sigh, he released her.
They lifted their heads. Their eyes met and held. Stephen reached forward and brushed a strand of hair from Dominique’s damp face.
Dominique held his hand against her cheek. She turned her face and caressed his palm with her lips. “We can’t go through this again, Stephen. We can’t see each other anymore,” she said in a low voice.
Stephen winced. His eyes pleaded with her, still reflecting a spark of hope. “Unless you agree to marry me.”
Keeping her eyes open, Dominique gently kissed him. As she drew back, their gazes locked. Inches apart, they sat completely still, hypnotized. It was as though they didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. Then Dominique eased away ever so slightly. “Good-bye,” she whispered.
Stephen lifted his other hand to her cheek. He pulled her closer, so that her face was just inches from his. He fixed her with a look of utter conviction, then said in a clear, calm voice, “You are my last love.”
CHAPTER 4
“KEEP an eye on the valises!” Solange exhorted her driver from the back seat. “This place is full of thieves.” The trunk of the Rolls was open, but held down with leather straps, thanks to the number of trunks she and Dominique were taking on their trip to France. The car inched its way through the crowd near the Port of Alexandria. There were so many people that it was impossible to move faster.
The older woman turned to her daughter. “Your cousin Emile said that last time they cut the straps and snatched two of his valises as the car was moving!” She shook her head in outrage and increased the motion of the silk fan she held in her hand.
The car jerked to a halt as three French sailors spilled drunkenly out of a bar and onto the street in front of them.
“Disgusting!” Solange hissed, “and at ten in the morning! Roll up your window, Dominique.”
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“Mother, it’s stifling,” Dominique protested. Her pink linen traveling suit already felt damp. “Look, they’re already gone.” Indeed, they had disappeared into the throng on the sidewalk.
Dominique moved closer to her open window, trying in vain to catch a breath of cooler air. She said wistfully, “I’ll be glad to get out of Egypt for a while. Demonstrations every day in Cairo and”—she looked around at the once-grand buildings—“this city has become…” Her sentence drifted off as she was carried back to pre-revolutionary days, when Alexandria had been one of the most cosmopolitan vacation spots in the world, offering as many attractions as the French Riviera: gambling, dancing, world class entertainment, fine dining, and boutiques stocked with Parisian clothes.
“It’s become positively seedy!” Solange declared. “Look at that garbage over there. And all those broken windows.” She pointed at an ornately constructed public building, then clicked her tongue as if to say, “What a shame!”
Dominique’s eyes followed her mother’s gestures. A one-armed beggar crouched in a doorway, a basket of his meager belongings at his feet. Farther on, more beggars sat immobile, cups stretched forward in a perpetual gesture of entreaty. Dominique had the urge to jump from the car and place money in each cup, but she knew Solange would upbraid her. “Don’t get near them,” she’d say. “Who knows what diseases they have!”
Dominique turned her eyes back to the road, trying to gauge the distance to their ship. Its giant smokestacks rose in the distance. Behind the ships, on a hill overlooking the harbor was the stunning image of the Fort of Qaitbay. The fifteenth-century sandstone structure looked stark white against the deep, cloudless blue of the Alexandrian sky. The fort was like a picture-book ideal of a medieval castle, with its crenellated walls and turrets.
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