Donkey-Vous by Michael Pearce Page B

was more concerned with warning me off Moulin. She suggested I take a holiday. Go away for a few days. Take you.”
    “That seems a good idea,” said Zeinab, sitting up.
    “No, it’s not. It’s just intended to get me out of the way.”
    “Well, why not get out of the way? Let them get on with paying for that poor man. You’re not doing anything to help him. You’re just stopping him from being freed.”
    “I’m not stopping them from paying.”
    “Yes, but they think you are. They think you’re up there like a hawk, hovering, just picking the moment. They don’t know you,” said Zeinab, “like I know you.”
    “I don’t care tuppence about Moulin.”
    “Then why don’t we go away?”
    “Because I think there’s something else going on and I want to find out what it is.”
    Zeinab reached for a cushion and stuffed it behind her back. “All right,” she said resignedly, “I’ll help you.” She suddenly brightened. “No, I won’t,” she said.
    “Bloody hell!”
    “Not unless you promise to take me away for a holiday when this is all over.”
    “I promise. Samira said she’d get Haidar to lend us his villa at Luxor.”
    “Luxor! I’m not going there! It’s just temples!”
    “I’d quite like to go to Luxor.”
    “It’s got to be some place I’d like to go to.”
    “Oh, very well.”
    “Promise?”
    “Promise.”
    “Right!” said Zeinab, snuggling back into the cushion. “How can I help you?”
    “It’s Madame Chévènement.”
    “Her again?”
    “This is definitely work.”
    “Like that other woman?”
    Owen ignored this.
    “I asked Samira how Madame Chévènement came to be at her soirées and she said she was a friend of a friend. I take that friend to be the Khedive.”
    “Right.”
    “What I want to find out is how she came to be a friend of his. What’s the connection? How did they meet? Samira will probably know but she’ll be on her guard. Is there someone else in that circle who would know?”
    “I know,” said Zeinab.
    “You know?”
    “Yes. Everyone does. He met her at Cannes.”
    “When was this?” said Owen, astonished.
    “Last year. When he was on holiday. He went to Monte Carlo, if you remember.”
    Owen remembered. The Khedive had needed extra resourcing in view of his passion for gambling. The funds had been made available but only after a protracted political tug-of-war in which Owen himself had been engaged.
    “What else do you know?” he asked.
    “About Chévènement? Nothing much. She’s very dull, really. Just right for him.”
    “Did he invite her over here?”
    “She invited herself, I think. He was glad to renew acquaintance.”
    “He’s kept it pretty quiet.”
    “You think so?” Zeinab laughed. “Just because you haven’t heard about it, darling, that doesn’t mean it’s been kept quiet. Still, I agree. It’s been kept quieter than she would like. He’s seen her only a few times and never in public.”
    “Still, I ought to have known about it.”
    She reached out a hand, caught his, and pulled him down. “You’ll just have to come to Samira’s more often, darling.”
     
    “It’s not just that, though,” said Georgiades. “Remember, she took him with her.”
    “Berthelot?”
    “Yes. On at least two occasions, according to the arabeah-drivers. If she was just having an affair with the Khedive, why did she do that?”
    “I think we can safely disregard the more ribald suggestions of the arabeah-drivers,” said Owen.
    “And it’s hardly likely to be just a social call. There’s an etiquette for those things and the Khedive makes a big issue of it. Which leaves business—or politics.”
    “It’s not going to be politics. The French are not going to have any amateurs coming in on their patch.”
    “That leaves business. What sort of business is the Khedive likely to be interested in?”
    “Any business that makes money. For him.”
    “Aren’t we all?”
    “There’s a bit of a problem, though, isn’t