SARAH DAWSON
It was mid December when I got that fateful telephone call that disrupted my well-ordered, active and meaningless existence. I went home, that day, later than usual. Just as soon as I entered, Mohammed said a foreign woman called twice since he came in. However, he could not understand what she wanted. A little later, the phone rang and I answered.
'Mr. Michael Makris?'
'Yes?'
'Oh thank goodness I have finally reached you.'
'Who is this?'
'You don't know me. My name is Sarah Dawson. I have a message for you.'
'What message?'
'From Lisa Baccini.'
'Lizzie?'
'Yes. Please, do you think we can meet?'
'When?'
'Tonight. I'm leaving in the morning and I have come here especially to see you.'
'Where are you, now?'
'At the Semiramis Hotel.'
'I'll be there in half an hour.'
'Thank you. I'll be at the main door wearing a white jacket. We won't miss each other.'
What was Lizzie up to? I had the suspicion a message so urgent would agitate my life. After a quick wash to freshen up, I changed my clothes and half an hour later was at the main entrance of the Semiramis. She stood there in a white jacket and smiled at me as soon as she saw me. I went up to her and shook hands.
'Michael Makris.'
'Sarah Dawson.'
She was a tall, pleasant looking girl of perhaps thirty years of age. Rather thin with large breasts, prominent even with the winter clothing and the white jacket. A pretty, regular face with straight blond hair to her shoulders and a luminous smile of perfect teeth. That was her asset and it reminded me of another luminous smile. The smile of the message sender. Unmistakably Sarah Dawson was English. We looked at each other and smiled awkwardly for a moment.
'Sarah. Allow me to call you Sarah and please call me Michael.'
'Very well, Michael.'
'Shall we go and sit for a drink at the bar?'
'Yes. That would be lovely.'
We moved to the bar and sat at an out of the way table. An old style, wood paneled bar with a grand piano in a corner and a pianist in a white, long-sleeved, silk shirt playing all the current songs in unobtrusive and flowery arrangements. He was a young man with long, artistic, brushed-back hair and had a discreet reddish spotlight focused on him. A waiter glided silently to our side and we ordered our drinks.
'It's so nice to be able to do this,' said Sarah. 'Do what?'
'Order a drink. It's forbidden down there and for people like us the English where the drink is at the very heart of our socializing it is sorely missed.'
'Have you lived long in Arabia?'
'I have just completed one year and I'm off for a month's holiday. I'm a secretary at the British Embassy.'
'Have you visited Egypt before?'
'Well hardly; a year ago on my way out I spent three hours at Cairo airport. Today, at least, I saw the Nile. My room is on the Nile side and the view from my window, on its own, has made my stopover worthwhile.'
'And you are here just to deliver a message?'
'Yes. My flight landed this afternoon at five. By the time I was installed in my room, it was eight o'clock and I spent the rest of my time calling you at home. I started to worry that you might be away but I assumed the man who answered the phone at your home was your servant and consequently that you were in Cairo. I would have kept on calling all night. In fact, I would have tried to come to your house. I have your address.'
The drinks arrived and after sipping a few mouthfuls, I asked Sarah what Lizzie's message was.
'In two words,' she said, 'it is an SOS from Lisa. She cannot bear her life in Arabia and Abdullah will not let her leave. He is afraid that if she leaves Arabia it will be the end of Lisa for him. He has taken her passport and she is a sort of prisoner in the midst of unbelievable luxury. She told me that not too long ago you promised her that if she ever got in a fix you would try to rescue her. She is now at your mercy.'
'Oh wonderful. I imagined as much. Good Lord, what do we do now?'
'I thought you would have the answer. You would know what to do.'
'Straight off? Of course I don't know what to do. Do you think I am the CIA with contingency plans in my files? Certainly, I shall try to help Lizzie and I will probably need your help in any rescue attempt I might hatch. You will help, won't you?'
'Of course I shall.'
She sipped a mouthful from her glass and smiled. 'Oh, lovely,' she said maybe for the third time.
I needed to hear her story. To get some indication of what I had to face.
'Sarah,' I said, 'please tell me a little about your life in Arabia.'
'Well, I worked for about nine years at the Foreign Office ever since I finished Secretarial College. Last year I had this opportunity to work at the Embassy in Arabia and jumped at it, as the pay was fantastic. You know, it is considered a hardship post with a considerable increase in remuneration and nowhere to spend your money. It is a two-year stint and I shall be able to buy a house at the end of that period. Life however is barely endurable. Our recreations are social gatherings in our homes and a few receptions in different embassies. But parties with no drink are rather dull and life generally is a drudge. I met Lisa at one of our own Embassy's functions. The Queen's birthday or something of the sort. She came of course with Abdullah, who has a high post at their Foreign Ministry and I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She was very subdued. While Abdullah moved around easily, talking to the different diplomats she stayed in a corner nursing a fruit juice. Such a beauty standing alone! In our world, she would have had a queue of admirers waiting to talk to her. To see her glorious smile. To flirt a little and dream that this woman was taking an interest in them. In Arabia, things are different. Women are possessions, usually kept well hidden, and men are wary to show an interest in another's possession. In any case, Abdullah would not have liked it. Lisa was his ornament. A medal on his lapel. You cannot borrow it even for a little while. You can only admire it from afar.
'I went up to her and introduced myself and we started talking. About ourselves, mainly. I felt so sorry for her after I heard her story. She had not yet realized the full extent of her trap. I was a thousand times better off than she was. I was a lowly secretary, unattached, trying to put a little money aside but free. A few million dollars had made a prisoner of her. She had only been there less than a month and was still in the clouds but the tumbling to reality had started.
'We exchanged telephone numbers and we started communicating daily, even more than once a day. Lisa usually called. She needed to talk; she needed a friend. Well, to tell you the truth, so did I, and we did become awfully good friends. I often went to their home, an opulent villa in the suburbs with servants and cooks and drivers and bodyguards. Apparently, that is their temporary residence. Abdullah is to build a new house outside town with just about all the amenities you can imagine. Swimming pools and all, in a country where water is a precious commodity. Anyway, Abdullah encouraged our friendship. It was a badly needed distraction for Lisa. He was civil and pleasant with me but I never really warmed up to him. He offered me expensive presents now and then and had Lisa give them to me. I never felt comfortable accepting them. It felt as if he was bribing me. I did not need presents to be Lisa's friend. On the other hand, perhaps I am being unjust in thinking this way.'
'So finally what went wrong?'
'What went wrong was that the whole concept of Lisa living in Arabia was wrong. Was it normal to confine a beautiful, healthy, active young woman like Lisa in a house, unable to go out, unable to drive, to meet people, to exercise, to enjoy the company of friends, male and female? By the end of two months, she was on the verge of a breakdown. My friendship and our now numerous daily conversations could not sustain her. She asked Abdullah to let her go to Boston for a month to see her family and promised to be back before the month was up but he refused. He was afraid that if she left she might not return, having tasted the pleasures of vast wealth in a vastly conservative Moslem state. Her marriage with Abdullah, of course, entered a period of crisis and things were pretty grim for her. To compound this, there were other problems. Friction with Abdullah's family. And to be fair to both sides, Lisa made not the slightest effort to get to know them more intimately. Of course, there was the language barrier but Lisa was completely aloof. She just would not be bothered. Abdullah also wanted a baby and Lisa adamantly refused to be pregnant. She asked him for a divorce telling him she would return everything he ever gave her but Abdullah refused. He told her he was not interested in chicken feed, that if they ever did divorce it would be because he wanted it, not because she did. Meanwhile he has taken her passport and Lisa has not a single official document to make a move with.'
'Oh God, Sarah. The worst-case scenario I told her could happen did, in fact, happen.'
'It's incredible that this man, who was so much in love with Lisa and used to ask her opinion on practically everything, should become so autocratic. Lisa told me to ask you, are you still her guardian angel?'
'Has she become a Doubting Thomas?' Sarah laughed.
'No. But the situation is not exactly a piece of cake and she told me she mocked you when you told her to contact you in case she found herself trapped.'
'Tell me, Sarah, how long will you stay in England.'
'One month.'
'That's very convenient. It will give me some time to plan something or other and also to take my scheduled trip to Athens to see my mother and to be with her during Christmas and New Year.'
'I shall write, meanwhile, to Lisa from England, that I met you and that you shall help her.'
'He might be censoring her mail.'
'We have agreed on a code. It will seem like an innocuous letter.'
'A lot will depend on you Sarah. I cannot swing it alone. You shall be just a go- between, no one will suspect your involvement and you will never be in the slightest danger.'
'I am not averse to a little excitement and I do want to help. I cannot accept this oppression. Who does this Abdullah think he is anyway? Deciding the destiny of a human being.'
'Another thing, Sarah, on your way back you must drop by again. We shall need to talk things over.'
'Of course.'
'Just send me a cable with your flight and I shall pick you up at the airport. You can spend the night at my house so as not to incur extra expense.'