Maître Shakir bowed and whispered, “That is Madame Odette Fattal, sir.”
“Is she related to Monsieur Henri Fattal?”
“She is his daughter, sir.”
Curiouser and curiouser. The millionaire Henri Fattal was one of the largest cotton dealers in Egypt. Why would his daughter turn up looking that way? Any secretary in her father’s office would most certainly have worn something more formal. What was she up to and why were all the guests overlooking her faux pas? Wright could not contain his curiosity and ordered another drink, quickly downing it. Having thus overcome his inhibitions, he walked over to her. As she looked at him, he bowed and said, “Bonsoir, Madame. Please allow me to introduce myself. James Wright, managing director of the Automobile Club.”
As he kissed her hand, he noticed the softness of her skin and her light and captivating perfume. She smiled and said, “I am Odette Fattal. I am a teacher at the Lycée Français. Enchantée!”
He felt encouraged by her smile, and as he reached for another glass from the tray of a passing waiter, he said, “May I ask why we have not had the pleasure of seeing you here at the Club before?”
“I don’t like the Automobile Club.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“If it wasn’t for my friends, I wouldn’t have come tonight either.”
“Then I am most grateful to your friends.”
“Please don’t be upset with me. I am just being honest.”
Wright continued looking at this strange creature, who, in spite of everything, was not lacking in a certain charm. He said, “May I ask why you dislike the Automobile Club?”
“Because it is such a deceitful and artificial environment. Full of sharks.”
Odette said this in a straightforward manner. Wright raised his eyebrows and gave her an uneasy look, but she paid no heed and carried on speaking, “Here, in the Automobile Club, the thieves don the finest clothes, douse themselves in cologne and then disport themselves in a sort of pantomime of respectability.”
“When you say thieves, to whom are you referring?”
“Everyone here. Aren’t those pashas the cream of the Egyptian upper classes? Just mention the name of anyone here, and I’ll read you his charge sheet.”
In all his sixty-one years, James Wright had never had such a bizarre conversation. He knew that he was in the presence of a woman unlike those he saw day in, day out. Despite her eccentricity, she had a certain allure. They chatted on, until the guests who noticed them together started whispering amongst themselves. At six in the morning, he dropped her off at her building, and the following day he rang to check on her. They went out together three more times, and on the fourth occasion he invited her to dinner at the Mena House Hotel, afterward dropping her off at her apartment in Zamalek. As she stepped out of the car, they were exchanging their usual good-byes when suddenly she leaned over and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Trying to control his excitement, he pulled her into his arms and covered her with kisses. That night they slept together for the first time.
Even after a whole year, his feelings of wonder had not dissipated at all, though for all the happiness that he felt with her, she remained an object of mystery. As things continued, all sorts of unanswerable questions arose in his mind. Often he would stand in front of the mirror, looking at his wrinkled and furrowed face and the small strip of gray hair around his bald pate, and he would try to fathom how the beautiful Odette could be attracted to such a plain-looking man twenty years older. Did she have an Electra complex; was she looking for the father she had lost? Why had she moved out of her father’s mansion in Maadi and rented a small place in Zamalek? Why was the daughter of the millionaire Fattal forced to earn her living as a teacher at the Lycée? Why not work in one of her father’s numerous concerns, if at all? And what about her Lebanese husband, who lived in Paris, about whom she refused to speak? Why were they not living together? At various moments he had thrown all these questions at Odette, with each, her beautiful face turning ashen before she answered him tersely, “I grew apart from my father years ago. I do visit him occasionally, but I don’t let him interfere in my life.”
“How did you grow apart?”
“We are different in every way.”
“Had my father been a millionaire like yours I would never have grown apart from him.” He let out a laugh and then asked her why she did not live with her husband or ask him for a divorce.
Odette smiled and answered calmly, “James, do you love me?”
“Of course.”
“Then love me for what I am. Don’t keep on asking me about my life.”
He acceded to her wish. Odette would remain mysterious, but he loved her more than he had ever loved his wife. He could not imagine his life without her. He had never been a devoted husband to Victoria, never feeling any pangs of conscience all the times he had cheated on her. At the same time, he was always ready to forgive his wife for her predictably regular outbursts. He considered marriage necessary in order to produce offspring, but beyond that he deemed it a flawed and useless institution. The odd extramarital affair simply helped to keep a husband and wife together. It was his style to have a fling and then go back and try harder at keeping his wife happy. He had always felt the same about his mistresses, but with Odette, it went somewhat deeper. She had shown him true happiness. It was as if she were the first woman he had ever known. She excited him so much that, even at this stage of life, he started to wonder about his sexuality. It was her boyish appearance that excited him so much. Had she grown her hair out, worn high heels, plastered her face in makeup and acted more feminine, he would not have been so attracted to her.
The most beautiful thing about Odette was something that was almost masculine. She had an instinctive and visceral roughness about her. Her serious talk and her revolutionary ideas were also alluring, expressed in her distinctive way of speaking. She spat out her consonants and emphasized things with small nods of her beautiful head. Wright couldn’t help but smile whenever he thought about her. What a wonderous creature she was. She had been offering her body to him for a whole year now and had asked for nothing in return. No presents, no money, no privileges— although she did once intervene on behalf of a peon at the Lycée to help his son get a job at the Automobile Club.
For her birthday, Wright bought her a gold necklace. She leaned toward him, and they lost themselves in a kiss. Then she pulled away slightly but with her arms still around him, smiled and said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I won’t wear this necklace.”
“Why not?”
“Actually, I don’t wear gold.”
“You are probably the only woman in the world who has something against it!”
“I don’t base my opinions on their popularity.”
Her strange and surprising notions always produced a mixture of shock and admiration. He asked sharply, “May I know what you have against gold?”
“People run after gold because it represents wealth, but in itself it has no value. It’s valued only for its rarity and price, and, personally, I think it looks awful.”
Wright closed the box with the gold necklace in it, and in a tone of barely suppressed anger, he said, “I’m so sorry that I have upset you with this