The Khedive looked up. ‘So you played mah-jongg while you waited for us?’ And he scatters the ivory tiles across the desk. ‘Alone?’ asks Monsieur Philibert. ‘Have you been waiting for us long, my boy?’ Their voices are punctuated by whispers and grave inflections. Monsieur Philibert smiles and gives a vague wave of his hand. The Khedive tilts his head to the left and stands, his cheek almost touching his shoulder. Like a stork. In the middle of the living room, a grand piano. Purple wallpaper and drapes. Large vases filled with dahlias and orchids. The light from the chandeliers is hazy, as in a bad dream. ‘How about some music to relax us?’ suggests Monsieur Philibert. ‘Sweet music, we need sweet music,’ announces Lionel de Zieff. ‘“Zwischen heute und morgen?”’ offers Count Baruzzi. ‘It’s a fox trot.’ ‘I’d rather have a tango,’ says Frau Sultana. ‘Oh, yes, yes, please,’ pleads Baroness Lydia Stahl. ‘“Du, du gehst an mir vorbei”,’ Violette Morris murmurs plaintively.
