Free Ultimatum by Antony Trew Page B

arrived at thebaggage pick-up point and after some delay collected the brown travel-bag from a distributor.
    He travelled into Paris in an Air France bus. At the terminal at Port Maillot he took a taxi. ‘Rue des Beaux Arts,’ he said to the driver. ‘Hotel de Nice.’ It was a small unpretentious hotel in St Germain-des-Prés on the left bank, not far from the gates of the Académie des Beaux Arts. But he would not be staying in the Hotel de Nice.
    On arrival outside it he paid off the taxi, put his travel-bag on the pavement, and made much of searching through his pockets. When the taxi had gone he picked up the bag, walked round into the Rue Berligny. It was a narrow street with small art galleries, picture framers, and shops given over to artists’ materials for the students of the Académie.
    Outside a small picture shop, the Galerie Duquesne, he paused to look at the paintings in the window. Beyond them, through the glass, he saw a young woman. She was alone. He went in. ‘Hullo, Magda.’ He spoke quietly.
    She looked at him, frowning, her head on one side. ‘Do I know you?’
    ‘You should. Don’t you remember me? Zeid. At BUC?’ They had overlapped for a year at Beirut University College.
    She laughed with relief. ‘Zeid! All that beard and hair. D’you blame me? There’s not much left to recognize.’
    ‘Still the same person, Magda. Where’s Tewfik?’
    ‘He’s gone to the bank. At the Place Vendôme. He’ll be back before long.’
    ‘That’s fine. I must see him.’
    She took his hand in hers, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, it’s good to see you.’
    He grinned to hide his embarrassment. ‘But you knew I was coming?’
    ‘Yes, of course. But I didn’t recognize you.’
    ‘Kemal sends his love.’
    ‘Oh. That’s nice. Does he still grin?’
    ‘All the time. How are you, Magda? You look marvellous .’
    ‘I’m fine.’ She held his hand affectionately. ‘It’s quite a long time, isn’t it? Not since you worked in France?’
    ‘Yes. But I was also in Paris three months ago. You were away.’
    ‘Tewfik told me. I’d gone to my mother. She was ill.’
    ‘It’s really good to see you, Magda. How is he?’
    ‘He’s fine.’
    He looked towards the street, became suddenly serious. ‘I’d better not stand here.’
    ‘Sorry. This way.’ She led him through the curtains at the back of the shop, up a small staircase to a room on the first floor.
    ‘It’s our room. There’s a bathroom and loo next door. Knock on the floor when you’re ready.’
    ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I won’t be long.’
    When she’d gone he found the scissors and shaving gear in the travel-bag, took off his grey jacket and trousers, laid them on the bed, and went through to the bathroom in his underclothes. He got busy with the scissors and razor. When he’d finished the beard, the moustache and the long sideburns had gone. He put a towel round his waist, knocked lightly on the floor with a shoe.
    The girl came up. ‘That’s more like the Zeid I remember,’ she said. ‘What a transformation. And I can see the scar.’ She put her hand on his neck and touched it gently. ‘Poor Zeid.’
    She was very desirable, they had once been lovers, and for a moment he wanted to take her in his arms. He fought down the emotion, handed her the scissors and a comb. ‘Now my hair, Magda. To here.’ He turned his back and with his hand indicated the length.
    ‘Sit on that bath stool,’ she said. ‘You’re too tall.’
    He sat down and she began combing and cutting. At last she said, ‘Look now.’ He stood up and went to the mirror.
    ‘That’s great,’ he said.
    ‘See the mess on the floor.’
    ‘Sorry, Magda.’
    ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of it.’
    They went through to the bedroom. She sat on the bedwhile he changed into the blue suit he’d taken from the travel-bag.
    ‘What are the flight details, Magda?’
    ‘Eight-ten tonight. British Airways from Orly. Heathrow about half an hour later. Want the