“Not us,” said Bill, covering an enormous yawn with his hand. “I’m going to take a nap.”

“You’ll be sorry,” advised Sue.

“Your metabolism will never adjust if you do that,” agreed Ted.

“I don’t care,” said Bill. “I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Elizabeth will be so disappointed . . . ,” protested Lucy.

“You know you’re dying to have a mother-daughter chat,” said Bill, and Lucy had to admit he was right.

After a quick phone call to make arrangements, Lucy agreed to meet Elizabeth at the Cavendish Hotel on the boulevard Haussmann. The Métro posed no threats to Lucy, who had grown up in New York City. In fact, she was quite impressed by the clean station and the trains, which arrived every five minutes. She had no trouble at all finding the hotel, but there was no sign of Elizabeth at the concierge’s station in the beautifully decorated lobby. Instead, there was a large framed photo of a bespectacled middle-aged man propped on the chair behind the ornate Louis XIV desk.

There was also a stack of printed brochures with the same photo, which identified the portly man in the photo as Ahmed Fouad II, king of Egypt. Intrigued, Lucy picked one up and read the text, which claimed that Fouad, his preferred name, ascended the throne in 1952, when his father, King Farouk I, abdicated in his favor, hoping to appease antiroyalist forces. It apparently didn’t work, as Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser rose to power and the royal family remained in exile in Europe.

Lucy read on, straining to recall her high school French, not to mention her world history class. She knew there had been some sort of Suez crisis a long time ago, and that tourists had been massacred in Egypt at some point, but now the country was in turmoil as popular demonstrations brought down succeeding governments. Perhaps, she thought as she replaced the brochure, this faction hoped to restore stability by reestablishing the monarchy.

“Mom!”

Lucy turned to greet her daughter, exchanging the requisite two bisous, or kisses, one for each cheek, which made her feel terribly sophisticated.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” apologized Elizabeth. “I have to help prepare for this conference. Les Amis du Roi de l’Égypte.” She picked up the framed photo and the stack of brochures. “I just have to take these to Monsieur Fontneau. He’s my boss. I’ll be right back.”

Lucy watched as Elizabeth hurried off down a long hallway leading to various function rooms, then strolled around the luxuriously appointed lobby, pausing to examine an enormous arrangement of fresh flowers set on a marble table. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, a plush patterned carpet was underfoot, and conversational groups of furniture were scattered about.