I started to say something sarcastic but I changed my mind. If his heart didn’t belong to me, he had gone to considerable lengths for the sake of friendship.

‘How’d you figure that out?’ I asked meekly.

‘From the way he did not look at you when he thought others were looking and the way he did look at you when he thought others were not. You,’ said Schmidt judiciously, ‘were more skilled at concealing your feelings. Had I not known better I would have believed you were adversaries instead of – ’

‘Yeah, right. Did John tell you what they’re planning, Schmidt?’

‘No, he did not have to tell me. I knew.’

‘How did . . . Oh, hell, never mind that now.’ I looked out of the window of the cab. Palm trees, flower beds, the rippling river beyond . . . ‘First things first. Did you check out of the Winter Palace?’

‘No. You see – ’

‘For God’s sake, Schmidt! They know you’re there; they’ll be looking for you.’

Schmidt let out a roar. For all his pretended calm, his nerves weren’t in much better shape than mine. ‘Give me some credit for good sense, Vicky! If I had checked out they would only look for me somewhere else. Now they will wait for me to return. I left my luggage, but I have with me all we will need,’ He indicated the briefcase on the seat next to him.

‘You’re right, and I’m a fool,’ I said humbly.

‘No, you are not a fool. You are fearing for the life and safety of the man you – ’

I didn’t want to scream at him but I knew I would if he said it, so I cut in. ‘I have the essentials with me too, but I’ve got to get rid of this gold-and-turquoise bag. It’s too conspicuous”

‘Now you are thinking,’ Schmidt said approvingly. He leaned forward and addressed the driver.

‘I did’t know you spoke Arabic’

‘I speak all languages.’ Schmidt twirled his moustache. ‘My Arabic is not good, however. Only a few phrases.’

Following – I assumed – Schmidt’s instructions, the cab stopped at one of the street markets, and Schmidt hopped out. He returned with an armful of souvenirs, including a new bag. This one was black, with the head of Nefertiti on one side and rows of hieroglyphs on the other. A good half of the souvenirs sold in Egypt have Nefertiti on them.

‘Now where?’ I asked, transferring passport, wallet, and a few dozen other objects into the new bag.

‘The ETAP,’ Schmidt answered. ‘It is good that you have your passport; we will need them in order to register.’

‘Under our own names?’