During the war, Onkel came to Cairo more often and stayed with us at the villa. We would go out together evenings, the attention deflected from me being alone with Hermann. Without much household or kitchen staff, we most often ate out, either at Italian or French restaurants or, as the war droned on, at the consulates or official residences of the diplomats who remained. Hermann brought me delicate glasses gleaming with wine. He caught my eye across rooms as he talked with politicians and diplomats. He didn’t need to wink. I knew that flicker, that warmth. Other women spun me around. We tipped back glasses and held each other’s waists, even danced. The world was at war and we were in fortified villas in Cairo, pretending to be different, pretending none of it mattered, at the same time we
