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The Shah bought himself four tennis rackets and a pair of black antelope shoes; Soraya bought lingerie and two crocodile handbags and, at a couturier's, ordered a dozen summer frocks. That noon, in the Excelsior dining room, Mohammed Reza Pahlevi began his shrimp cocktail, just another king in exile; by the time he reached his coffee, he was back in business as Shah. A reporter (see PRESS) rushed to his table with the news: "Mossadegh has been overthrown, Your Majesty!" The Shah's jaw dropped; his trembling fingers reached for a cigarette. "Can it be true?" he asked uncertainly. The Queen was quicker on the uptake. "How exciting," said Soraya, placing a calming hand on her husband's arm. "It shows how the people stand," said the Shah at last. "I have to admit that I haven't had a very important part in the revolution." Aides scurried off to check airline schedules.
Now the Iranian chargé d'affaires in Rome and a functionary from the Italian Foreign Ministry, both of whom had ignored the Shah's harried arrival in Rome, came to pay their belated respects. On top of things again, the Shah refused to see the charge d'affaires who had snubbed him; later the Shah had him fired. Next morning, the Shah slipped out to a jeweler's and selected a variety of diamond baubles for Soraya. This was a consolation gift for her agreeing to remain a while in Rome for her "health." Then he boarded a chartered K.L.M. airliner for Bagdad, where he put on his gold-braided air marshal's uniform (specially flown from Teheran). He piloted his own twin-engined Beechcraft on the final leg to his capital.
Triumphal Arches. Six days after fleeing into exile, the Shah was back in his capital, stronger than ever, without having lifted a finger. Though his flight had reflected his panic, it also served to precipitate the crisis and thereby, in the end, had proved beneficial. For the people had shown more faith in him and in the throne he occupied than he himself suspected. Premier Zahedi and the entire frock-coated diplomatic corps were at the airport to greet him.
In the swirl of officials and newspapermen and honor guards, the Shah made his way with difficulty. Two bureaucrats flung themselves on the ground before him, embraced his legs and tried to kiss his feet; embarrassed in front of the foreign newspapermen, the Shah, after patting the bureaucrats' heads, tried to disengage himself. He looked tired, and as he made his way down the reception line past teary-eyed officials, his own eyes filled too. He clasped Ambassador Henderson's hand heartily; he gave Soviet Envoy Anatoly Lavrentiev a perfunctory handclasp. Then he was off to the palace in a limousine, under hastily erected triumphal arches and past cheering crowds.