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Louisa set down her pen and stared out of the window at the dark river outside. She had pulled open the lattice shutters to allow the smell of it, the warmth of the night air, the occasional breath of chill wind from the desert to enter her cabin. It all captivated her. She listened carefully. The other cabins were silent. Even the crew were asleep. Gathering up her skirts she tiptoed to the door and opened it. The steps to the deck were steep. Cautiously she climbed them and emerged into the darkness. She could see the humped forms of the sleeping men before the mast and heard suddenly a brief sleepy snore as one of them eased his head on the cushion of his arm. Another breath of cold air and she could hear the rustle of palm fronds on the bank. Above, the stars were violent sparks against the blue-black sky.
There was a slight movement behind her and she turned. Hassan’s bare feet had made no sound on the deck. ‘Mrs Shelley, you should stay in your cabin.’ His voice was no more than a whisper against the whisper of the wind in the reeds.
‘It’s too hot down there. And the night is too beautiful to miss.’ Her mouth had gone dry.
She could see his smile, his teeth white against the dark silhouette of his face. ‘The night is for lovers, Mrs Shelley.’
Her face burning, she stepped away from him, her knuckles tight on the deck rail. ‘The night is for poets and painters as well, Hassan.’
With half an ear she was listening for sounds from below deck. Her heart was beating very fast.
Her neighbour was looking at Louisa’s diary again, she could sense it. Anna sighed. He was beginning to irritate her. His glance was an invasion of her space, an intrusion. If he was not prepared to make a minimum of polite conversation he had no business being interested in her reading material! Closing the diary, she forced herself to look up and smile at the seat-back in front of her. ‘Not long now.’ She turned towards him. ‘Are you going on a cruise too?’
He was an attractive man, she realised suddenly, but even as she thought it his face closed and she saw it harden and the warmth vanished.
‘I am indeed, but I very much doubt it is the same one as you.’ His accent was difficult to place, very faint – slightly Scots perhaps, or Irish – because that was all he said. He shifted his shoulders slightly, turning away from her, and putting his head back against the seat he closed his eyes once more.
She felt a surge of anger and resentment. Well, that had certainly put her in her place. How dare he assume anything about her! Turning abruptly towards the window she stared out, astonished to find that far below them it was already dark. In the distance, she realised suddenly that she could see lights. They would soon be arriving at Luxor.
By the time she had been through passport control and retrieved her suitcase among the teeming throng of other tourists Anna was exhausted. She hung onto her case, grimly waving away the offers of help from a surge of gesticulating shouting would-be porters, and joined the queue for the bus.
The White Egret was a small boat. The brochure had shown the Victorian paddle steamer on a separate page from the other cruisers belonging to the travel company, emphasising its age, its history, and its selectness. There would be only eighteen passengers. It was a long shot she had suspected, even to try and find a place on it but she had made the effort because it was the closest she was likely to get to the kind of boat Louisa would have travelled on from Cairo to Luxor, and to her enormous delight and surprise they had written to say that there had been a cancellation and she found herself allocated one of the only two single cabins.
A hasty glance round the bus showed her that her neighbour from the plane was not there. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or sorry. She had not enjoyed his rudeness. On the other hand his would at least have been a familiar face amongst all these strangers. She made her way towards the back and sat down, her small holdall and camera bag on the seat beside her. Was she the only person there on her own? It seemed like it. Everyone else was sitting in pairs and the level of excited conversation had escalated as the door closed and the bus pulled away. She gazed out into the darkness feeling suddenly bleak and lonely and then realised with an excited sense of shock which put all thoughts of her loneliness out of her head that beyond the reflections of the bus windows she could see palm trees and a man in a white turban, perched on the rump of a tiny donkey trotting along the road in the dark.
The boat – three storeys, picked out in lights with a huge paddle wheel each side – was moored on the outskirts of the town. They were welcomed with hot towels for their hands and a drink of sweet fruit juice, then they were given their cabin keys.
Her cabin was small but adequate, her case already waiting for her in the middle of the floor. She looked round with interest. Her new domain provided her with a single bed, a bedside locker, on which stood an old-fashioned internal telephone, a dressing table and a narrow cupboard. It was scarcely luxury, but at least she did not have to share it with a stranger. Throwing her holdall, camera and shoulder bag down on the bed she closed the door behind her and went to the window. Pushing back the curtains and opening the shutters she tried to see out but the river bank beyond was dark. To her disappointment she could see nothing. Pulling the curtains shut again she turned back to the room. Half an hour, they had been told, until supper, and then in the morning they would be ferried across the River Nile and their first visit – to the Valley of the Kings, Louisa’s Valley of the Tombs – would begin. A wave of excitement swept over her.
It took no time at all to unpack, to hang up the dresses and skirts she had brought with her – there was no need of a Jane Treece to help her – and to lay out her few cosmetics on the dressing table. Amongst them she stood her little perfume bottle. It had seemed only right to bring it to the land of its origins, whether those origins had been in some lowly bazaar or in an ancient tomb.
There was time for a quick shower before dinner. Throwing off her clothes she turned and ducked into the little bathroom. She stood for five minutes beneath the tepid trickle of water, letting it wash away the weariness of the journey before forcing herself out of her reverie, and, stepping out onto the duckboard on the tiled, mosaic floor between the loo and the doll-sized basin, she reached for her towel.
Pulling it round her she stepped back into her room. The temperature in the cabin had dropped. Shivering, she stared round, puzzled. There was no air conditioning control that she could see. Perhaps there was some central system on the boat. Pulling on her green cotton shift and slinging a lightweight sweater round her shoulders she stopped in her tracks again, frowning. There was definitely something odd about the temperature in the room. She hoped she wouldn’t have to complain about it; she had expected Egypt to be hot! Shrugging, she gave one more glance round the cabin and then she headed for the door.
This was the moment that she was dreading. She had to go out and meet the other passengers. This was her first sortie into life as a single woman once again. If she had imagined the people on the cruise with her at all it was as a homogenous group of which she would be a part, not as a collection of couples where she would be the only one alone. With a deep sigh she let herself out into the broad, carpeted corridor outside and, noting with relief how warm it was, began to make her way to the main staircase of the boat. Straight ahead lay the lounge and the bar and the double doors which led out onto the deck, and down the stairs, magnificently railed in brass and decorated with palms and Victorian spittoons was the dining room towards which everyone was now heading.
She found herself seated at one of three round tables, each of which accommodated six people. Beyond the windows she could see nothing of the land or the river she had come so far to visit. The only sign of Egypt was the appearance behind the semi-circular serving counter, piled high with fruit and cheeses in the centre of the room, of a solemn procession of waiters, dark-skinned, dressed in white – two or three per table at least.
Her companions were, to her relief, immediately friendly; the silence of strangers disappeared at once as on every side people began introducing themselves to each other. Next to her on her left she found herself shaking hands with a good-looking man perhaps her own age or slightly older. He stood up as he greeted her and she saw he was no taller than herself, but his broad shoulders and stocky frame gave the impression of size. ‘Andy Watson, from London.’ He smiled, hazel eyes bright with humour beneath dark lashes and bushy brows. ‘Unattached, available, charming, with an absolute passion for all things Egyptian, as I suspect have we all, because that’s why we’re here.’
Anna found herself laughing. A little shyly she introduced herself as a divorcée also from London, recklessly meeting his eyes for a moment before she turned to greet the tall thin man with mousy hair, almost gaunt features and the palest blue eyes who sat on her right.
‘There are five of us on the cruise.’ Andy leant across her, reclaiming her attention. ‘That’s Joe Booth next to you, he’s something in the City, and beyond him is his wife Sally, and this,’ he indicated the slim, red-headed young woman on his left, ‘is Charley, who is sharing a cabin with Serena, over there.’ He nodded at a woman seated with her back to them at the next table. The sixth person at the table, the only one there apart from her who appeared to know no one on the cruise, introduced himself as Ben Forbes, a retired doctor. He and Andy were, it appeared, sharing a cabin. He was, she guessed, in his late sixties, a large, florid man with small bright observant eyes, a wild thatch of greying hair and a rumbustious laugh which within a few minutes had proved to be both infectious and a wonderful way of drawing attention to their table. The waiters unfailingly came to them first, as did their tour guide, Omar, who introduced himself as they were waiting to be served.
‘Welcome. Tomorrow we start with our tour to the Valley of the Kings. Karnac and the Temple of Luxor itself we shall visit on the last day of the cruise. Tomorrow we get up very early. We cross the river on the ferry, and then we go on a bus. The schedule will be posted each day at the top of the stairs, outside the lounge.’ A strikingly handsome young man, who, Anna discovered later, when he was not working as a tour guide, was studying history at Cairo University, he glanced round at them and smiled the most beautiful smile, his white teeth enhanced by what looked like a fortune in gold. ‘Please, if you have any problems and questions come to me at any time.’ He bowed and moved on to the next table.
Watching him, Anna saw him bow again and introduce himself to each of them in turn, then she noticed the man next to whom he was standing. Seated with his back towards her, his arm across the back of the chair as he looked up at Omar and listened to his short speech, was the man who had sat next to her on the plane; he must have been on the bus after all. He had changed into a dark-blue open-necked shirt and pale linen trousers and she saw him make some quiet remark to Omar which had the young man blushing and the others at the table laughing uproariously. So he was still being unpleasant. Obviously it was in his nature. She suppressed a quick feeling of triumph that she was after all on the same cruise as he was!
‘Seen someone you know?’ Andy was passing her the basket of warm bread rolls.
She shook her head. ‘He sat next to me on the plane, that’s all.’
‘I see.’ Andy stared over his shoulder, then he turned back to her. ‘So. It’s brave of you to travel out here on your own. What made you decide to come to Egypt after dumping hubby?’
She winced. ‘It is as you said. I have a passion for things Egyptian. Well, perhaps that’s putting it too strongly. My great-great-grandmother was a woman called Louisa Shelley. She came out here to paint in the late 1860s –’
‘The Louisa Shelley? The watercolourist?’ She had his attention completely now. ‘But she is very well known! I sold one of her sketches not six months ago.’
‘Sold?’ Anna frowned.
‘In my shop. I deal in fine art and antiques.’ He smiled at her.
Beyond him Charley leant forward and smacked him on the wrist. ‘No shop, Andy, please. You promised.’ She surveyed Anna carefully, her eyes wary. ‘Don’t encourage him!’ There was no friendly smile as she looked Anna up and down. ‘What do you do?’ She waited, eyebrows raised.
Not giving her a chance to reply Andy leapt in for her. ‘She’s here to spend her ex-husband’s fortune, darling, what do you think? And I’ll bet I can sell her some gorgeous things when we all get home, but for now we’re going to concentrate on Egyptian goodies, and first of all, Egyptian food. Did you know this boat is famous for its food?’
Anna glanced at Andy. His open cheerfulness encouraged confidences. She noticed suddenly that Charley’s hand, resting on the table beside her plate, was touching Andy’s. So, he was not as unattached as all that. She would have to be careful. ‘If you’re interested in art and antiques perhaps I should show you my Ancient Egyptian scent bottle!’ She smiled.
Andy leant back in his chair, his head cocked on one side. ‘Genuine Ancient Egyptian?’ He waited attentively.
She shrugged. ‘I have been told not. But it came from Louisa and I think she thought it was. I have her diary with me. I’ll see if she mentions where she found it. I just thought it would be fun to bring it with me. Back to the place of its origin as it were.’
‘Indeed.’ Andy watched as a Nubian waiter approached with their soup. ‘You must show it to me some time. I know a little about ancient artefacts, and I would love to see Louisa Shelley’s diary. Are there any sketches in it, by any chance?’ He had picked up his bread roll and was crumbling it between his fingers.
Anna nodded. ‘A few, tiny thumbnail ones. She did most of her sketches in the special sketchbooks she had with her.’
She was aware suddenly that at the next table her neighbour from the plane had realised she was there. He was staring at her with such close attention that she suspected he had been listening to their conversation. She gave him a small quick smile – no more than the slightest acknowledgement – and saw him nod curtly in return.
‘Your flight companion has spotted you, I see.’ Andy’s voice in her ear was amused.
‘So it seems.’ Anna wondered why the man’s neighbour, Serena, was sitting separately and not at the table with her companions. So far she had not even turned to acknowledge them. Even as she watched the woman smiled across at her neighbour and began talking animatedly to him. He turned back towards her at once, and as his head turned Anna caught sight of the not unattractive smile.
She picked up her spoon. The soup was made of vegetables, lightly seasoned and thin but tasty. It was very welcome after the packaged food on the journey. ‘He was fascinated by the diary. I was reading it on the flight and he couldn’t keep his eyes off it.’
‘Indeed.’ Andy’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Anna, you will take care of it, won’t you? I’m sure it must be extremely valuable. It would be very tempting to anyone who guessed what it was.’ His eyes on her face were concerned, sincere.
For the first time in ages Anna felt a small rush of grateful happiness. He actually seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. ‘You are not suggesting that he would try and steal it?’
‘No, of course not. I’m sure he was just curious. A manuscript diary is not the usual airport reading that one expects to see on a plane.’ He chuckled.
Anna glanced back towards the other table again and was disconcerted to find the man in the blue shirt still watching her. There was a look of faintly sardonic amusement on his face. She looked away, embarrassed at being caught staring and without thinking she smiled nervously at the tall Nubian standing behind the serving counter. He caught her eye and in a moment was beside her. ‘More soup, madam?’
Andy chuckled. ‘Go on. You’ll have to have it now.’
She glanced up. ‘Yes. Please. That would be lovely.’ Watching her plate disappear she shrugged helplessly. ‘They are going to think that I’m really greedy.’
‘Or just hungry.’ Andy laughed again. ‘Just to make you feel better I shall have some too. You do realise that this is a four course meal,’ he went on as her brimming plate reappeared.
‘No!’
‘Yes! And I shall order some wine to accompany it.’ He raised his hand and beckoned the waiter back.
‘I love their robes,’ Anna whispered when the man had finished serving them and returned to his watchful pose by the counter. The waiters were dressed in long striped cotton shift-like garments, fastened round the waist with red cummerbunds. ‘They look fantastically glamorous.’
Andy reached for the bottle. ‘They’re called galabiyyas.’
‘What are?’
‘The robes, as you put it, that the men here wear. Enormously comfortable. Cool.’ Turning his back on the neighbouring table he leant back in his chair and beamed first at Charley, who was beginning to scowl at him, clearly resenting the attention he was paying to her, and then back at Anna. ‘No doubt we shall have to don such apparel at some time during the voyage. Even the most salubrious and posh of vessels feel bound to humiliate their passengers with a fancy dress party of some kind, I gather.’
‘I’m beginning to suspect that this is not your first trip to Egypt.’ Anna watched as he squinted at the label on the wine bottle which had appeared.
‘My first on a cruise like this.’ He slopped a little wine into his glass and raised it to his nose speculatively. ‘This may be a mistake. One should really stick to beer in Egypt unless one wants to buy French wine. Not bad, I suppose. Want some?’ He reached for her glass.
Beyond him Charley was engaged at last in a lively conversation with Ben Forbes. Her long red hair had fallen forward over her shoulder and a few strands were trailing in her soup. She didn’t seem to notice.
‘I was a bit nervous, coming on a trip like this on my own,’ Anna went on. ‘I’ll know who to ask for advice.’
‘Indeed you will.’ He winked. ‘Now, eat that soup. I can see the hors d’oeuvres waiting to come in.’
When the meal was at last finished almost all the passengers made their way up to the lounge bar and some of them, thence, through the double doors out onto the deck. As she stepped out into the darkness, Anna shivered. She had expected the earlier balmy evening air, but a sharp breeze had sprung up. Threading her way between the tables and chairs she made her way aft and leant on the rail alone. Andy and Charley had stopped inside at the bar and she could hear their laughter through the half-open door. The river was broad at this point, though she could see little in the darkness. On the bank against which they were moored the houses, built with mud brick and clustered closely together were mostly without lights and the only sound, of distant singing, came from another boat further along the bank and from the occasional slap of water against the mud.
‘So, it appears we are on the same cruise after all.’ The voice at her elbow made her jump. ‘Forgive me for doubting your good taste.’
Turning she saw the blue shirt, the sandy hair. He was leaning over the rail, not looking at her, lost in thought. He turned and held out his hand. ‘My name is Toby. Toby Hayward.’ Now that he was standing up she realised that he was much taller than she expected, his frame lanky, slightly stooped.
‘I’m Anna Fox.’ His handshake was firm but brief.
They both stared out into the darkness for several moments. ‘You know, I am finding it hard to believe I am actually here,’ Anna went on softly. ‘On the River Nile. Somewhere out there in the darkness is Tutankhamen’s tomb, and ancient Thebes and the desert and beyond that the heart of Africa.’
There was a quiet chuckle. ‘A romantic. I hope you’re not going to be disappointed.’
‘No. No, I’m not.’ Suddenly she was on the defensive. ‘It is going to be wonderful.’ Turning away from him, she made her way back between the deserted tables and ducked into the lounge.
Andy spotted her at once. ‘Anna! Come on, let me buy you a drink.’
She shook her head with a smile. ‘Thank you, but I think I’ll turn in. We’ve an early start tomorrow, and I got a bit chilled out there. I never thought it would be cold in Egypt.’
‘It’s the night wind off the desert.’ Andy caught her hand between his own. ‘My goodness, yes. It’s frozen. Are you sure a stiff drink wouldn’t thaw you out?’
‘No. Thank you.’ She was conscious that the door behind her had opened and Toby had come in, leaving the deck outside deserted. Ignoring the other passengers he walked straight through the lounge and made his way out towards the cabins.
She followed him slowly, not wanting to catch him up as he headed for the staircase, but there was no sign of him as she made her way to her door and let herself in.
She paused, looking round. The cabin no longer looked bleak and impersonal. Nor was it cold. It was warm and inviting, the bedside light on, the bed turned down, the towel she had used before supper already replaced by a dry one. Her own belongings made the place look welcoming and friendly, the little perfume bottle, in place of honour on the dressing table, reflecting in the mirror, a small almost glowing patch of colour on the brown wood. Suddenly she was very happy.
The diary was waiting for her by her bed. Perhaps, before she fell asleep, she would stay awake long enough to read a little more and find out how Louisa had first experienced the Valley of the Kings, then tomorrow she would know what to expect.
2 (#ulink_de380eeb-3ef3-5f0e-956f-c1a7aed944d2)
The things which are abominated by the gods they are wickedness and falsehood. If found wanting, what future is there for those who escape the blood grimed jaws of Ammit? He who fastens the fetters on the foes of the gods; those who slaughter in the shambles; there is no escape from their grasp. May they never stab me with their knives; may I never fall helpless into their chambers of torture. Better to return to the body in the silent heat of the death chamber and wait. I am Yesterday and Today; I have the power to be born a second time.
Thoth the god of judgement sees the human hearts and frowns as the first is laid in the balance and the beam begins to tremble.
Ammit, the eater of the dead, licks her fearsome lips as she sits beside the scale. Should this heart weigh more than the feather of Maat, hers will be the reward. These men served the gods. The one was a priest of Isis and Amun. The other the priest of Isis and her sister, Sekhmet, the bloody-jawed lioness, goddess of war and anger – and, oh strange and wonderful contradiction, of healing. They should pass the test; they should go on to eternal life with the gods they served. But there is blood on their handsand there is revenge in their hearts and there is greed in their spirit for the elixir of life. If they fail the test now, they will flee the terrors of Ammit and the tortures of the damned and they will return to the chamber of death to wait. All grows dark.
Louisa was ready at dawn. Hassan was waiting on the bank with three donkeys. Food, water and her painting equipment was loaded quickly and silently into the panniers on one and Hassan helped her onto one of the others, then, keeping a firm grip on the leading rein of both, climbed onto his own. Behind him the crew of the Ibis were busy going about their chores. Of the Forresters or Jane Treece there was no sign. Louisa hid a smile of relief. They were going to manage to escape.
The Forresters had not so far proved to be the hosts she had hoped for. In fact their regime was even more restrictive than that of Isabella and Arabella. They too could see no reason to visit the antiquities, and particularly not those which involved half a day’s ride through the blazing sun. More importantly, they seemed to feel that they were responsible for Louisa’s moral welfare. Though a dragoman had been hired for her, she was not to be with him alone. Though she had come to Egypt not only for the sake of her health, but in her own mind at least, to paint the antiquities, they did not consider that it was important or even advisable for her to do so. They were in fact due to leave for a gentle sail up the Nile as soon as the steamer had arrived at Luxor with the post from England. In near despair of ever visiting the Valley of the Tombs, Louisa had had to resort to secrecy. She had found Hassan sitting in the shade of the deck awning, writing in his own small notebook. He rose to his feet the moment she had appeared, and he listened gravely to her whispered instructions. Well aware that Lady Forrester might at the last minute insist on Jane Treece accompanying her as a chaperone, Louisa had told them that she would not leave until mid-morning. To Hassan she explained privately that they must leave at dawn.
She had awoken while it was still dark, climbing into her clothes as silently as she could. Her first brief meetings with the man who was to be her dragoman – guide, escort, servant, interpreter – had gone well. He was a quiet, refined man, grave and very conscious of his responsibility. His loyalties, he made clear immediately, were to Louisa alone. Wherever she wanted to go he would take her.
‘Does he have a name?’ Louisa patted her animal’s neck as they set off.
Hassan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hired them for the journey.’
‘He must have a name. Perhaps I should give him one. Caesar. How does that sound?’
Hassan smiled across at her as they rode swiftly away from the river bank and turned between some square mud-brick houses out of sight of the Ibis.
‘That is a good name. I shall call mine, Antony. And this our beast of burden shall be Cleopatra.’
Louisa laughed in delight. ‘Then we shall be such an intelligent party.’ He was a good-looking man, of middle height, slim, dressed in loose blue trousers and a striped robe. He had large dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. Looking across at him surreptitiously she wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell. His hair was hidden completely by his red turban. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laughter creases from nose to mouth, but apart from that his skin was smooth.
‘How far must we ride to the valley, Hassan?’ In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder.
He shrugged. ‘We will know when we get there. We have all day.’ His smile was warm and without guile.
Louisa laughed. In Egypt, she had discovered, things happened when they happened. That was the will of God. With a contented sigh she settled onto the felt saddle and concentrated instead on trying to accommodate herself to her donkey’s pace.
The track through the fields of berseem and wheat and barley was cool in the dawn light beneath the eucalyptus trees and the tall graceful date palms and she relaxed, enjoying the scented air, the greetings of the fellaheen they passed making their way out to the fields. It was all too soon that they reached the edge of the cultivated land which bordered the River Nile and struck out into the desert. In front of them rose the long red shoulder of the Theban hills, so visible, and so mysteriously close that they could be seen from the deck of the boat and yet now, shrouded in the misty distance.
They stopped briefly for a breakfast of slices of watermelon and cheese and bread before the sun was too high, then they rode on. Ahead the hills at last drew closer. Louisa stared up, fanning herself beneath the shade of her broad-brimmed hat. A kite circled overhead, a dark speck against the brilliant blue of the sky.
‘Soon there. Very soon.’ Hassan reined back his little donkey. ‘You are going to draw pictures of the mountains?’
Louisa nodded. ‘I want to see the mountains and the tombs of the pharaohs.’
‘Of course. What else?’ Hassan smiled. ‘I have brought candles and flares for us to see them.’ He gestured towards the pack animal. ‘Not far. Then you can rest.’
She nodded again. Perspiration was trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her clothes felt heavy and stifling. ‘I expected to see a lot of visitors along this road,’ she called across to him. The loneliness was beginning to unnerve her.
‘There are lots of visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘The steamer has not been here for several days. When it comes they will arrive again.’
‘I see.’ She smiled uncertainly. The barely distinguishable road was empty of other riders. There were no tracks.
‘There are no footmarks, no signs of anyone else.’ She gestured nervously.
