Whispers in the Sand (13 page)

Drawing in a quick, deep breath, she picked it up, and taking it back to her bed, she sat down. Leaning back against her pillows, the little bottle cradled between her palms, she lapsed into deep thought, her imagination taking her from the high priest who followed the scent bottle to Hassan. Why should he have given her a present at all? She pictured his face, the strong bones, the large brown eyes, the evenly spaced white teeth, and suddenly she found herself remembering the warm, dry touch of his hand against hers as he passed her the flaring torch in the tomb in the valley. In spite of herself, she shivered. What she had felt at that moment was something she had never thought to feel again, the intense pleasure she used to feel at the touch of her beloved George’s hand when he glanced at her and they exchanged secret smiles in unacknowledged recognition that later, when the children were asleep, they would keep an assignation in his room or hers. But to feel that with a comparative stranger, a man who was of a different race, and one who was in her employ? She could feel herself blushing in the light of the candle. It was something too shocking, almost, to confide even to her diary.

Anna awoke to find the sunlight flooding across her bed from the open window. The boat was still moving, and when she climbed to her feet and went to look out, she found a breathtaking view of palms and plantations streaming steadily by. For a few moments she stood still, transfixed, then she turned, and pulling off her nightshirt, she headed for the shower.

Toby was just sitting down to breakfast as she arrived in the dining room. “Another late arrival? I believe most of the others have already finished. Please, join me.” He pulled out a chair for her. “This morning we go to the temple of Edfu. I gather we will be arriving fairly soon.” He beckoned the waiter with his coffee pot over to the table as Anna sat down. “You look tired. Did the Valley of the Kings prove too much of an exciting start?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t sleep well.”

“Not sea sick, I trust!”

She laughed. “No, though I must admit I noticed the movement. It did feel odd.” She reached for the cup.

“I expect it disturbed you when we went through the lock at Esna. It must have been some time in the early hours. It certainly woke me, but not enough to make me want to go up on deck and watch.”

She shrugged. “Would you believe, I missed that. No, actually I was reading Louisa’s diary until late, and I think it gave me nightmares. I kept waking up after that.”

“What on earth was she describing?”

“She was talking about a scent bottle which her dragoman bought for her in a bazaar. It had the reputation for being haunted.”

“The scent bottle or the bazaar?” His eyes crinkled rather pleasantly at the corners, she realised, although he kept all traces of laughter out of his voice.

“The bottle. I know it sounds strange. A haunted scent bottle!”

“What haunted it? A genie, presumably. They seem to favour living in bottles.”

“She called it a djinn. Is that the same thing?” She smiled, hoping that would show she didn’t believe it herself, that she could laugh it off as he had.

“Indeed it is the same. How intriguing. Well, you mustn’t let such imaginings disturb your sleep again. Perhaps you’d better not read such sensational stuff at bedtime.” He stood up, pushing back his chair. “What can I get you from the buffet?”

She watched as he made his way across the dining room and picked up two plates. She saw him carefully select two of the largest croissants from the basket on the counter, then he was on his way back. “We’ve arrived. Do you see?” Putting down the plates, he gestured towards the windows. “Just time to eat, then we’d better go and claim our places in a suitable calèche. We drive to the temple of Edfu in style.”

A line of four-wheeled open carriages, drawn by an array of painfully thin horses, was drawn up on the quayside waiting for them, each driven by an Egyptian in a colourful
galabiyya
and turban. Beside each driver a long, formidable whip rested against the footrail. Every so often one was cracked loudly as the horses milled about, jostling for position. The shouting was deafening, as around the calèches and between the horses’ feet a dozen little boys shouted for baksheesh and urged the tourists towards their own particular choice of vehicle.

As they assembled on the quayside, Anna found herself standing next to Serena, and it was with some relief she saw that they were both bound for the same calèche. She became aware that she had been scanning the crowds for Andy and Charley almost without realising it, but there was no sign of either of them; with them when they were finally settled into their seats were Joe and Sally Booth. Their driver, whose name, so he informed them, was Abdullah, could have been any age between seventy and one hundred and fifty, she decided as she quailed beneath his toothless grin. His skin was especially dark, gauntly drawn into deep creases, and his missing teeth rendered his smile particularly piratical. Anna settled beside Serena with a fervent prayer that they were not going to be whisked off into the desert and never seen again. They set off at a canter, passing the other vehicles and heading into the centre of town where the horses challenged lorries and cars with no fear at all. Holding frantically to the side of the carriage, Anna wished she had a hand free to take out her camera. There was something deeply primitive in this mode of transport which appealed to her greatly.

The calèche lurched into a pothole, and Anna fell sideways against her companion. Serena laughed. “Isn’t it wonderful? I am so looking forward to seeing Edfu Temple. It’s very special, you know. It’s not nearly as old as somewhere like Karnac, which we shall see next week. It was built in the Ptolomaic period, but it is famous for its inscriptions and carvings, and they were faithful still to the old Egyptian gods even in Roman times.”

Anna found herself wishing suddenly she had spent less time reading up about the scent bottle and more on Louisa’s diary entry on her visit here. As the calèche hurtled up the main street and over a crossroads, she pictured Louisa and Hassan together in just such a conveyance. There was a shout from behind them. She turned in time to see another vehicle, drawn by a grey horse with hips that stood out like coat racks, draw level with them. Its driver cracked his whip in the air above the horse’s head and gave a shout of triumph as Andy leant forward to wave at them. “Last one there pays for the beer!” His call rang in their ears as his calèche drew ahead.

Serena laughed uncomfortably. “He’s like a child, isn’t he?”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you see a lot of him if he and Charley are together.”

Serena shrugged. “Not that much. Not as much as Charley would like.” She broke off, and they both watched anxiously as a woman crossed the road in front of them, a watermelon balanced on her head. Abdullah cracked his whip just behind her with a malicious grin, clearly hoping to make her jump, and she turned, melon still firmly in place, to shout and swear at him without losing an iota of poise and grace. It was impressive to watch.

“Aren’t they wonderful?” Serena glanced at the camera which had finally appeared in Anna’s hands now that they were in the thick of the crowds and the pace was less breakneck. She watched as Anna focused and pointed it at the departing woman. “I wonder why we don’t carry things on our heads. I don’t know that it’s ever been a western tradition, has it?”

“Perhaps it’s the damp. Our belongings would get wet in the rain and we’d all develop arthritic necks.” Anna laughed. “It could be a sign that global warming is with us for real—when all the people at the bus stop one morning put their briefcases and bags on their heads.”

Both women laughed. They fell silent again as a small boy passed them, a trussed turkey tucked beneath his arm. The bird’s eyes were crazed. It was panting with fear. Anna raised her camera as Serena shook her head. “I find it hard to cope with, the cruelty. That bird. These horses…”

“They don’t seem to actually hit them,” Anna put in. “Most of the whip cracking is for our benefit. I’ve been watching. My guess is that they know jolly well it would upset the effete western tourists if they hit the horses.”

“While we are here, perhaps not, but what happens when we’ve gone?” Serena did not sound convinced.

“At least they feed them.” Bags of bright green fodder were hung from every vehicle.

They left the calèches in the shade at the back of the temple and walked the final distance, its full length, towards the entrance. Anna stared up in awe. The temple was huge, a vast squat building, rectangular behind the enormous pylon or monumental gateway, forty metres high, carved with pictures of Ptolemy defeating his enemies. They stopped in front of it, their group forming obediently around Omar, as they listened to his summary of two thousand years’ history and the temple’s place in it.

A white-robed figure stood near the entrance, beside the statue of the god Horus as a huge hawk, and Anna found herself watching him. A black line of shadow cut across the dazzling white cotton of his
galabiyya
as he leant silently against the wall with his arms folded. She had the sense that he was watching them, and she felt a sudden tremor of nervousness.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Serena was watching her face.

She shook her head. “Nothing really. I keep getting this strange feeling that there’s someone out there watching me…”

Behind them, Omar took a deep breath and continued his story. Neither woman was listening.

“Not someone very nice, judging by your reaction.”

“No.” Anna gave a small laugh. “I think Egypt is making me a bit neurotic. Perhaps we could have a drink before dinner this evening and I could tell you about it?”

About what? A nightmare? A feeling that someone had unpacked her bag in the dark of her cabin and moved her little scent bottle? A scent bottle haunted by an evil spirit. She shook her head, aware that Serena was still watching her curiously. It might sound stupid in the cold light of day, but after all, Andrew and Toby knew about the diary. Why not someone else? And someone in whom she sensed she could confide without feeling embarrassed. Wasn’t it Toby yesterday who had suggested she speak to Serena about her strange feelings in the Valley of the Kings? He had thought she might understand.

They were late back to the boat, exhausted and dusty and hot after their visit. Warm lemonade and scented washcloths were followed by lunch, and then, as the boat cast off and headed once more upstream, the passengers retired either to their cabins or to the sunbeds on the upper deck.

It was there that Andy found Anna a couple of hours later. He was carrying two glasses. Sitting down in the chair next to her he offered her one. “I hope you haven’t been to sleep without your hat.”

“No, as you can see.” It was hanging from the chairback. She pulled herself upright and sipped the fresh juice he had brought her. “That was lovely. Thank you.” The deck was deserted, she realised suddenly; while she had been asleep, one by one, everyone else had disappeared. “What time is it?”

“No such thing as time in Egypt.” He grinned. “But the sun disc is getting low in the west. Which means it will soon be time for another meal.” He patted his stomach ruefully. “I suspect our excursions ashore, strenuous though they are, are not going to be sufficiently energetic to make up for all the food we eat.” He paused for a moment. “Would this be a good time to let me see the diary?”

The abrupt change of subject startled her. He was, she realised, looking down at her bag, which lay on the deck beside her chair.

“It’s in my cabin. Maybe later, Andy, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure. No hurry.” He leant back and closed his eyes. “Have you shown it to anyone else?”

“On the boat, you mean?” She glanced at him over the rim of her tumbler. It was impossible to read his expression behind his dark glasses.

He nodded.

“No. Toby is the only one who has seen it. On the plane.”

“Toby Hayward?” Andy chewed his lip for a moment. “I’ve been thinking, I know his name from somewhere. He’s a bit of a loner from what I gather.”

“As I am,” she pointed out gently. “At least on this cruise. He is a painter.”

She did not miss the raised eyebrow. “Indeed. Is he well known?”

Anna smiled. “I’ve no idea. Perhaps that’s why you know his name? I don’t think I’ve heard of him, but that doesn’t really mean anything.”

Andy drained his glass. “Tell me to mind my own business, if you want to, but I do think you should take care of that diary, Anna. Apart from being worth a lot of money, it’s a piece of real history.”

“Which is why I have left it locked up.” She spoke perhaps more firmly than she had intended, but his tone was beginning to irritate her. There were shades of Felix in his manner. And it was patronising.

He laughed, which infuriated her even more. Putting his arms across his face, he pretended to duck sideways. “OK, OK, I’m sorry. I surrender. I should have realised you are perfectly able to take care of it and of yourself. You are, after all, Louisa’s great-great-granddaughter!”

A fact she reminded herself about later when she met Serena in the bar and they settled into one of the comfortable sofas in the corner of the room. Outside it was dark. They had moored alongside a stretch of river bank which was, so they understood, within walking distance of the great temple of Kom Ombo. Around them the others were assembling a few at a time. She could see Andy perched on a stool at the bar. Charley stood near him, and they were engaged in a noisy conversation with Joe and the barman.