Aida frowned, digesting this new information. ‘Maybe, but I still don’t see what she had to gain by telling me such a story.’ Of course she had considered that Souma might have lied but she had gone over the maid’s words in her mind so often that nothing else made sense, except that she was telling the truth. But why would Souma be interested in her father’s papers? The old anger welled up inside Aida. She looked down, her fingers twisting the corner of a cushion. ‘Poor Father died far too young. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. Part of the reason I’ve come back is to clear his name.’
Naguib gave her an indulgent look. ‘How do you think you’ll be able to do that, ya binti, after so many years? I believe just as strongly as you do that Ayoub was innocent, but sadly, the real culprit is probably far away now.’
She raised her head. ‘Is he? Well, as the other saying goes, the corn passes from hand to hand, but comes at last to the mill. Whether it’s Kamel Pharaony or someone else, I will catch whoever was responsible for my father’s death.’
‘That won’t be as easy as you think, Aida. Have you forgotten so much of where you come from? People here will not approve of a woman digging around and asking questions. Anyhow, where would you start?’
‘With the only thread I have to follow. Souma, I’ll find her somehow.’
Yet Naguib’s words sank in heavily. Coming back to Luxor, Aida knew that she would have to navigate the conservative values of Egyptian society with some self-restraint. Egypt had remained in its own cocoon during the war and its society had failed to be touched by any form of sexual liberation, even in upper-class circles. It had been so different in wartime England. There, Aida had experienced the kind of social freedom in which her independent nature revelled. Suddenly she felt very isolated and alone in this place where she used to belong.
Naguib sighed. ‘Well, all I can say is that Souma is long gone now, and the harm she did cannot be undone.’
Aida glanced at him. It was ingrained in her to respect her elders but she deliberately refused to see his meaning. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Uncle,’ she responded stubbornly.
‘You know that your father and Kamel Pharaony had spoken about an alliance between your two families. Kamel had asked for your hand on behalf his son Phares just before the tragedy. It is well known that you were almost engaged.’
‘Yes, that is so, but my father had never given his answer.’
‘Things have changed now. You are not that young anymore and their son Phares still wants to marry you …’
Why was he telling her this? He had no right to speak sternly to her. She had barely stepped back on Egyptian soil and was already being pushed into a marriage of convenience.
With a slight lifting of her head she said gently, ‘I have no intention of tying myself to someone I don’t love.’
‘In Egypt, habibti, the knowing and loving come after marriage.’
‘Not always. What about my parents? They married for love, did they not?’
‘Your parents were unusual, and look where it got them. Your father was disowned by his family for following his heart, not his head.’
‘Maybe,’ she agreed grudgingly. ‘But in the last eight years I’ve learned that life is too precious and short just to throw it away.’
Naguib gave a frustrated wave of his pipe. ‘But you would be doing the opposite of throwing away your life, you would be rebuilding it.’
‘Please, Uncle, let me finish … Marriage would be an important part – the most important part – of my life, and I must get it right. Though we grew up together, Phares is much older than I am. Even in those days I barely knew him.’
Naguib’s bushy brows shot up. ‘Oh, come now, Aida! You and Phares were hardly strangers. He often dropped by to visit your father and talk about his work. Phares took an interest in Ayoub’s findings, I seem to remember. Your father was very fond of the boy.’ He gestured with his pipe as an afterthought. ‘And you were often at Hathor or El Sharouk.’
To be pressed on her past feelings for Phares made Aida shift uncomfortably. ‘What I mean is, I didn’t know Phares as I would someone my own age. Besides, that was a long time ago, Uncle. You can’t expect me to commit to a man who is almost a stranger to me now.’ She gazed into his heavy-lidded eyes, which were watching her intently. ‘My father would never have forced me to marry someone I do not love.’
‘I am not forcing you, my dear. How could I? I have no power over you, I can only advise. You are a grown woman now. It is true that you look younger than twenty-six, but at your age most Egyptian women already have a string of children. I am speaking to you as if I were counselling my own daughter, merely trying to help you see things clearly. What you have been through hasn’t been easy. Phares understands that.’ Naguib leaned forward. ‘He was there that day. He knows how dreadful it was for you. The poor boy tried to save your father.’
Aida blanched, trying to keep the emotion from her voice. He had gone too far. ‘Are you saying that’s a reason for me to marry him?’
‘No, no, of course not, habibti.’ Naguib’s expression softened. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that Phares is a good match. When you were younger, the two of you always seemed to have something to say to each other, which is a good sign, no?’ He raised a thick eyebrow knowingly. ‘I recall that you seemed to like him when you were a teenager. Is that not so?’
Embarrassed to be discussing such things with Uncle Naguib, Aida gave a brittle laugh. ‘When I was younger I had a schoolgirl crush on Phares, no more. We were worlds apart in our thinking, and there was no question of love between us.’ Hearing the words leave her mouth, that odd feeling of unease returned.
‘There are other factors to consider,’ Naguib pressed on, regarding her through a tendril of pipe smoke. ‘Your father’s esba, estate, is in a pitiful state, because without a power of attorney, no one could do anything about it. If you wanted to sell it today, I doubt you would get a reasonable price for it. Having Kamel oversee that side of things has been very useful, Aida. Plus, the Pharaonys’ land borders yours, so it would be normal for your two families to unite.’ The voice was deep, grating, and after eight years of absence, Aida found it foreign, instantly conjuring up the ruthless facet of a different world with customs her father himself had disobeyed by marrying a foreigner, and had paid the price.
Aida gave Naguib a mutinous look. ‘That is no reason to give up my freedom. I’m still not sure what my plans are. I may want to go back to live in England.’
‘You have always been headstrong, with a streak of recklessness that worried your father.’
‘No, I’ve always known what I wanted. I didn’t want to leave Egypt, and even when I was at school, I always preferred coming home to be close to my father. Now he is gone, things are different. There are greener pastures out there.’
The lawyer shook his head disapprovingly. ‘Adventurousness is not a good trait in a woman. One day you’ll get yourself into trouble, and God help you if people who care about you are not around to help.’
At this moment, Dada Amina came in bearing a tray of tea and a plate of konafa and basboussa, dainty little pastries made with nuts and syrup.
‘Osta Ghaly made them especially because he knows how much Sit Aida is fond of them,’ she chuckled. She glanced at Aida as she set down the plate on the table. ‘And now that you are back, we must feed you properly again.’
Aida burst out laughing, a crystalline laugh that used to echo through the house before she had left. Osta Ghaly added coconut and orange flower water to his basboussa to give the cake his personal touch and she had always found it delicious. ‘I will go to the kitchen later, like I used to when I was a child, and thank him personally.’
Dada Amina beamed. ‘That will be very kind of you, ya Sit, ya amira. Thank you.’
After she had left the room, Naguib looked at Aida, sitting in front of him, and she read the disapproval still shadowing his features.
‘You say you are thi
nking of going back to England? That is a bad idea, habibti. Your place is in Egypt. Don’t forget that you are Egyptian.’
‘Yes, but I am also English.’
The lawyer shook his head. ‘You are someone here. Your father was a loved man, Allah yerhamoh, may God rest his soul.’
Aida sent him an arched look. ‘You seem to forget how much he was criticised after the trial.’
‘Society is fickle. That was a long time ago and memories fade. You carry the El Masri name, which is a respected one in Egypt. In England, as far as I know, you are no one.’
Her face flushed with irritation. ‘That’s not so. My uncle was a respectable MP who worked hard during the war to make sure people didn’t starve, and I have made many friends there. I went to school in England, remember?’ Aida knew that she was being deliberately stubborn, but in this country where men thought they had the right to rule women as they pleased, she felt slightly vulnerable and needed to mark out her position immediately.
Naguib remained undeterred. ‘England is going through bad times. The war has ravaged Europe and people are emigrating to Australia, New Zealand and America, where there are economic opportunities. You already have assets here – ones that need looking after. The house and the land are in a sorry state. To bring Karawan House back to its former glory and for the land to deliver the crops it did before the war, you will need to spend a great deal of money, which you have, of course. As I’ve said, you are far from being a pauper, but it is much too heavy a burden for a woman alone to bear, and that is where you would benefit from marrying Phares Pharaony.’
‘I’m quite able to stand on my own two feet and besides, how do you know that Phares still wants to marry me? He used to disapprove of me, thought I was too liberal and impulsive, although he probably considered that I was young enough to be tamed by a husband one day.’
‘As you know, although I am not Kamel Pharaony’s lawyer, he is a good friend of mine. When a few weeks back I told him you were coming home, he asked me to test the waters, find out if you would still consider marrying his son. It would be an alliance between two great families and would multiply both your riches. Not only that, but Phares is an eminent general surgeon now, fast becoming a legend in the medical world. He is well-respected.’
Phares, a surgeon … Aida was not surprised that he had become successful. He had always been driven by his love of medicine and his dreams of becoming a surgeon. She thought wryly of how protective he had always been towards others – an innate caring quality – though when they were younger, Aida had been infuriated by it whenever it had been directed towards her.
Naguib emptied his pipe into an ashtray. ‘Anyhow, the Pharaonys have been very decent. They kept a vigilant eye on your land and they even hired a few ghoufara to look after it, especially at night. The trafficking in antiquities and hashish since the war has increased tremendously and the smugglers and mattareed, outlaws, tend to hide in the grounds of empty, unguarded estates. Sometimes they even try to appropriate the land, squatting on it, and the police have great difficulty in getting them out. I wouldn’t dismiss an alliance with the Pharaonys so cavalierly, habibti … Think about it.’
‘Uncle, it was in their interests to guard my land since it adjoins theirs. No one does anything for nothing in this day and age.’
‘You are much too young to have such cynical thoughts, my dear child. The Pharaonys are good people, and they are well intentioned. I take it you will at least see Camelia while you are here?’
Camelia Pharaony was Phares’s younger sister and she and Aida had been close friends since they were little girls. For that reason, even though Aida had wanted nothing to do with the Pharaony family after she’d left for England, she found it hard to bear a grudge against Camelia herself. Still, they hadn’t corresponded during the war and Aida wondered if they would even get along anymore.
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘We have a lot to catch up on.’
‘Perhaps she will make you see sense.’
Aida reached for a knife to cut a small piece of konafa. ‘Please, Uncle Naguib, don’t insist. The matter is closed. Let’s enjoy Osta Ghaly’s wonderful pastries and talk about something else.’ She pushed a plate across the table in his direction.
Naguib hesitated, then smiled in resignation. ‘As you wish, my dear.’ He took a piece of basboussa and demolished it in a couple of bites. ‘I’ll let you relax for a few days before taking you around the property with Megally. You remember him, the estate manager? He would have come to meet you today, but I’m afraid his wife is very ill in hospital.’
‘Yes, yes, of course I remember Megally. Poor man. Is he still working? He must be quite old by now.’
‘Yes, and he’s very good with the fellahin, the workers. They have great respect for him.’
‘I do hope his wife will be all right. In the meantime, I’ll reacquaint myself with the estate. Also, please could I take a look at the accounts? Perhaps next week?’
Naguib wiped the crumbs from his mouth and pushed himself slowly out of his chair. ‘Yes, of course. The books are already in your father’s office. And now I must go. Your aunt Nabila is cooking tonight and that’s something worth getting home early for.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I’ll call by again soon.’
Aida accompanied Naguib to the front door, said her goodbyes and made her way back down to the kitchen to thank Osta Ghaly for his delicious pastries.
* * *
Up in her bedroom, Aida looked around her. It was a beautiful, gracious room, spacious and light, hung with English chintzes and furnished in English fashion. For Aida’s sixteenth birthday, Ayoub had totally refurbished his daughter’s bedroom. ‘You’re no longer a child and should have the bedroom of a young lady now. Your mother would have enjoyed doing it up for you and I hope I have done her proud,’ he had told her when, after a week spent in Cairo with Camelia Pharaony, Aida had come back to Luxor for her birthday and discovered the surprise.
The nursery had been turned into the most luxurious room Aida could have dreamt of, painted in different shades of soft green, its silk curtains patterned with colourful fruit. She looked around her to find it unchanged. The wide single bed, covered in a silk peach bedspread and draped with a mosquito net, faced the two French windows that opened on to a narrow veranda, and in one corner of the room two comfortable armchairs sat either side of a small round table.
Next to one window stood a delicate painted escritoire and chair; in front of the other, an elegant mahogany dressing table and mirror with its old Roman curule seat covered in velvet. In between the two, an Italian ebonised mahogany table held a number of photographs of Aida at different stages of her life as well as photographs of Eleanor and Ayoub. A tall, painted parcel-gilt glass cabinet bookcase took up much of the left wall, and on the opposite side was a large mahogany wardrobe and cheval mirror.
Aida sighed as she looked at the pretty chintzes, the David Roberts’ prints of Egyptian monuments that adorned the walls, the miniature dolls’ tea set and bibelots of frail china in the glass cabinet, which her parents had brought back from England one Christmas, the gleaming silver ornaments representing various Egyptian artisans and sellers. Each item had a memory connected to it. She went to the table which held her history in photographs and picked up the last picture she’d had taken with her father only a few days before the tragedy. She seemed so young – a child – so different to the way she looked today. As Dada Amina had said: almost a different person.
The mirror returned the reflection of a young woman with burnt gold hair, styled in Rita Hayworth fashion. When she left Egypt, it had been in a short bob, to the nape of her neck, but in spite of its having been fashionable during the war, she had let it grow, and had treated herself to a proper hairstyle before leaving England. Brushed back simply from her face, with a flat crown and parted on the side, it now undulated in a rich and shining cascade past her shoulders.
Unusually large almond-shaped sapphire ey
es fringed by thick, dark, almost-too-long lashes gave her face a mysterious and languorous expression. With just a suggestion of shadow underneath them tonight, they gazed back at her critically. She was rather pale. Her cheeks had lost their youthful glow – the lack of sun, the endless grey and drizzle of the English weather, hadn’t suited her. She had also grown taller, much taller, and had lost the extra pounds that her father had indulgently called puppy fat. The roundness of her face had given her a look of plainness when she was a girl, but now the sharpness of her elegant cheekbones contrasted strikingly with her full lips. Yes, it really was a different woman that stood in front of the cheval glass. But Uncle Naguib was right: she still didn’t look her age, a fact which irritated her because when people first met her they tended not to take her seriously.
Aida stepped on to the veranda. She felt singularly lonely as she looked out on to the velvety night, reminiscing. It was hard to think of a future back in Egypt without her father. Beyond the house where the clear sky came down to the sand, the afterglow of pink faded to yellow and mother-of-pearl, giving way to a blue sky of twinkling stars. It reminded Aida that she had changed continents and climate in less than twenty-four hours, and that in this part of the world darkness came quickly.
The days here were short, and twilight, the loneliest of hours, was unknown. The sun went down dramatically – bang – just like that, below the rim of the desert. For the last fifteen minutes, feluccas were drawing in beside the banks of the Nile, with a creaking of windlass and the whine of great sails, their chains rattling as they moored. A scene her eyes had settled upon many times before, but had never really registered the beauty and serenity of it. How unlike the world she had left behind was this remote universe of sand, water, palm trees and statues; how different from the images of war she had witnessed, how wonderfully peaceful and removed from reality! Now, as she closed her eyes and breathed in the warm night, she could hardly believe that she was back.
Aida loved this land where she had grown up. Everything was familiar; she fitted in here and would have never left if her father hadn’t died in such tragic and shocking circumstances. She would have probably married Phares. She had carried a torch for him since her early teens, spellbound by his charisma, even though the six years that separated them meant that she hadn’t had much to do with him. Just enough to know that she regarded him with as much frustration as admiration. It had been the same for as long as she could remember.
Song of the Nile Page 3