by Jane Jackson
‘Don’t.’ His voice was raw, his compressed lips bloodless.
Seeing the others watching, Caseley raised a hand.
‘You should not have let go of the rein,’ Antonia called.
‘The camel was far stronger than you and she knows it,’ Jago said. He caught her hand and she winced.
‘What?’ He turned it palm up and his indrawn breath hissed.
Caseley looked, then wished she hadn’t. When the camel’s violent movement tore the rein free it had scored her skin. Then her hand had scraped across the gritty ground.
‘It’s not too bad.’ She was trying to convince herself as much as him.
‘It must sting like the devil. You need to get the grit out.’
‘For that I need clean water. Perhaps when we stop for the night. I wish we had some honey.’
‘Honey?’
‘Rosina swears by it as a healer. She used to smear it on the boys’ knees whenever they took a tumble.’ Her breath hitched and her eyes filled. She started to turn her head but he caught her chin, his callused fingers gentle.
‘Please, Caseley,’ his voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t shut me out. They were mine, too.’
Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks as she met his gaze, saw his agony, and realised how alone he must have felt. Night after night, Rosina had held her while she rocked with grief too deep for tears. Jago had faced the loss of his sons alone.
Sheikh Imad’s bodyguards approached with the two recaptured camels. Jago wiped away her tears with his thumbs. She whispered thanks, her smile tremulous.
Remounted once more, they followed the Sheikh higher up the hill then through a fissure in the rocks. Filled with shadow it was cool and soothing to the eyes after the sun’s glare. They emerged onto a small plateau with a view over the valley. Stopping, Imad quietly ordered his camel to kneel.
Looking down, Caseley saw the flood had slowed and the tumbling surface was smoother.
While the camels were being fed, cooking fires lit and the meal prepared, Jago led Caseley back to the rocky fissure. ‘I thought I saw – yes, here it is.’ He stopped beside a small drip-fed pool of water. The size of two cupped hands, it was crystal clear.
‘Will you shield me?’ Caseley placed herself so he was between her and the others.
‘Of course, but why?’
‘I need a bandage for my hand.’ Lifting the bottom of her robe she tried to rip the bottom of her shift.
‘Here, let me.’ Kneeling, Jago caught the material between his teeth at the side seam. It gave way, and a moment later he had torn a four-inch wide strip from around the hem. He handed it to Caseley. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’
Blushing and laughing, she dipped one end of her scarf into the water. ‘It’s really cold. I didn’t expect that.’ She wiped the blood, mud and grit from her palms.
‘Why don’t you put your hands in?’
‘Sabra said these pools are rare and highly valued. We take water for granted. But this little rockpool might mean the difference between life and death for someone. I don’t want to be the person who taints it.’
The following morning the only signs of the torrent were large puddles and broad snaking channels that had been carved out of the ground.
‘Within a few days,’ Sabra said, ‘grass will grow and flowers will bloom. Insects and birds will come.’
‘Then the sun will dry everything out and it will die,’ Antonia sighed. ‘It’s so – brutal.’
Sabra shrugged. ‘It is the desert.’
Chapter Eighteen
They reached the outskirts of Cairo at mid-morning the following day. Underlying the oppressive heat and smells of the city was a tension that hadn’t been present when they left.
Four uniformed Egyptian police were trying to disperse a group of shouting men. Sheikh Imad spoke tersely to Pawlyn.
Sabra turned after nodding to let Pawlyn know she had heard. ‘Cover your faces.’
Caseley obeyed at once, tucking the now very grubby end into her headband.
‘Why?’ Antonia asked.
‘There has been some trouble in Alexandria,’ Pawlyn explained.
‘What kind of trouble?’ Antonia demanded as she drew her scarf over her nose and mouth.
‘The kind that might have been expected, given the continued presence of the English fleet. Some see it as unwanted interference, others as a safeguard. Tempers on both sides are short. Scuffles broke out and people were injured.’
‘Where in the city? Was it near the Consulate? How many people? Were they badly hurt?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ he replied patiently.
He knows more than he’s told us. Even as Caseley caught Jago’s eye and knew they shared the same thought, she understood why Pawlyn was saying little. They were at least four hours by train from Alexandria. News of events there must have reached Cairo by telegraph. But the information was only as accurate as the person sending it. Until he’d had a chance to check the facts he wouldn’t want to cause Antonia unnecessary anxiety.
‘I’ll be able to give you more information after I’ve been to Reuter’s office,’ he said, confirming Caseley’s guess. ‘Try not to worry.’
‘I’m not worried,’ Antonia retorted, contradicted by the tremor in her fingers. ‘I simply want to know what’s happening.’
Though the city was crowded, there were few European faces. Black-shrouded women shopping in pairs at stalls piled high with fruit and vegetables did not linger to bargain. Men had gathered on street corners or were sitting outside coffee houses holding earnest discussions.
When they reached the square from where they had set out on their journey, Caseley noticed that the bodyguards and servants remained mounted, forming a protective ring around the rest of the party as their camels knelt and they slid down from the saddles.
As Caseley stretched her back Jago and Pawlyn approached Imad, who offered his hand. Jago shook it, glancing quickly at the journalist.
‘Please tell the Sheikh, in French if you please, how very much I appreciate his generosity and his efforts on my behalf.’
Caseley’s heart swelled. He had done that for her, knowing the Sheikh would respond in the same language.
Imad released Jago’s hand. ‘I regret you were not able to win a firm commitment. Yet there is reason to hope. Your conduct and manners found favour with those who have little regard for the English.’
As Pawlyn added his own thanks, Jago turned and beckoned Caseley.
Shielded from public view by the guards’ camels she uncovered her face, folded her hands and bowed her head politely. ‘Thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart, for a life-changing experience.’
‘You will not be forgotten, Madame Barata.’
Touched and delighted, Caseley moved back so Antonia could take her place. But she didn’t move.
Covering her face again, Caseley didn’t try to hide her anger, though she kept her voice low. ‘For shame, Antonia. You demanded to go on this journey. The very least you owe him is the courtesy of a polite farewell.’
Blushing scarlet, Antonia stepped forward and thanked him for the opportunity of experiencing Bedouin life.
‘I wish you well, Mademoiselle Collingwood.’
Remounting his camel, he rode away surrounded by his bodyguards. Having unloaded the bags containing cloaks and other belongings, the servants followed.
‘Come,’ Sabra spoke quietly in French as Jago picked up the bags. ‘You will want a bath and a meal before you leave for the train station.’
Caseley quickly translated for Jago, glad of the dusty robes and head coverings that ensured no one looked at them twice.
‘Sheikha, with your permission I’ll go to Reuter’s office first,’ Pawlyn said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
As she walked into Sabra’s house and the doorman closed the wrought-iron gate, Caseley felt safe for the first time since they had entered the city.
‘Considering the situation in Alexandria,’ J
ago murmured, ‘it might be safer for us to remain in Bedouin clothing.’
‘I was about to suggest it,’ Sabra responded when Caseley translated.
As they entered their bedroom Caseley thought how much had changed in the nine days they had been away. Jago dropped the fabric bag on the floor, caught her arm and drew her to him.
‘I have missed you so much. You have no idea –’ He leaned back, frowning. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I know. Silly, isn’t it?’
He laid one hand along her face, his callused palm gentle. ‘Not at all. I’m awed at how well you have coped with everything.’
He thought it was a reaction to events. Part of it was. But the rest – The rest was about him, about them. Realisation of how much she loved him, fear of his disappointment.
At the sound of water being poured in the bathrooms on either side, both stiffened. He muttered a curse. She raised a warning finger to her lips.
Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles. As his gaze met hers she glimpsed diffidence. It helped to know he, too, was nervous.
‘Go and enjoy your bath,’ he released her. ‘I certainly need one. You will enjoy my company more when I no longer smell like a camel.’ He pulled off his head cloth, shrugging out of his aba as he headed for his bathroom.
Caseley knelt to take her towel and facecloth from the striped bag, grimacing at their state. Leaving them on the chest lid, she picked up her soap and toothbrush and crossed to her bathroom.
‘As-salaamu-aleikum,’ she greeted the servant, pulling off her scarf and headband, wincing as she unrolled the bandage around her hand.
The woman blinked then responded politely, ‘Wa-aleikum-as-salaam, hanem.’
Crossing to the small jug of water standing in a china basin, Caseley poured some into the glass, opened her small tin of tooth powder and cleaned her teeth, rinsing and spitting into the basin. Already she felt better. The servant waited patiently for her to finish, then indicated Caseley’s robes.
Taking off everything but her shift, she handed the garments over. The woman didn’t move. Instead she held out her hand and waited, curling her fingers repeatedly against her palm.
Powerfully reminded of Rosina, Caseley abandoned modesty and pulled the shift over her head.
The woman gasped, her expression concerned and sympathetic. Gabbling in Arabic, she pointed at the dark red and purple bruise that had spread over Caseley’s hip. Another mottled bruise extended from her foot almost to her knee, the skin scratched and scraped.
Still talking and shaking her head, the woman picked up an empty pitcher and hurried out.
Caseley climbed into the bath, releasing a sigh of pleasure as she slid down into the water, wincing as her hand stung. For a few moments, she simply enjoyed the sensation of warm water against her sticky, dusty skin.
She wished she didn’t have to move. But they could not afford to miss the afternoon train. Reluctantly, she stood up, soaped herself all over then sat down again to rinse off the lather.
The servant reappeared with two more pitchers of water, set them down by the bath and started removing the pins from Caseley’s hair. As it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, the woman lifted one of the pitchers, emptied warm water over Caseley’s head, and began to massage her scalp.
‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Caseley said in French, adding, ‘Shukran,’ in case the woman didn’t understand. After thoroughly massaging from forehead to nape, the woman emptied the second pitcher over her.
Wringing water out of the long ropes of hair, she motioned Caseley to stand up, handed her a towel to wrap around her head, another to wrap around her body, then offered a steadying hand as she stepped out.
While Caseley dried herself, the woman disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a clean shift and thobe, sandals and a small pot of salve. She pointed to Caseley’s hip.
‘Shukran.’ Caseley removed the lid. It smelled pleasantly of herbs with a hint of wintergreen. She dipped her fingers in and rubbed the salve gently into her hip. Quickly absorbed, it soothed and eased the ache. She smiled at the woman, put on her shift and thobe, and freed her damp tresses.
Returning to the bedroom, Caseley saw on the bedcover a folded scarf and headband for her, and a clean thobe, head cloth and aba for Jago.
Hearing a cascade of water, she realised he was receiving similar attention. Setting the little pot on the table, she towelled her hair some more, then sat on the edge of the bed and began to comb out the tangles.
Warm air from outside flowing in through the louvers would soon dry it enough to put up.
A few minutes later Jago padded in on bare feet, a towel round his hips. ‘It was a relief to wash off the desert. How are you feeling now?’
‘Clean. It’s wonderful. Sabra sent up fresh clothes. She has been so kind.’
He dressed quickly then searched the bag.
‘What are you looking for?’
‘My comb.’
‘Here, use mine.’ As he took it she reached for the pot of salve.
‘What’s that?’ With a few swift sweeps his tousled hair was neat, his beard smooth.
‘A salve for my bruises.’
Handing back the comb he took the little pot and sniffed the contents. ‘It smells pleasant enough.’ He dropped to his knees. ‘Show me.’
‘It’s all right, Jago, I can –’
‘Finish your hair?’
She extended her leg and winced. Her foot looked worse now than when it was caked with mud, blood and dust.
‘Dammit, Caseley.’
‘It’s really not that bad.’ As he eyed her she admitted, ‘It’s uncomfortable but not painful.’
Kneeling in front of her he cupped her heel in his hand then bent to kiss the livid bruise. His lips were warm and soft. Caseley’s heart fluttered.
Dipping his fingertips into the salve he began to massage it gently into the discoloured, abraded skin. She looked at his bent head, his hair curling on his strong, tanned neck. He was a proud man, aware of his achievements and his position in society. Now he knelt at her feet.
As if sensing her gaze he raised his head. Their eyes met. On his feet in an instant he drew her up, held her close, his head resting against hers. He waited, allowing her to choose what happened next. She felt the tension in him, recognised the cost of his control.
It was too soon. No, the past was past. He had given her his word. She breathed in the familiar scent of his skin, welcomed the comfort of his strong arms. Too long away, she had come home.
Her hands crept up to rest briefly on his shoulders, then slid around his neck. She pressed her lips to his throat, his jaw, and felt a tremor run through him. ‘Oh, Jago, I’ve been so lonely without you.’
He turned his head so his mouth brushed hers then covered it. For a long moment the kiss cherished. Far better than words it conveyed his gratitude, her forgiveness, his grief, her solace. It broke down walls and bridged chasms.
Then his tongue moved lightly across her lower lip and lingered on the scar where she had bitten it. Passion arced like lightning. As the kiss deepened she met his hunger with her own. As she gloried in his strength and need for her, her fears dissolved. His hand swept down her spine, moulding her against him. They fitted together so well, but not close enough. She wanted – ached – burned.
A knock on the door made them both start. Tearing his mouth from hers he raised his head. Breathless, bereft, trembling, Caseley rested her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.
He eased away, raked a hand through his hair. ‘I –’ he cleared his throat.
Stepping away from him, heart racing, she took a deep breath and pulled the layers of cotton away from her heated skin.
There was another knock. They glanced at each other, then Caseley went to the door with Jago close behind. A manservant bowed and repeated the message he’d been given. Caseley thanked him and, with another bow, he retreated silently along the passage.
‘Our meal is
ready and Mr Pawlyn is back,’ she said as Jago closed the door. ‘He will join us downstairs as soon as he has changed.’ She picked up her comb.
‘Caseley, I –’ Jago began.
‘Don’t,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry. Unless you really do regret –’
‘No! God, no. How could I? I have craved – but I didn’t intend –’ He stroked his fingertips down her face. ‘You are so beautiful.’ His fingers rested lightly on her lips as she drew a soft breath, her heart too full. ‘Don’t argue.’ He dropped his hand, stepped back. ‘Please.’
Instinct told her to lighten the moment. His love gave her strength. ‘Did I seem reluctant?’ Still watching him, she tipped her head sideways and drew the comb from root to tip in swift strokes.
One corner of his mouth tilted up. ‘Not that I recall.’
Straightening up, she swung the wavy bronze curtain back over her shoulder. Handing him the comb she gathered her damp hair into a twist, coiled it on top of her head, and quickly pinned it in place.
By the time she had put on her scarf and headband, he had finished dressing.
‘I’m ready,’ she said.
‘Just one thing.’
‘What?’ She glanced round to see what she’d forgotten, and caught her breath as he gently grasped her shoulders.
‘This.’ Bending his head he kissed her. It was a slow, deep kiss that made her heart turn over and her eyes sting. When his mouth left hers she opened her eyes slowly.
He was watching her, his face troubled. ‘I loved you when I married you. I loved you even more when our sons were born. That love is nothing to what I feel for you now. When you collapsed during our voyage here – I have known fear, but never like that. I had already failed you. But the possibility I might lose you forever –’ the bleakness in his eyes pierced her soul. ‘Don’t leave me, Caseley.’ His voice was rough, the words both plea and command.
‘Never.’ She caught his hand, pressed her lips to his palm. ‘You are – everything.’