The Master's Wife

by Jane Jackson

  His arm around her shoulders held comfort and promise as they crossed to the door.

  Moments after they joined Sabra and Antonia in the salon, Robert Pawlyn hurried in, dressed in clean robes, sandals, and head cloth, his face scrubbed shiny above the stubble he had not taken time to shave.

  ‘Madame Caseley,’ Sabra said, combining the courtesy she observed in mixed company with the friendship that had evolved between them. ‘Please sit beside your husband. It will be easier for both of you.’

  Thanking her, Caseley quickly explained to Jago as they settled on the floor. Less than two weeks ago this had felt totally alien. Now it was so familiar they thought nothing of it. A steaming platter of spiced rice, vegetables and chunks of meat in a yoghurt sauce was placed on the cloth next to a plate of thin, soft flatbreads. They helped themselves, scooping up sauce-soaked rice with the bread.

  ‘What –’ Antonia began in English. Seeing Pawlyn’s frowning glance she blushed and switched to French. ‘I beg your pardon. What have you found out?’

  ‘Colonel Arabi has continued reinforcement work on the forts,’ Pawlyn replied. ‘As minister of war he could not have stopped without orders from the Khedive. Obviously none were received. Now the commander of the English fleet, Admiral Sir Beauchamp Seymour, is threatening to bombard Alexandria.’

  ‘On what grounds?’ Jago demanded, as soon as Caseley had translated.

  ‘The danger posed by the forts to the English fleet. Colonel Arabi has repeated his promise not to interfere with the Suez Canal. It’s an honourable move that will cost him dearly. It has cut no ice with Admiral Seymour. Meanwhile, the British press has branded Arabi a villain, claiming he is hostile to both Britain and France. They demand action in the name of national pride.’

  ‘What is the British government’s position?’ Jago demanded after Caseley translated.

  ‘Both houses are deeply divided. But invasion looks certain. Marines on Malta and Cyprus are waiting for transport, and the War Office is planning to send troops from Britain, Bombay, Aden and Gibraltar.’

  Caseley’s throat was dry and her hand shook as she reached for her glass. She swallowed quickly then continued translating as Pawlyn went on.

  ‘All foreign ships are leaving Alexandria. Admiral Conrad has taken the French fleet to Port Said. He refuses to be party to an act of aggression against a country that has every right to defend itself. The French Consulate has closed and its staff sailed with him. Trains from Alexandria are packed. Some people are coming to Cairo. But others are leaving at Banha for Zagazig and Ismailia.’

  ‘Ask him where they will go from there,’ Jago said.

  ‘North by ship down the Sweet Water canal to Port Said,’ Pawlyn replied. ‘Or south on the single track line. They might also take ship through the Suez Canal, to the Red Sea.’

  ‘You will want to leave as soon as possible,’ Sabra said, signalling the servants who brought water and towels for them to rinse their hands.

  Turning to Caseley, Jago spoke quietly. ‘I will take you to Ismailia and put you on a ship for –’

  ‘No.’

  The skin around his nostrils whitened. ‘It was not a request and this isn’t a debate.’

  She saw through his anger to the fear that inspired it. ‘Jago, you cannot come with me and it will not be safe for me to travel alone. We came here together on Cygnet. We will leave together the same way.’ She met his glare, spoke for his ears alone and challenged him to remember. ‘You asked me not to leave you.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘No. It isn’t.’

  ‘I will send for calèches to take you to the station,’ Sabra said as they left the salon. ‘The servants have packed for you and will bring your bags down as soon as you are ready.’

  Jago had the bag open on the bed as Caseley emerged from the little cubicle next to the bathroom.

  ‘These robes have no pockets, and we will need money to pay the calèche driver and for our rail tickets.’

  Caseley delved into the bag and gave him a soft kid-leather drawstring purse. ‘Use this.’ She looked at the rolled felt cloaks lying on the bed. So many memories. ‘I want to keep mine.’

  He looked at her, gave a quick smile. ‘They were a gift. It would be discourteous not to.’

  Her clean gowns and underwear, Jago’s jacket and trousers and their shoes filled the bag. Fastening it, Caseley rolled the cloaks and put them in the striped fabric bag. With notes and coins in the leather purse, Jago pulled the cords tight then looped them twice around his wrist.

  A servant arrived for the bags. After a last look round Caseley went with Jago to the door.

  In the lobby at the bottom of the stairs she gripped the Sheikha’s proffered hands. ‘I will never forget your kindness.’

  Sabra kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Nor I yours. Be happy.’ She offered her hand to Jago, who bowed over it. ‘I wish you a safe and speedy journey back to Cornwall.’

  ‘Shukran, Sheikha,’ Jago said after Caseley had translated. He bowed again.

  Sabra turned to bid farewell to Antonia and Robert Pawlyn.

  ‘You need not look so surprised,’ Jago whispered as Caseley smiled. ‘I have a clever wife and learned from her.’

  When Jago insisted Caseley ride with him, Pawlyn was visibly delighted to escort Antonia. As they neared the railway station they found themselves fighting a human tide of different nationalities. Men, women and children, all laden with belongings, streamed out of the station.

  As Jago paid off the driver, scuffles broke out among people wanting to claim the calèche. He roared at them in Spanish, waving them away as he reached in for the bags and helped Caseley down.

  ‘Let me carry the fabric one,’ she insisted and looped it across her body.

  ‘Link your arm through mine and don’t let go. I know we should not touch while dressed like this. But I will not risk your safety.’

  ‘Why Spanish?’ she asked as Jago shouldered his way through.

  ‘We are in Bedouin robes but I don’t speak Arabic, there wasn’t time to ask you correct French phrases, and I didn’t think it wise to use English.’

  Ahead of them Pawlyn had commandeered two porters, one to carry Antonia’s camera boxes and tripod, the other their bags. Caseley stayed close.

  Despite all the people leaving the station, the concourse was still crowded. Pawlyn bought their tickets, waving Jago away. ‘We’ll settle up later. The train is waiting. You find our seats while I see the luggage safely loaded.’

  A few minutes later, as they settled into their carriage, there was a shrill blast from the whistle. Amid clouds of steam as the engine roared and puffed, the carriages jerked and the train slowly picked up speed as it left the station.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caseley gazed out of the window for a while, but the heat and jolting were unpleasant. She rested her head against the high, padded back of the seat and closed her eyes, comforted by the pressure of Jago’s arm against hers.

  ‘Do you feel unwell?’ he asked quietly.

  Opening her eyes, she saw the concern in his and gave a rueful smile. ‘No. But I was much more comfortable on my camel.’ Her smile widened. ‘It feels very strange to hear myself say those words.’ She pulled the loose cotton away from her damp skin, relieved that she wasn’t confined in a corset and multiple petticoats.

  He pressed his arm against hers. ‘Try to sleep. You will feel better for rest, and it will help the journey pass more quickly.’

  She closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift. They had been in the desert for just a few days, but so much had changed. She became aware of Robert Pawlyn talking quietly to Antonia.

  ‘No, you do yourself an injustice. Your photographs show artistry in the way you have framed the image. But the balance of light and dark, sharpness and diffusion demonstrates technical skill. That has to be learned, and it takes dedication.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like hard work if you enjoy it.’ Antonia sighed. ‘I wasn�
��t very successful at the Bedouin camp.’

  ‘Getting permission was always doubtful. But you took your equipment anyway. I’m looking forward to seeing those you took of the camp, and of us.’ He coughed. ‘What would you say to working with me?’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Providing photographic images to illustrate my articles. These are momentous times for Egypt. Someone should be documenting the changes and their effects on people at all levels of society.’

  ‘That someone being you?’

  ‘Yes. You cannot tell me the idea doesn’t appeal.’

  The silence stretched. Waiting for Antonia’s reply, Caseley hardly dared breathe.

  ‘You know it does. How could it not? But my father would never allow it. Me go travelling with an unmarried man? Heavens above,’ she mocked bitterly, ‘what would people say?’

  ‘Yes, about that, the thing is, I was thinking – please don’t answer now. You may want time to –’

  ‘Robert,’ Caseley heard Antonia’s all-too-familiar impatience and exasperation. ‘How can I answer when I have no idea what the question is?’

  ‘Of course you – though this wasn’t – but –’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Robert!’

  ‘All right, here it is then.’ He took a breath then blurted, ‘Will you marry me? Wait, let me finish. When we get back, your father will want to ship you off out of harm’s way. I understand his concerns. But I can’t leave. There has been too much distortion and too many lies printed already. No doubt it is selfish of me, but I should very much like you to stay as my wife. Will you at least consider it? We get along well. I admire your talent too much to ever try and stop you pursuing it. Indeed, I should like to see you achieve the recognition you deserve. Working with me will afford you opportunities to reach a much wider audience. I was thinking, in time, maybe a book? A collaboration?’

  Caseley opened her eyelids a fraction and saw Antonia gazing at him, her features slack with astonishment. Then she looked down at her clasped hands.

  ‘I know I’m no one’s idea of a romantic figure,’ he pressed on. ‘But I have dreams and ambitions. I care about this country. I care about you. Probably more than is wise, but there it is.’

  Touched by his honesty, Caseley closed her eyes again before unexpected tears betrayed her.

  ‘I know you are unhappy and want more from life,’ he continued with quiet urgency. Having plucked up the courage to start, clearly he intended to say everything that had been building up inside him. If he failed it would not be for want of trying.

  ‘I would support you in that. I think – no, I truly believe – we would make a good team. I don’t have your artistic temperament. But I consider that an advantage. Emotion and creativity need the balance of pragmatism. Were we alike we would probably kill each other.’

  Caseley heard the smile in his voice. Robert Pawlyn’s insight surprised her. Yet it shouldn’t. He had shown deeper understanding and compassion for the problems of this country than anyone else she had met. He also saw something in Antonia beyond her talent with a camera.

  ‘I – I’m not an easy person, Robert.’

  ‘I know that. But you’ve not had an easy life. I hope you will forgive my suggesting that you yearn to belong. In such circumstances it is very easy to mistake a mirage for reality. The thing is, true happiness is only found with someone who understands you, who loves you enough to let you be yourself.’

  Caseley had never questioned the truth of that. She’d never had reason to. But everything was different now. For so many months she had been unable to imagine ever being happy again. Yet the desert had given her what she least expected – peace.

  It was a land of sand, bare rock, heat and thirst, where a camel and water jar were all that stood between between life and death. Yet amid the harshness she had found friendship, acceptance and shared experience.

  Two nights ago, sitting on a rock with Jago, she had looked up into a vast black sky sprinkled with stars as numberless as the sand grains at her feet and felt a loosening of the constriction around her heart.

  She had been ravaged by grief, guilt and rage. Time and this journey had blunted the raw edges. Now there were moments in each day when she actually forgot those terrible weeks. Then a sight, smell or sound would bring it all flooding back, sometimes so sharp, so brutally vivid it stopped her breath. The bad memories would always be there. But she could bear them. And now she could focus on good ones, too: golden treasures that would never fade or tarnish.

  ‘You make me sound selfish,’ Antonia said.

  Caseley wondered if Jago was listening. She kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady, anxious not to embarrass Antonia or Robert Pawlyn by revealing she could hear their conversation.

  ‘If you are, I think it’s because you’re unhappy. A happy person finds it easy to be generous. Their happiness warms everyone they have contact with. Being happy makes it easier to shrug off irritations, ignore discomfort and deal with difficulties.’

  Caseley knew that for a fact.

  ‘I have never felt like that.’

  ‘Then surely it’s time that you did?’

  ‘You make it sound easy.’ She sounded wistful.

  ‘Being happy is a choice, Antonia. Of course there will be problems. And pain. Life is full of challenges. How dull and boring it would be without them. The happiness I’m talking about is the kind that grows between two people whose differences complement one another, who are stronger together than they are apart.’

  Jago hadn’t moved but Caseley sensed he was awake. Robert Pawlyn’s words pierced deep into her soul. They perfectly described how she had felt about Jago, about her marriage. But that had been before. She was no longer the woman he married. There was no going back. They could only move forward, trusting in their love for each other. Antonia’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘It never occurred to me – Do you really think – you and I –?’

  ‘If I did not think so, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I don’t expect you to share all my opinions. I want a wife, not an echo. Fortunately I know you well enough to have no fears on that score. I should enjoy talking to you about my work, and I hope very much you will want to share yours with me. Together we could create something special.’

  ‘You aren’t just being kind? About my photographs?’

  ‘No, I’m not. Were I to be so foolish I would forfeit your trust.’

  ‘You really would take me with you on assignments?’

  ‘Haven’t I just said so?’

  ‘Yes. But that’s now. How can I be sure that once we are married you won’t suddenly decide it’s too dangerous, or you prefer to go alone and I should remain at home and cook or sew –’

  He laughed. ‘Have you ever cooked anything?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘You have my word, Antonia.’ The silence stretched and Caseley had to fight the urge to open her eyes.

  ‘It is very tempting.’

  ‘Then say –’

  ‘No, wait. You took me by surprise. I want to be fair, Robert. I don’t love you.’

  ‘Not right at this moment. But I believe you will, in time. We’re friends and that’s a start. I’m good for you, Antonia, and I’ll be good to you.’

  ‘My father – my father dislikes very much that people talk about me. He says it reflects badly on him. Before we left he announced that marriage to his aide, Spencer Blaine, would put an end to the gossip and settle me down.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. How can you even ask? Spencer cares nothing for me. I embarrass him. But he’s ambitious, so he would even put up with me if it gained him my father’s good opinion. He need not worry. I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man in Egypt.’

  ‘Bravo. You deserve better.’

  Silence fell. To Pawlyn it must have seemed endless.

  ‘Thank you, Robert, I accept.’

  ‘You do?�
�� Relief, surprise and delight combined to lift his voice an octave. He cleared his throat. ‘Right. Jolly good. As soon as I’ve been to the telegraph office I’ll come to the Consulate and speak to your father.’

  It was early evening when the train arrived at Alexandria station. They parted company outside. Handing Caseley into the first calèche, Jago listened as Antonia gave the driver the address of the Consulate, then followed in the second with the luggage. Pawlyn took a third.

  ‘While you were asleep,’ Antonia turned to Caseley as the horse clopped briskly along the street, ‘Robert asked me to marry him.’

  Caseley felt guilty about pretending ignorance, but Antonia would be unlikely to forgive her for having overheard. ‘Have you accepted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I hope – no, I am sure – you will be very happy. Though I haven’t known Mr Pawlyn very long, he impressed me as kind and sincere.’

  ‘I shall certainly enjoy working with him. He wants me to take photographs to illustrate his articles, and later for us to work together on a book.’

  Impulsively, Caseley pressed her hand. ‘How exciting.’

  ‘Actually, it is.’ Antonia blew out a breath. ‘Although – I daresay you will think me foolish and ungrateful – but it is not the love match I dreamed of.’

  ‘His feelings must be deeply engaged or he would not have proposed. For him it is definitely a love match.’

  Antonia shrugged. ‘He is my consolation prize.’

  ‘Forgive me, Antonia, but he deserves better from you. Surely having stayed with the Bedouin and seen the importance to them of their way of life, you must see that your dream of a future with Sheikh Imad was simply a mirage? It had no connection to reality. You have received an offer of marriage from a kind, intelligent man who recognises your talent. Compare him to Mr Blaine, who would never take your side against your father and to whom your photography is an embarrassment, he would expect you to give up the day you married.’

  Antonia shuddered. ‘Hell will freeze first!’

  ‘Then be grateful for Robert Pawlyn. Not only does he support your passion, he wants to use it to complement his own work. Can you not see what a compliment that is?’ As the words left her lips, she recalled sitting at the table in Jago’s day cabin aboard Cygnet, writing letters in Spanish on his behalf, talking about cargoes at breakfast and discussing repairs to company ships and potential expansion at the yard over dinner at home on Greenbank.