Sands of Time (Out of Time #6)

by Monique Martin

  Simon stepped behind Elizabeth and put his hands on the railing on either side of her. For once, a mission seemed to be going their way. The clues had fallen into place and he forgot what he was thinking about as Elizabeth leaned back into him.

  He swept her hair from her shoulder and kissed the hollow of her neck. She sighed softly and leaned her head to the side to give him better access. He happily took it.

  Simon kissed her again and again, slowly moving his way up her neck. Elizabeth put her hand on his and silently urged him to wrap his arm around her waist. He did and pulled her more tightly against him.

  He groaned and she turned around in his arms. She tiptoed up and kissed him.

  The next thing he knew they were on their way upstairs and could not get there soon enough. He was already unzipping her dress before they were even inside their stateroom. She slid his dinner jacket to the floor as she kissed him and he eased the straps of her dress over her shoulders and heard the fabric hit the floor at their feet.

  He kissed his way up along her neck as her hands went to his belt.

  “What about the beds?” she said, her voice slightly breathless.

  Simon pulled back and saw the wicked grin on her face. He matched it with one of his own and then lifted her up until her legs wrapped around him.

  “Who needs a bed?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Breakfast was a four course affair that left Elizabeth with barely enough strength to find a deckchair to lie down in. The entire trip was an indulgence and she was enjoying every luxurious minute of it. Although, she thought, she probably should have skipped the éclair.

  She sat down on her rattan lounger and let herself relax. They were away from the unknowns of Cairo, and safe, relatively anyway, on board a beautiful boat, serenely floating up the Nile to Luxor. Where, if they were right, the watch was waiting for them.

  Simon was off being academic with Arthur and so Elizabeth stretched out and watched the lush banks of the Nile drift past. The low lying farmland gave way to hills and steep cliffs before flattening out again into tracts of wheat, cotton and sugar cane. A small herd of water buffalo waded in for a drink and a bath.

  The river was sometimes narrow and sometimes wide. They passed islands big and small. It was no wonder life in Egypt centered around the Nile. It literally gave sustenance to the desert and its people. It grew and contracted, flooded and receded and left the seeds of life in its place.

  Thick growths of pampas grass lined the shore, a jungle of date palms standing behind them. Tawny rocks and nearly inhospitable desert beyond that. A man standing in a green and red rowboat, poled himself along near the shore toward a village.

  She could just see Cleopatra arriving on her barge to seduce Mark Antony. Now, that was the original party barge. If she closed her eyes, she could…

  “Elizabeth.”

  She sat up with a start and found herself looking into the bemused face of her husband.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” Simon said, but there was laughter in his eyes. “You fell asleep.”

  “Just closed my eyes,” she said, stifling a yawn.

  Simon pointed to the corner of his mouth. “You drooled a little.”

  Elizabeth wiped her chin and blushed.

  Simon’s rare, rich laugh eased her embarrassment and she took the hand he offered without question. “Come on,” he said as she let him pull her up. “We’re going on an excursion.”

  Elizabeth glanced out at the still moving water. “Are we going swimming?”

  Simon gently combed his fingers through her hair to tame it. “We’re about to dock and I thought…”

  “I should walk off that éclair?”

  He was too polite to agree, but he did smile and hold out his arm for her.

  She slipped her arm through his. “Maybe we can bring a picnic.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  The boat docked at a small landing at the bottom of a big hill. The rock tombs of Beni Hassan were somewhere near the top. Luckily, they didn’t have to hoof it, not personally anyway. Donkeys were provided for five piastres. As they made their slow and swaying way up the long slope, Elizabeth decided that you could learn a lot about a person from the way they rode a donkey.

  Christina was gentle with hers, occasionally patting its neck and offering encouragement. Jack and Diana carried on an animated, good-natured argument about something as they rode. Neither seemed the least bit aware of the beast beneath them.

  Arthur swayed back and forth, his head up and back straight like the captain of a great ship making a crossing to the new world. He took in every inch of the hills and the rocks, ready to spot potential bits of pottery sticking out of the dry soil.

  Trevor Everett seemed to have found a beast as unpleasant as he was. Despite the donkey boy’s putting his entire weight into pulling the rope attached to the donkey’s muzzle, it refused to budge. Everett cursed and hit it with his walking stick while his wife pouted and Henri nearly fell off his own from laughing.

  And poor Simon. His legs were so long they’d scrape on the ground if he didn’t hold them up. He rode with as much dignity as anyone could on a donkey, and made the best of it. But, clearly, he would have rather walked.

  The slope leveled off for a jog across to the next zigzagging path and Elizabeth spurred her little donkey on. It picked up the pace and she bounced atop the saddle. Finally, she caught up with Simon and began to overtake him. As she did, she leaned forward, gripping the reins to her chest as if she were on the last leg at Pimlico.

  “On Bucephalus!” she cried, as she and her little mount bounced past Simon.

  She could hear Simon’s bark of laughter as she passed him. Turning around, she saw him shake his head and smile fondly after her.

  After a forty minute ride, they spent the next few hours exploring the rock tombs of Beni Hassan. Embedded into limestone cliffs above the east bank of the Nile, dozens of Middle Empire tombs lined the rock face. Modern iron gates protected some of the entrances.

  The first tomb they entered had a simple facade, while wonderfully detailed paintings of domestic life in early Egypt covered the interiors. Some of them were faded and chipping, but others were still vivid, bright colored scenes on the stucco walls.

  Tall lotus columns, the few that were left, still had their bright colorings.

  “You’ll notice,” Henri said. “That the capital, the head of the column, is a lotus bud, but as you go deeper into the tomb, the buds open to become a flower.”

  He looked at the room with undisguised admiration. “Every nuance, every image has meaning. The Egyptians, they combined purpose with art in ways we have long since forgotten. C’est dommage.”

  He led them into another chamber and made sure to point out that mixed in with the scenes of everyday life were the deceased and his wife, hunting fowl, fishing, or watching as men built their funeral shrines. The drawings signified their life together after death.

  Henri happily answered the most ridiculous questions and spoke passionately and knowledgeably about each tomb. He was a different man out here. Gone was all of the pretense, all of the posturing and a brilliant, earnest man took his place. He lingered at the fresco of the couple.

  “L’amour fait les plus grandes douceurs et les plus sensibles infortunes de la vie,” he said softly.

  Elizabeth stayed back with Simon as Henri and the others moved on. Simon looked after Henri with an expression she hadn’t seen before. Sympathy.

  Without her having to ask, Simon translated. “Love makes life’s sweetest pleasures and worst misfortunes.”

  They quietly wandered through the cool, quiet interiors of the rock tombs until another group of visitors arrived. The braying donkeys and the blustering tourists stole the peace of the moment and they hurried through the final tombs before beginning the long journey back down to the landing.

  Cocktails were waiting for them. The ship pulled away from the shore and continued its journey up river as t
hey all slipped into a dry martini and left the ancient world behind again.

  ~ ~ ~

  It was remarkable how quickly things changed. For years, decades, if he were honest, Simon had never slept well with another person in his bed. And now, he couldn’t sleep without one. One in particular.

  Elizabeth lay sprawled out across most of her twin bed. They’d started the night sharing his, but Elizabeth was as active in sleep as was she was in waking and had unceremoniously fallen out of bed at about three o’clock in the morning.

  She’d crawled into her own bed after that and had fallen back to sleep within minutes. Simon wasn’t so lucky. He’d lain awake for another hour and only found sleep in fits and starts without her by his side. Now morning had come.

  The sun reflected brightly off the river and cut through the window sheers. Simon considered waking Elizabeth, but ultimately decided to let her sleep in. He dressed quietly, kissed her on the temple and slipped out of the room.

  As he’d expected, he found Whiteside and his daughter having tea on the upper level.

  “Good morning.” Whiteside gestured to an empty chair at their table. He glanced around the empty deck. “We seem to be the only early risers.”

  “After the amount of champagne consumed last night, I doubt we’ll see anyone before noon,” Simon agreed.

  He took his seat and gratefully accepted a cup of tea from the steward. He’d been delighted to find they had his preference on board, Chinese Gunpowder. His grandfather Sebastian would have approved.

  “Christina,” Whiteside said, wiggling his fingers over her sketchpad. “Manners, my girl.”

  Christina nodded and quickly began to gather the colored pencils she’d scattered about the table. She bumped one and it rolled toward the edge. Simon caught it before it fell.

  “I don’t mind,” Simon said, as he handed Christina the pencil.

  She smiled gratefully and put the errant pencil back in its box.

  As she did, Simon noticed her sketches. “What are those?”

  “Oh.” Christina looked to her father for permission who nodded. She turned the pad so Simon could see. “These are from last season. We visited Amarna. I thought it might be fun to revisit them before they open the chamber.”

  “May I?” Simon asked as he pulled the sketchpad closer.

  “These are sketches of what’s left of the palace and temple,” Christina explained. “And the others are from the royal tomb of Akhenaten, what’s left of it anyway.”

  “These are quite good,” Simon said, and it wasn’t a hollow compliment. She had talent. A few of the drawings were incredibly detailed and wholly realistic.

  “Yes, they are,” Whiteside said proudly. After enjoying Christina’s blush for a moment, he pointed to the sketches. “You see, when Akhenaten ascended the throne, he wanted to move the capital, to create a new city in his image. And so he built Tell el-Amarna. Of course, being a heretic, most of it was destroyed after his death, but bits and pieces survived.”

  Simon flipped the page. He instantly recognized a sketch in the upper corner of the page—the beautiful queen Nefertiti. The few images of Akhenaten showed him as oddly misshapen with a long narrow skull and pot belly.

  Simon continued through the sketches until he saw something that made his heart stop.

  “This,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t betray his surprise. “What’s this?”

  “That’s quite interesting, actually,” Whiteside said. “That’s an Aten disk. The icon was originally drawn with long, outstretched wings and represented the aspect of Ra. But when Akhenaten came to the throne…He changed his name, you know, from Amenhotep like his father to Akhenaten…the icon itself changed as well.”

  Simon heard what Whiteside was saying, but his eyes were fixed on the drawing of what looked exactly like his pocket watch. The shape, the crown and stem, all of them were an exact match for the watch. It was upside-down, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

  “Of course, Aten replaced all of the other gods,” Whiteside said. “That’s undoubtedly what the papyrus was referring to with the sun disk shining in his palm and all that.”

  “Yes,” Simon said. Whatever remaining doubts he had that the watch was truly buried with the pharaoh faded away. “Remarkable.”

  ~ ~ ~

  On the fourth day, their boat traversed the last bit of the long u-shaped curve in the Nile that arched to the west and ended near Luxor. Simon could see the Winter Palace standing like a white colossus on shore even from miles away.

  The boat pulled up to the landing at the very foot of the hotel. A wobbly, wooden plank was draped across the space between it and the short pier. Beyond that, rows of water steps that had been carved into the rocky bank led from the landing to the forecourt of the grand hotel. From there, double marble staircases led up to a colonnade and the horseshoe-shaped terrace that ran the length of the enormous Winter Palace Hotel.

  They crossed the threshold under an immense parapet emblazoned with the hotel’s name and were shown to their rooms. The view from their third-story suite was spectacular. The Nile stretched out in both directions. Across the river sat the Theban Hills, hiding within them the riches of the Valley of the Kings.

  Simon and Elizabeth barely had time to shower and change for the party that night. Elizabeth watched for a moment as he wrestled with his bow tie and then took pity on him and brushed his hands away. She gently pinched the knot and adjusted the wings. Satisfied, she patted his chest and turned to admire them both in the mirror.

  They looked every inch the 1920 society couple they were supposed to be. His tuxedo was smart and well-pressed, but it was Elizabeth that had his attention. He’d practically had to force her to buy the vintage gown they’d found back home. It was outrageously expensive, but looking at her now, worth every penny. The pale green silk chiffon and embroidered crystals showed off the creamy skin of her shoulders and just enough of her chest to make him slightly uncomfortable. As she turned, the chiffon moved like gossamer, just brushing her knees above her bare and quite lovely legs.

  “Ready?”

  “Hmmm?”

  She smiled, realizing she’d caught him staring. “The party,” she reminded him.

  “Right.” Simon held out his arm and they headed downstairs for yet another round of cocktails and smalltalk. God help him.

  One of the larger salons had been staged for the cocktail party celebrating Jouvet’s dig, although what there was to celebrate yet eluded Simon. So far as he could tell, the man had found a scarab and willing mark in a rich patron and nothing else.

  No one seemed to mind though. Any excuse for a party was welcomed with open arms and hollow legs. Nearly one hundred people mingled inside the plush salon, some in large chairs by the windows enjoying the view of the Nile. Others stood in small packs enjoying the glasses of champagne that continually circulated the room on silver trays. Small talk, gossip, general inanity. Simon was glad, not for the first time, that he’d given up this sort of life.

  Elizabeth, always attuned to his moods squeezed his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. He took a bracing breath and they plunged into the fray.

  They’d just freed themselves from yet another story about Mrs. Cavandish’s corgis when Jouvet caught them. Simon groaned inwardly and plastered a false smile onto his face.

  “Ah,” he said. “There is someone I should like you to meet.”

  He pulled them toward a small group who was busily chatting away. At the center, with her back to them, stood a slender woman in a deep purple velvet dress with black, almost aubergine hair.

  “My mysterious patroness,” Jouvet said, gesturing to the woman. “Pardon?” He stepped closer to her to get her attention.

  “Mrs. Katherine Vale,” Jouvet said. “May I present, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Cross.”

  When she turned Simon’s blood ran cold and he heard Elizabeth gasp softly beside him.

  Eyes of pale soulless violet.

  The rest of the room fad
ed from existence. Jouvet and other partygoers blurred and the hum of voices dulled. Simon stood, frozen for a moment, stunned. All he could see was her, Madame Petrovka, the cold, heartless psychopath standing in front him, smiling.

  Her grin broadened, the cat about to eat the canary. Her eyes glittered with barely bridled excitement at his shock and discomposure. Chest rising and falling quickly with excitement, her eyes danced as she tried to control her exhilaration at her moment of triumph.

  “Well, hello again,” she said, in a voice so hard and smooth it could have been a knife.

  Simon felt an icy hand grip his heart. There was no surprise in her face, no shock. She’d expected this, planned this. And they’d walked right into it.

  “You know each other?” Jouvet said in surprise.

  Vale, or whatever the hell she was calling herself these days, laughed. “Yes, we met in San Francisco, wasn’t it? Imagine my surprise when I found out you were here and friends of Henri’s.”

  Simon barely found his voice. “Yes.” He reached over and without looking took hold of Elizabeth’s hand. She gripped his tightly.

  Vale smiled again and her calculating gaze shifted from Simon to Elizabeth. “You were unmarried when last we saw each other. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

  “Thank you,” Elizabeth said, her voice surprisingly calm.

  Vale’s eyes shifted to their joined hands for a moment. “Such a lovely couple. No doubt you have nurseries full of children by now?”

  Simon felt Elizabeth start slightly at the mention of children. The movement wasn’t lost on Vale. A small quirk of her lips gave away her pleasure at having found another vulnerability. Her eyes danced over them in delight, taking in every nuance of their clothing, their body language. Delighting in their fear. Every bit of knowledge she gained was a potential weapon in her arsenal of manipulation and cruelty. And all Simon could do was stand there.

  His heart thundered in his chest as he tried to regain his feet. He’d like to start by putting one on her bloody throat.