The Forresters had not so far proved to be the hosts she had hoped for. In fact their regime was even more restrictive than that of Isabella and Arabella. They too could see no reason to visit the antiquities, and particularly not those which involved half a day’s ride through the blazing sun. More importantly, they seemed to feel that they were responsible for Louisa’s moral welfare. Though a dragoman had been hired for her, she was not to be with him alone. Though she had come to Egypt not only for the sake of her health, but in her own mind at least, to paint the antiquities, they did not consider that it was important or even advisable for her to do so. They were in fact due to leave for a gentle sail up the Nile as soon as the steamer had arrived at Luxor with the post from England. In near despair of ever visiting the Valley of the Tombs, Louisa had had to resort to secrecy. She had found Hassan sitting in the shade of the deck awning, writing in his own small notebook. He rose to his feet the moment she had appeared, and he listened gravely to her whispered instructions. Well aware that Lady Forrester might at the last minute insist on Jane Treece accompanying her as a chaperone, Louisa had told them that she would not leave until mid-morning. To Hassan she explained privately that they must leave at dawn.
She had awoken while it was still dark, climbing into her clothes as silently as she could. Her first brief meetings with the man who was to be her dragoman – guide, escort, servant, interpreter – had gone well. He was a quiet, refined man, grave and very conscious of his responsibility. His loyalties, he made clear immediately, were to Louisa alone. Wherever she wanted to go he would take her.
‘Does he have a name?’ Louisa patted her animal’s neck as they set off.
Hassan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I hired them for the journey.’
‘He must have a name. Perhaps I should give him one. Caesar. How does that sound?’
Hassan smiled across at her as they rode swiftly away from the river bank and turned between some square mud-brick houses out of sight of the Ibis.
‘That is a good name. I shall call mine, Antony. And this our beast of burden shall be Cleopatra.’
Louisa laughed in delight. ‘Then we shall be such an intelligent party.’ He was a good-looking man, of middle height, slim, dressed in loose blue trousers and a striped robe. He had large dark eyes, fringed with long lashes. Looking across at him surreptitiously she wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell. His hair was hidden completely by his red turban. There were wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and laughter creases from nose to mouth, but apart from that his skin was smooth.
‘How far must we ride to the valley, Hassan?’ In spite of herself she glanced over her shoulder.
He shrugged. ‘We will know when we get there. We have all day.’ His smile was warm and without guile.
Louisa laughed. In Egypt, she had discovered, things happened when they happened. That was the will of God. With a contented sigh she settled onto the felt saddle and concentrated instead on trying to accommodate herself to her donkey’s pace.
The track through the fields of berseem and wheat and barley was cool in the dawn light beneath the eucalyptus trees and the tall graceful date palms and she relaxed, enjoying the scented air, the greetings of the fellaheen they passed making their way out to the fields. It was all too soon that they reached the edge of the cultivated land which bordered the River Nile and struck out into the desert. In front of them rose the long red shoulder of the Theban hills, so visible, and so mysteriously close that they could be seen from the deck of the boat and yet now, shrouded in the misty distance.
They stopped briefly for a breakfast of slices of watermelon and cheese and bread before the sun was too high, then they rode on. Ahead the hills at last drew closer. Louisa stared up, fanning herself beneath the shade of her broad-brimmed hat. A kite circled overhead, a dark speck against the brilliant blue of the sky.
‘Soon there. Very soon.’ Hassan reined back his little donkey. ‘You are going to draw pictures of the mountains?’
Louisa nodded. ‘I want to see the mountains and the tombs of the pharaohs.’
‘Of course. What else?’ Hassan smiled. ‘I have brought candles and flares for us to see them.’ He gestured towards the pack animal. ‘Not far. Then you can rest.’
She nodded again. Perspiration was trickling down her back and between her breasts. Her clothes felt heavy and stifling. ‘I expected to see a lot of visitors along this road,’ she called across to him. The loneliness was beginning to unnerve her.
‘There are lots of visitors.’ He shrugged. ‘The steamer has not been here for several days. When it comes they will arrive again.’
‘I see.’ She smiled uncertainly. The barely distinguishable road was empty of other riders. There were no tracks.
‘There are no footmarks, no signs of anyone else.’ She gestured nervously.
He shook his head. ‘Last night the wind blew. Poof!’ He blew out his cheeks, gesturing with his hands. ‘The sand comes and all things disappear.’
Louisa smiled. That was a phrase for her diary. She must remember it. The sand comes and all things disappear. The epitaph of a civilisation.
The road grew steeper as they made their way into the hills and eventually they turned into the hidden valley where she could clearly make out the square doorways cut in the brilliant limestone cliffs. Drawing to a standstill Hassan slid off his donkey and came to help her dismount. As she stood staring round, listening to the moan of the strange hot wind and the cries of the circling kites he unloaded her sketchbooks and paints and a Persian rug which he spread nearby on the sand. He also produced some poles over which he draped a length of green and blue striped cloth to make her a shelter, like a Bedouin tent, to give her some privacy in the barren valley. The donkeys and he remained in the sun, seemingly oblivious to the heat.
‘I expected to see people digging. Excavating. Why is it all so empty?’ She was staring round, still overwhelmed by the desolation of the valley.
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes there are a lot. Sometimes none. The money stops.’ He raised his shoulders again eloquently. ‘They have to go away to find more. Then they return. Then you will see the wadi full of people. The local men are always here. We will see them, I expect. They dig in the night. If they find a new tomb they dig in the early morning, even in the heat of the day. They are supposed to take what they find to the authorities at Boulak, but …’ Again the shrug of the shoulders she was beginning to know so well.
Digging into the donkey’s pannier he produced two candles and a small flare. Flourishing them he bowed. ‘You would like to see inside one of the tombs now?’
She nodded. The tombs would be blessedly cool after the endless sun. She reached for a bottle of water and Hassan hastened to pour some out for her. The water was warm and brackish but she drank gratefully, then she dipped her handkerchief in the cup and wiped her face with it.
When she turned to follow Hassan towards one of the square doorways in the cliff, there was a sketchbook under her arm.
‘We will start here,’ he waved at one of the entrances. ‘It is the tomb of Rameses VI. This has been open since the days of the ancients.’
‘You have brought other people here before. You know them all as well as a local guide?’ she asked as she made to follow him.
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘I have heard the guides from the villages a thousand times. I no longer need them.’
As they entered the passageway Louisa stared into the darkness completely blinded after the brilliant light outside. Then slowly her eyes began to acclimatise. The flickering light of Hassan’s candle barely lit the walls of the long passage in which they found themselves, but from its pale glow she could see the breathtaking riot of figures and colours stretching into the distance. Then he lit the flare and in the streaming flame and smoke she could see hieroglyphs and gods and kings covering the walls and ceiling in rich colours. Standing still on the steep sandy floor of the passage she stared round in amazement and delight. ‘I had no id
ea,’ she gasped. ‘No idea at all that it could be so …’ she fumbled for words, ‘… so wonderful!’
‘Nice?’ Hassan was watching her.
‘Very, very nice.’ She took a few paces forward, her shoes slipping on the steeply sloping passage. ‘Hassan, it is more wonderful than I had ever dreamt.’
The intense silence of the place was overwhelming but far from being cooler in the darkness the tomb was hot and airless as an oven. She moved across to the wall and rested a hand for a moment on the paint-covered stone. ‘It would be very hard to copy this. Even to convey this wonder. This mystery. I could never do it. My sketches will have to be so impressionistic, so inadequate.’ She shrugged helplessly.
‘Your pictures are very good.’ He raised the flare higher so the light shone a little further into the darkness.
‘How do you know? You haven’t seen any,’ she retorted over her shoulder.
‘I saw. When I was loading the donkey the wind blew open the book.’ He followed her with a grin. ‘I could not help but see. Here. Be careful. There are steps now going down a long way.’
Behind them the small square of daylight at the entrance to the passage abruptly disappeared as they began to descend a long flight of roughly excavated steps. The candlelight condensed on the multi-coloured walls, then as they reached the pillared chamber at the bottom it spread and faded again, mixing and losing itself in the vast darkness. A further series of passages led deeper and deeper into the dark, then at last they reached the burial chamber at the bottom. Louisa stopped with a gasp. Soaring overhead in the flickering shadows two huge strangely elongated figures spanned the ceiling above her head.
‘Nut. Goddess of the sky.’ Hassan was standing beside her, holding the flare high and she found herself suddenly intensely aware of his closeness to her. She glanced sideways. He was gazing up at the figures, his face a silhouette in the soft light.
He turned and caught her staring at him. She blushed. ‘May I have the flare?’
‘Of course, Sitt Louisa.’ For half a second their hands touched as her fingers closed round the wooden shaft. Then abruptly she stepped away from him. ‘Tell me about the goddess of the sky.’
Anna woke with a start to find the light in her cabin still on, the diary lying open on her chest. Daylight poured through the slatted shutters, sending bright narrow wedges of light onto the floor and up the wall. Leaping out of bed she reached across to the window and slid the shutters back. Outside, the river was a brilliant blue. A Nile cruiser was making its way upstream, whilst across the broad stretch of water she could see the palm trees on the distant bank, a strip of brilliant green fields and beyond them in the distance a line of low hazy mountains, pink and ochre in the early morning sunlight.
Dressing quickly in a blue shift she made her way out between tables and chairs in the lounge onto the deserted deck and stared round in delight. It was already hot on the afterdeck, but under the awning it was shady. She walked to the rail and leant on it, staring at the palm trees on the far side of the river. The cruiser was out of sight now, and for a moment the river was empty. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to turn her back on the view and head for the dining room and breakfast. At the door she met Serena, Charley’s cabinmate, who the night before had been sitting at the next-door table. About forty-five, slim and attractive with short dark hair and huge green eyes she gave Anna a cheerful smile. ‘See you later,’ she said by way of hello and goodbye. She held the door open for Anna, then disappeared in the direction of the cabins. In the dining room only Charley was sitting at the table they had all shared the night before.
‘Good morning.’ Anna sat down near her. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Not a wink.’ Charley scowled. She was nursing a cup of black coffee. She sighed. ‘I hate flying and I hate boats.’
Anna hid an astonished smile. She resisted the temptation to ask why in that case Charley had come on such a holiday. ‘Can I get you something from the buffet?’ Behind them the serving table was laden with cereals and fruits, cheese, cold meat and eggs.
Charley shook her head. Her long hair was caught back in a ponytail this morning and she was wearing a tee-shirt and jeans ‘Just ignore me. I’ll improve when I’ve had a couple of these.’ She gestured at the coffee.
‘Have the others had breakfast?’ Anna eyed the empty places, already cleared by the waiters.
Charley nodded. ‘All early birds.’ She gave Anna a sideways glance. ‘Andy and I are an item, we’ve been together for several months.’
Anna watched while the waiter poured her coffee then she stood up ready to go to the buffet. ‘I thought perhaps you were.’ She smiled. Charley’s comment was a clear warning shot across the bows. Yet hadn’t Andy said he was unattached? Piling up fruit and cheese and a delicate crumbling croissant onto her plate she turned back to the table. Charley had gone.
Returning to her cabin to collect her sun hat, glasses and guidebook, Anna stood for a moment staring round. She had left the diary on the bedside table. Hesitating briefly she swung her suitcase down from the top of the locker where she had stowed it and put the diary inside. Locking it, she lifted it back into place. As she was collecting a hairbrush and some sun cream from the dressing table to toss into her bag her eye was caught by the scent bottle. Should she have locked that away as well? She hesitated, glancing at her watch. They had been told to meet in the boat’s reception area at six forty-five to leave at seven a.m. She did not want to miss the bus. The decision was simple. She would take it with her. Picking up the bottle she wrapped it in one of the fine silk scarves she used to knot back her hair and tucked the small scarlet bundle into her bag. Then, turning, she let herself out of the cabin.
A small coach collected them from the river bank and drove them to the ferry in Luxor. To her surprise as she sat down alone towards the back of the coach and waited, staring eagerly out of the window, Andy came and sat down beside her, wedging his broad frame into the narrow seats with a familiarity which, she had to admit, she did not find entirely unpleasant. ‘So. How are you this morning? Excited?’
In spite of herself she glanced round for Charley. Not seeing her she nodded. ‘I’m fine. Very excited. Yes.’ She recognised all the faces now. Near her were Sally Booth and Ben Forbes. And Serena, sitting next to an elderly lady in a cerise trouser suit. Then two more couples whose names she didn’t know. And at the back of the bus on his own she saw Toby Hayward.
‘Did you bring your precious diary?’ Andy was looking at the tote bag on her knee.
She shook her head. ‘It’s locked in my suitcase.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’m sure it’s all right, Andy. There wouldn’t be anyone around who would want it. Really.’
He was still staring at her bag and she glanced down to see what interested him so much. Her scarf had worked free and the little scent bottle was lying on top of her guidebook in full view.
‘Souvenirs already?’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t let the peddlers badger you into buying anything you don’t really want. They’re awfully persuasive.’
She shook her head, feeling suddenly defensive. He had clearly not recognised it as antique. Wrapping the bottle up again she pushed it to the bottom of the bag. ‘I won’t. I’m good at saying “no”.’ She caught sight of his raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye and chose to ignore it.
As the coach lurched up the track from the river and onto the narrow dusty road she stared out of the window at the squat, square mud-brick houses on either side. They seemed to rise to two or three storeys then they would stop, unexpectedly, as though only half finished, with yards of metal reinforcements projecting from the top, like clusters of TV aerials. Huddled together they gave the impression of shanty towns clustered around the outskirts of the city itself, all built in a uniform yellowy-grey colour but some brightly painted, with wild designs and patterns, a contrast to the sandy dust which was everywhere, and many further decorated with the rugs thrown across the sills to air. Some had n
othing more than a few palms or straw mats strewn across the top, instead of roofs, and all over the place Anna saw rows of amphora-like clay pots lying on the rooftops or around the doors. She shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe I’m here, to be honest.’
He laughed. ‘You are here, believe me. So, did you read any more of the diary last night?’
Anna nodded. ‘A bit. I found the section where she went to the Valley of the Kings. There was a wonderful description of the valley. It was empty. Deserted. There was no one there with her except her dragoman, Hassan. They sat and picnicked on a Persian rug.’
Andy laughed. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be like that for us. It will be packed with tourists. I’ve heard a lot of people say there are so many crowds there that it spoils it. No atmosphere, or not much. And no dragomen!’
‘It’s such a lovely term. I should love my own dragoman!’ She clutched at the back of the seat in front of them as the bus hit a pothole and then turned sharply to the right, hooting furiously as it hurtled out onto the busy main road.
‘Perhaps I can be of service?’
She smiled at him. ‘I don’t think Charley would approve,’ she said gently. ‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘Up front somewhere. With Joe and Sally. She’s been chatting up Omar.’ The lurching of the bus threw him against her for a moment. ‘Have you got your camera?’
She nodded. ‘Photography is one of my passions. I’m not likely to forget that.’
‘Good. You’ll have to take a picture of me in front of some great pharaoh so I can brag about my trip at home.’
They climbed out of the coach to queue for the short ferry ride across the Nile and found another identical though older vehicle waiting for them on the other side. When Anna looked round for Andy as they climbed aboard, she saw that Charley was by his side. For this second part of the journey she found herself next to Serena.
Whispers in the Sand Page 5