Whispers in the Sand

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘It was very brave to go after him.’ Anna leant forward to touch his hand. It was like ice.

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t stop to think. I should have waited. Seen where he came up.’

  ‘He didn’t come up, Toby.’ Serena had tears streaming down her face. ‘We were all watching.’

  It was a long time later that the passengers rejoined their ship. The crew met them, solemn-faced, and they were urged to go at once to the dining room. While Toby was whisked away by Omar to be seen by a doctor after his long cold immersion in the Nile, the others trooped obediently to the dining room and sat down. No one had much appetite and it wasn’t long before in twos and threes they began to make their way to their own cabins. Serena followed Anna to hers and they sat side by side on the bed.

  ‘It was a stupid accident, Anna.’ Serena put her arms round her companion. ‘He was drunk.’

  ‘It was our fault. We both wound him up. If I hadn’t thrown away the bottle it wouldn’t have happened.’ Anna was squinting at the wall. There was something wrong with her eyes. She could see the sun again; the sand, the endlessly moving fronds of a tall palm tree.

  ‘No. It could have happened at any second. It could have happened here, off this boat! Andy was like that!’ Serena shrugged. ‘He was a fool. A great big, stupid, malicious, lying fool …’ Suddenly she was sobbing violently.

  Anna stood up. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’ll get us something from the bar.’ She hesitated, then she went to the door and out into the deserted corridor.

  Ibrahim was behind the bar. There were several people in the lounge talking in subdued voices in groups on the sofas around the edge of the room. He looked up as Anna came in and frowned. ‘You wore the amulet?’

  She nodded.

  Ibrahim shrugged. ‘The gods are still powerful, mademoiselle. I am sorry for Monsieur Andrew but these things happen. Inshallah!’

  ‘He didn’t deserve to die, Ibrahim.’ She climbed onto a stool and leant wearily on her elbows.

  ‘That is not for us to decide, mademoiselle.’

  ‘Could I have saved him?’ She looked up and met his eyes.

  He returned her gaze steadily. ‘Not if it was written that this was his fate.’

  ‘I keep thinking we’ll hear his voice; that he swam under water and crawled up on the rocks somewhere. That they’ll find him alive.’

  Ibrahim inclined his head slightly. ‘All things are possible.’

  ‘But not likely.’

  He shrugged. ‘It is the will of Allah, mademoiselle.’

  ‘What will happen? Will they cancel the cruise?’

  Again he shrugged. ‘The police will come tomorrow. And the tour company representative. Omar will meet them. I expect they will ask for you. This is a very small boat. Everybody knew Monsieur Andrew. Everybody is sad.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘I just want to curl up and go to sleep.’

  ‘You want to take a drink to bed?’

  ‘Yes please. And one for Serena.’

  He nodded. ‘I bring them to your cabin. You go.’ He turned to the shelf behind him, then he glanced quickly back at her. ‘Mademoiselle, do not take off your amulet. Not even for one second. There is still danger near you.’

  She frowned. Her hand went automatically to her throat. She wanted to ask why he had said that. But he was busy with his back to her and she realised suddenly that she did not want to know. Not now. She couldn’t cope with any more.

  Serena was lying on her bed with Louisa’s diary in her hands.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. You’d left your bag lying open on the side table and I wanted to read the last few pages. I thought it would help to take my mind off things.’

  Anna sat down beside her. ‘Good idea.’ She sighed. ‘Ibrahim is bringing us a drink to the cabin. I suspect he is going to mix a knock-out concoction.’ She smiled wearily. ‘So, what happened to Louisa?’

  Serena sat up and swung her legs to the floor. ‘I think you should read it yourself.’ She cocked her head at the sound of a gentle knock and opening the door took a tray from Ibrahim.

  ‘There you are. Your knock-out drink.’ She put a glass on the table next to the bed for Anna and sniffed cautiously at her own. ‘For a Muslim and a teetotaller he mixes a fairly hefty cocktail. Years of catering to the habits of the infidel no doubt.’ She paused with a wistful smile. ‘Don’t dwell on things, Anna. It is absolutely not your fault. It was his for getting stupidly drunk.’

  Anna nodded. She could feel the tears very close.

  ‘I’ll leave you to read,’ Serena whispered. ‘We’ll talk again in the morning.’

  Anna sat without moving for several minutes after she had gone then she reached for the glass. Kicking off her shoes she lay back against the pillows and picked up the diary. Serena was right. There were only a few pages of the close-packed writing left and it would serve to take her mind off the present through what would inevitably be a sleepless night.

  The three boats remained at their moorings for several days after Katherine’s lying in. Then when she was sufficiently strong to transfer back to the Lotus the Fieldings and the Forresters set off once more in convoy on the long journey north, leaving the Scarab behind. There had been no sign of Lord Carstairs since Louisa had left his boat before dawn on the day of the birth. Sir John’s questioning of the reis on the boat had produced no more than a shrug and an eloquent glance towards the heavens. A search had produced no signs of a snake of any size at all.

  It was at Luxor that Louisa made her decision.

  ‘I shall take the steamer back to Cairo,’ she told the Forresters after dinner on the night they took up their moorings. ‘You have been so kind and so hospitable, but I want to see my little boys again.’

  In her cabin she began to pack away her painting things. Treece would deal with her clothes, but these were special. They had been packed and unpacked by Hassan. She opened one of her sketchbooks and stared for a long time at his face, the dark loving eyes, the gentle mouth, the hands which were so strong and yet so sensitive.

  It was very hot in the cabin and she had pushed back the shutters. On the far side of the river a line of dahabeeyahs were moored against the palm-fringed shore. Most were pointing north. The season had turned for most Europeans and the time had come to make their way down the Nile towards Cairo and on to Alexandria and the Mediterranean coast and the routes back to Europe.

  She put down the sketchbook and went to stand looking out at the dusk. The sun hung, a crimson ball, low over the Theben hills, throwing a wash of red across the water.

  There was a sound in the cabin behind her, a feeling, no more, that she was not alone. Without turning she knew what it was. ‘I have tried to return the bottle to your gods,’ she said quietly. ‘Each time it comes back to me. What would you have me do?’ She wasn’t afraid. She went on staring out across the water. Somewhere out there where the mountains turned the colour of blood before they cloaked themselves in darkness lay the temple where these priests had worshipped the gods to whom they had dedicated their eternal souls.

  The bottle, still wrapped in its water-stained silk was lying somewhere amongst the paints and brushes on the table top behind her. The cabin was growing dark as the sun slipped behind the hills and the first breath of night air whispered across the water. She closed her eyes.

  Take it. Please take it.

  The words had echoed so strongly in her head she thought she had shouted them out loud.

  Across the river, lamps were being lit on the boats strung out along the shore; the mountains had vanished and one by one the stars were beginning to appear.

  Behind her there was a loud knock on the door and Treece came in with a branch of candles. She banged it down on the table. ‘Shall I help you dress, Mrs Shelley?’ The woman’s face was sour. Angry. Within seconds, Louisa knew why.

  ‘Sir John says the steamer is fully booked. There are no cabins available until next week so you’ll have to stay with
us that bit longer.’ She sniffed her disapproval and turned to fetch a ewer of water.

  Louisa stood staring after her in dismay. She wanted to leave Egypt. She wanted to close this chapter of her life where every breath of desert air made her think of the man whom she had loved and who had died because of her.

  Her gaze fell on the table. For a second her heart missed a beat. She thought the bottle had gone. Then she saw it, small, scruffy in its wrappings, half hidden by a box of charcoal. As Treece had banged the candles down a shower of wax had fallen across the table. A small lump hung from the dirty silk like a miniature stalactite, looking already as ancient as the glass beneath its wrapping.

  As she stared at it she knew what she had to do. The next day she would get Mohammed to take her back to the Valley of the Tombs and she would bury the bottle there in the sand beneath an image of the goddess, and she it was who must decide on its fate.

  Anna’s eyelids drooped. She took another sip from the glass. Ibrahim had put brandy in the drink, but also other things. Strange, bitter things she could not identify. The diary was suddenly heavy in her hands and she let it fall onto the covers, staring sleepily towards the window of her cabin. Even with the lamp beside her bed switched on she could see the stars above the skyline. With a sigh she reached out and turned off the light. Just for a moment she would rest her eyes before she climbed into the shower to soak away the stiffness and pain of the night.

  As she sank further into sleep the shadows grew closer and the whispers in the sand grew louder.

  She was woken by the sun. Hot. Red. Fiery behind her eyelids. She could feel the abrasive heat on her face, the raw bite of every breath in her lungs, the rasp of sand in her sandals. Slowly she walked towards the entrance of the temple, shaking her head against the haze which seemed to surround her, now crawling across the sand on her belly like a snake, now drifting on the air with the falcon and the circling ever-watchful vulture.

  She was drifting, rootless, overwhelmed with anger, then cold with fear as the gods came near and shook their heads and turned away.

  ‘Anna? Anna!’

  Voices echoed in her head, then died away, carried on the desert wind from the south.

  ‘Anna? Can you hear me? Oh God, what’s happened to her?’

  She smiled as the sweet scents of flowers and fruit blew across the sand from the temple buildings. Aniseed and cinnamon, dill and thyme, figs and pomegranate, olive and grape and sweet juicy dates. Herbs from the carefully irrigated gardens, and from the incense rooms, resins and oils.

  Her hands reached out towards the dazzling light. She could feel the sticky richness of wine and honey on her palms. Oh beloved land, Ta-Mera, land of the flood and of the fire.

  ‘Anna!’ It was Toby’s voice, Toby’s hands on her shoulders, her arms. ‘Anna, what’s wrong?’ He was far away, his voice an echo across time. Then there were other voices, bright lights in her eyes, fingers on her pulse. She shrugged. They were distant and unimportant. The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson. Soon the stars would shine out across the desert: the great river in the sky, the milky way, mirror image of the river below and, brighter than any other, the sacred star, Sept, the dog star at the heel of the god Osiris.

  Then all was dark. She slept. When she woke she felt the cold sweet waters of the Nile on her lips. Voices again, echoing over untold distances, the silence and darkness again.

  ‘Anna!’ That was Serena. ‘Anna, you’re going home.’

  But this was home. The home of the gods, the land of the sun god, Ra.

  Strange. She was in a car. She could feel the rattle of wheels, hear the blast of horns, smell exhaust fumes, but they were all so far away. There was a strong arm round her shoulders and she leant on it gratefully, her body tired beyond all endurance whilst her brain still yearned towards the desert and the sun.

  She slept again. The scream of jet engines was the mighty roar of the cataracts inside her head, the swirling water lit by rainbows beneath the dark Nilotic rock, the lift of the wheels from the tarmac, the free flight of the great falcon from whose eyes the whole land of Egypt could be seen.

  Obediently she sipped fruit juice and nibbled a piece of bread. Her eyelids closed. Her head filled again with the shriek of the wind, the fury of a dust storm, and the fierce sword stroke of desert lightning above clouds that would never give birth to rain.

  Above her head Serena and Toby exchanged glances and frowned. When the cabin attendant brought more food they waved her on.

  The air of England was ice-rimed and sharp. In the taxi Anna stirred. The voice inside her head grew querulous. The being that stared out of her eyes grew restless. Where was the sun?

  Anna grew weaker every second.

  ‘I’m sorry to land all this on you, Ma. We didn’t know where to take her.’ Toby’s voice was clear suddenly, his arm, still there around her, guiding her, giving her strength. ‘She lives alone, and as we told you, Charley is at Serena’s so there is no room there, and I don’t know how to contact her family.’

  ‘Take her upstairs, darling.’ The voice that answered his was kind and deep, cultured and reassuring. ‘Let her sleep. The doctor is on his way.’

  She sank down into the soft warm bed and felt the embrace of duck down, the support of fluffy pillows in the cool darkness of an English bedroom.

  Bit by bit his grip was loosening, the parasitical hold on her life force was weaker each moment she lay asleep under cold northern skies. Egypt was far away.

  The priest of Sekhmet looked out of an English woman’s eyes at a strange and alien world and felt sudden overwhelming fear.

  15

  I am Yesterday and Today; and I have the power to be born a second time. Let the decree of Amen-Ra, the king of the gods, the great god, the prince of that which hath come into being from the beginning, be performed.

  The fever that kills everyone in the house of the merchant shocks his neighbours and his friends. His nephew comes to retrieve his treasures and boxes them up to take them to the bazaar. Much money changes hands over the weeks and months that follow. The pretty bottle, fit gift for a lady, with the piece of paper that tells its legend, stands on the shelf and beckons. The priests, strong and angry, fight one against the other in the halls of the heavens and rend the curtains of darkness with their spears.

  The merchant who looks after the stall in the bazaar falls sick. His last sale is to a handsome young man whose eyes are alight with love and who seeks a gift for his special lady.

  ‘Anna, are you awake?’ Frances Hayward put her tray down near the door and crossing to the window pulled back the heavy curtains so that the watery winter sunshine poured in across the patchwork coverlet. She turned to view her charge. The woman she saw lying propped up on the pillows was pale and very thin, her long dark hair strewn across the sprigged cotton; her large green eyes, opening slowly to view the room for the first time clearly, were deeply undershadowed with exhaustion and strain.

  For days now the strange amnesia which had been blanketing her mind and preventing her from functioning on any but the most basic level had been growing lighter. She smiled at Frances as she pulled herself up against the pillows. The room already scented by the bowl of pink hyacinths on the table in front of the window was suddenly full of the smell of rich coffee and toast.

  ‘So, how do you feel?’ Frances put the tray on Anna’s knees then she sat down beside her. There was a second cup of coffee on the tray and she helped herself to it, her eyes on Anna’s face.

  Anna shook her head. ‘Confused. Woolly. My memory is so muddled. It doesn’t seem to be coming back.’ She glanced quickly at Frances. Her hostess was a tall woman with wild curly grey hair. She had strong bones and a handsome face. The resemblance to Toby was there, oblique but unmistakable.

  She met Anna’s gaze steadily and smiled. ‘Shall I tell you again? I’m Toby’s mother, Frances. You have been here three weeks now. You remember who Toby is?’ She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  Ann
a was playing with a small piece of toast. When there was no response Frances went on, ‘You met him on a Nile cruise. You became ill during your last few days there. Toby and your friend Serena didn’t know what to do, so they brought you here.’

  ‘And you’ve been looking after a complete stranger.’ Anna crumbled the piece of toast between her fingers.

  ‘It’s been a pleasure for me. But I’m worried, my dear. You must have friends and family who are wondering where you are.’

  Anna picked up her coffee cup and blew gently at the hot steam. The smell cut deep into her brain and she frowned, trying to cudgel her memory. There was so much there, just out of reach, like a dream that slips away even as one wakes up. There were pictures of sand dunes and shimmering heat, of the brilliant blue of the river and the green of the palms, but no faces, no names, nothing to pin anything to. She sipped the coffee again and frowned.

  ‘Toby was wondering whether it would jog your memory if we took you to your house. If you feel strong enough, that is.’ Frances was watching Anna’s face.

  Anna looked up. Her expression was suddenly more animated than it had been so far. ‘You know where I live?’

  Frances smiled. ‘Yes, we know that much! But we couldn’t leave you there alone, could we? And we didn’t know who to call about you. You told Toby something of your family circumstances, but he couldn’t remember any names or addresses.’

  They took a taxi across London later that afternoon, Anna wearing a borrowed pair of trousers and an elegant sweater from Frances’s wardrobe against the cold March wind. All the clothes in her suitcase were light summer fabrics designed to be worn on a cruise. There was nothing there which would protect her from the south-easterly which was whipping through the streets, rattling billboards, scattering litter along the pavements and whining in the TV aerials far above the street.

  The taxi pulled up outside a small pretty terraced house in Notting Hill and they all climbed out. Anna stood surveying the warm grey brick, the square Queen-Anne windows with narrow wrought iron windowbox holders, the blue front door with a half-moon skylight and the tiny front garden. It seemed familiar, yet somehow strangely unconnected.