As soon as everyone was settled, Feisal addressed us. ‘Some of you know that one of our friends was taken ill this morning. You will be glad to hear that Mrs Tregarth is now comfortably resting in a Cairo hospital . . .’
I didn’t hear the rest. One word had forced its way through the layers of stupidity that enrobed my brain.
Cairo. The Cairo Museum was in Cairo. Take it slow, Vicky, slow and easy; you obviously aren’t up to complex reasoning. Right. No question about it. The museum was in Cairo. And now John was too.
Not only was he in Cairo (where the museum was) but his departure had been sudden, unexpected, off schedule. I had told myself I had three more weeks. I should have known – damn it, damn it, I should have known! – that John never stuck to schedules and that the unexpected was his stock-in-trade. The mere sight of me would have warned him that someone had got wind of his scheme. He wouldn’t abandon it, not John, not until he had to; he’d change his plans, catch me off guard, find an excuse to get to the scene of the crime ahead of schedule, a nice valid excuse like . . .
Poisoning his own mother?
It seemed a trifle extreme, even for John.
All the same . . .
I blundered up out of my seat, squeezing past the tray with its load of china and glasses. Bright and Sweet were a few rows ahead of me; I could see Bright’s thick, brown expensive hair over the top of the seat. They beamed a welcome, but I didn’t wait for an exchange of greetings.
‘It’s a shame about Mrs Tregarth, isn’t it?’
‘Very sad,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘But Feisal says she is on the road to recovery. It should be a lesson to us all, you know; the poor dear lady was constantly overeating. That is especially dangerous when one is unaccustomed to strange food and water.’
Bright nodded vigorously. He probably wouldn’t have spoken even if he had been able to, but in this case he wasn’t; he had just shoved an entire stuffed egg into his mouth.
‘Right,’ I said. ‘I wonder how long they’ll stay in Cairo. Where the – ’ I managed to stop myself. Larry, in the seat across the aisle, was watching me with a bewildered smile.
‘Let us hope she will be able to join us again soon,’ Sweet said. ‘A pity to lose part of such a delightful trip.’
I tried again. ‘Especially when it’s also a honeymoon. I suppose her son will stay in Cairo with her?’
‘I suppose so.’ Sweet gave me a puzzled look.
I got a grip on myself and turned to go. ‘Well. See you later.’
‘We will meet in a pyramid,’ Sweet called after me.
I inserted myself into my seat and picked up a sandwich – nothing plebeian like cheese or chicken, but a masterpiece of shrimp and chopped egg yolk and some mysterious sauce. Sweet and Bright didn’t appear to be concerned; in fact they had both looked at me as if I were losing my feeble mind. Of course, I told myself; they were professionals. Like the others they had heard of Jen’s illness. They might not know John was the man they were after, but they’d be on the alert for anything unusual. They probably even knew the Cairo Museum was in Cairo.
I can’t say I enjoyed the remainder of the tour of Sakkara, even though Feisal was at his most eloquent and Alice stuck with me most of the afternoon. She was good company, knowledgeable and yet unassuming, with an unexpectedly wicked sense of humour. Watching Suzi, who had attached herself to Feisal, she said with a grin, ‘Looks as if she’s going to settle for youth and beauty instead of cash. Larry will be relieved, he looked like a cornered rabbit last night.’
‘He’s a very nice guy,’ I said. ‘Larry, I mean. Do you know him well?’
‘Nobody knows him well.’ Striding briskly, her hands in her pockets, Alice looked as fresh as a woman half her age. ‘I’d met him once or twice; he’s truly dedicated to archaeology and very well informed. But I was surprised to find him on this trip, he’s a very private person. Of course the highlight of the cruise is the reopening of Tetisheri’s tomb and that has been his major interest for over three years. He’s probably hoping to persuade the other filthy-rich types on board to support similar projects.’
She stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, and I said, trying not to pant, ‘He’s not with the group this afternoon. Trying to avoid predatory females?’
She caught my meaning. ‘Not you. You made quite a hit. In fact he sidled up to me and asked me if I thought you’d like to accompany him this afternoon – he’s gone off to see the Eighteenth-Dynasty nobles’ tombs, which aren’t open to the public’
‘And you told him I wouldn’t? Hell’s bells, Alice, how am I going to catch myself a millionaire if you interfere?’
Alice laughed. ‘Don’t blame me. He talked himself out of it before I could reply. Honest to God, I felt like a high school student counsellor trying to convince some bashful kid it was okay to ask the cheerleader to a dance. But,’ she added, with a shrewd glance at me, ‘don’t get your hopes up. He likes you because you treated him like a human being but I don’t think he’s interested in matrimony.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘Sensible woman.’
‘Why didn’t you go with him? This tourist stuff must be boring for you.’
‘My dear, I’m on duty. Anyhow, I never tire of the tourist stuff. I haven’t been inside the Teti Pyramid for years.’
‘Is that the next stop? I’m getting confused,’ I admitted.
‘No wonder. We’re cramming an awful lot into one day. The brain overloads. You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.’
‘I think I won’t. Go ahead, I’ll sit here and admire the view.’
All but the most energetic were beginning to flag, after a long morning and a large lunch. Some had stayed on the bus, others wandered off in search of souvenirs, of which there was no dearth. Only a dozen people expressed an interest in the interior of the pyramid. Among them were Bright and Sweet and the large square woman who had been pointed out to me as a famous novelist. No one could have accused her of treading on Egyptian sensibilities; she was draped from shoulders to shins in flowing robes, with a scarf wound wimple-style around her large square face. Her features were vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen them, and I thought I would have remembered that face. Not many famous lady novelists have perceptible moustaches.
‘What’s her name?’ I whispered to Alice.
‘Louisa Ferncliffe. But she writes under the name of Valerie Vandine. Ever heard of her?’
I had. I had even, for my sins, read a couple of her novels. She was one of Schmidt’s favourite authors. Schmidt only reads two types of fiction: hard-boiled mysteries featuring lean tough detectives, and torrid historical romances featuring helpless voluptuous heroines. Violence and sex, in other words. I studied the massive form ahead of me with disbelief. The woman must have an incredibly vivid imagination. The sexual gymnastics she described in such interesting detail would have been physically impossible for someone built like that.
So that was why she looked familiar. The photographs on the backs of her books had omitted the moustache and the lines scoring her forehead. A couple of chins had been airbrushed out too.
‘Her heroines are all tall and slim and blond,’ I muttered. Alice chuckled. ‘It will be interesting to see how she gets a tall slim blond into a novel about ancient Egypt. She’s gathering material for one, I understand.’
Louisa tilted her head back and inspected the crumbling side of the structure. ‘Where are the Pyramid Texts?’ she demanded.
Feisal had almost certainly heard dumber questions; he said patiently, ‘Inside the pyramid, Miss Vandine. Are you coming?’
Instead of answering she turned her back on him and addressed Alice. ‘Are you?’
‘I had intended to, yes.’
‘In that case I will accompany you. I want to have some of the texts translated; to hear echo, in the air of the tomb chamber, the magical words of protection.’ Throwing her arms up, she intoned, ‘O gods of the underworld, greet t
his pharaoh in peace! O heavenly guides, bring down the wrath of Anubis on all who would violate this tomb!’
That was too much for Feisal. ‘I’m afraid there is no such text, Miss Vandine.’
She looked him up and down and back up again. ‘How would you know? Dr Gordon is an expert – ’
‘Not on the Pyramid Texts,’ Alice said. Her face was flushed, though not as darkly as Feisal’s. She went on, very quietly, ‘Feisal’s doctoral dissertation involved a comparison of Pyramid and coffin Texts. He is a graduate of Oxford and the University of Chicago. I believe I won’t accompany you after all. The air is rather . . . close inside.’
After the group had gone in I said, ‘Well done, Alice. Firm but ladylike.’
‘Too ladylike.’ Alice took off her hat and fanned her hot face. ‘She didn’t get it. There are always a few like that in every group. I don’t know why I bother; bigotry and rudeness are unconquerable.’
‘With his qualifications, why is he working as a guide?’
Alice shrugged. ‘Jobs are hard to find. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.’
‘You’re right.’ The memory of how I had wangled my own job made me squirm uncomfortably. Blackmail would be too harsh a word, but . . .
‘His father is a low-level bureaucrat;” Alice went on. ‘Hardly more than a glorified clerk. He has sacrificed all his life so that his son – the only son – could have a professioual career. The pressures on Feisal have been enormous, as you can imagine.’
‘Yeah. People are pretty much the same everywhere, I guess.’
‘In some ways.’ Alice grinned at me. ‘And very different in other ways. Let’s have a look at a few of the other mastabas, shall we? If you like reliefs, some are quite lovely. Or would you rather visit the Serapeum? It’s a little distance, but – ’
‘I’m not really all that keen on deep dark places.’
I spoke without thinking, and after I had done so I was sorry I had let down my guard, even with someone as friendly as Alice. She didn’t pursue the matter, just nodded.
By the time Alice had finished showing me around I had begun to think more kindly of dark sunless places. I wasn’t the only one who was weary, sweat-stained, and red-faced when we assembled at the bus. The group that had been inside the pyramid looked as bad as I felt. Apparently they had enjoyed themselves, though. Sweet rhapsodized about Feisal’s lecture, and Bright kept nodding and grinning. I was happy to observe that Louisa’s veils were in tatters. Somebody must have stepped on her hem.
As I reclined in air-conditioned comfort sipping my iced drink, I tried to concentrate on the exotic scenery gliding past – the Step Pyramid, golden in the afternoon light, green fields of alfalfa and vegetables, barefoot children smiling and waving as we spoiled foreigners passed – but my mind was a jumble of disconnected impressions. ‘The Step Pyramid is two hundred and four feet high . . . He likes you because you treated him like a human being . . . O gods of the underworld, greet this pharaoh in peace . . . The poor woman was constantly overeating . . .’
Jen hadn’t been faking. Some unpleasant evidences of that still clung to my clothes. Would John really go to that length to carry out his plans? I felt reasonably certain the Cairo Museum was still intact; if he’d laid plans for an event to take place three weeks hence, they couldn’t be changed so quickly. Anyhow (I kept telling myself) I had now done my duty as a good little spy. Sweet and Bright knew John was the one they were after. I had been as direct as I dared; they couldn’t have misunderstood the message. It was out of my hands now; I hadn’t volunteered to defend the museum with six-shooters in hand.
The first person I saw when I walked up the gangplank was John. He was leaning on the rail, cigarette in hand. Fair hair becomingly ruffled by the breeze, shirt as fresh and clean as new-fallen snow, he surveyed the dusty, sunburned, limping crowd with kindly condescension.
‘Much better,’ he called, in response to a question from someone – Feisal, I think; it certainly wasn’t from me, I was speechless. ‘No cause for concern, the doctors said.’ He turned eyes as blue and expressionless as cornflowers on me and added, ‘I felt certain you’d want to know at the earliest possible moment.’
Whereupon he vanished, leaving me a prey – as Louisa Ferncliffe might have written – to a torrent of passionate, conflicting emotions. Chief among them was fury.
I plucked Suzi out of the group waiting at the desk for their room keys. ‘You’d better see the doctor about that sunburn,’ I said abruptly.
She looked surprised. ‘Is it that bad? It doesn’t hurt.’
‘Your back is bright red.’ That was a slight exaggeration, but she was bright pink all over the parts that showed.
My forceful personality (or something) prevailed; Suzi allowed herself to be towed away.
Carter earned his passage; he was on call twenty-four hours a day, ashore and on land, but the only time when one could count on finding him in the infirmary was after the tours returned, when he would be available ‘to attend to any minor injuries incurred.’ I hadn’t liked the sound of that; however, after seeing the rough terrain and feeling the heat of the sun, I could understand why people might be in need of attention for a variety of ‘minor’ ailments ranging from sunstroke to twisted ankles. The infirmary was an impressive set-up, spotlessly clean and very well equipped, including a locked cabinet that presumably contained drugs.
While Carter was inspecting Suzi, I asked about Jen. ‘Not a damned thing wrong with her except overindulgence and a touch of the usual virus,’ was the irritable reply. Apparently the doctor’s amour propre had been seriously ruffled. I could guess by whom. ‘She managed to persuade that officious son of hers to go on with the cruise, which he finally consented to do, after inspecting the hospital and interrogating the entire staff.’
‘So you all came back together?’
‘Yes. If you ask me, Mrs Tregarth was relieved to be rid of him and looking forward to a few days’ peace and quiet. All right, Suzi, you’re in fine shape, if you’ll permit me to say so; use this ointment tonight and cover up for a few days.’
So that was that. Unless one of the hospital staff was a stooge of John’s, he hadn’t had a chance to speak to anyone. I hoped.
I hadn’t left a message in my safe, but I found one there when I opened it. It was short and succinct. ‘Please report soonest.’
I screwed up the paper and tossed it into the waste-basket. If Burckhardt wanted to be so damned mysterious and security conscious he could damn well wait till I was good and ready. Anyhow, I had reported, to Sweet and Bright.
I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I got in the shower and let the nice hot water flow over my aching body. It was tension rather than exercise that had stiffened those muscles; I’d been on edge all day. Considerate of John to reassure me at the earliest possible moment . . . Damn his insolence!
Dress that evening would probably be informal, I decided, slipping into a cotton skirt and sleeveless shirt. Everyone else would be tired too. The schedule was really fierce, and tomorrow would be another full day, with tours to Meydum and the Faiyum. I found myself looking forward to Tuesday, when we were supposed to cruise all day. I hadn’t had time to enjoy my little balcony or explore the amenities of the boat, which included a hairdresser, shop, gym, and pool.
However, when I arrived at the saloon in time for Happy Hour I found the others discussing the change in schedule which had been posted on the bulletin board. Meydum and two other scheduled stops had been postponed till the return trip. We were to sail immediately for Amarna.
Most of the group didn’t seem to care, but a few were complaining bitterly – the elderly couple from San Francisco because they were habitual complainers and Louisa because she wanted to use Meydum as the setting for her new novel. ‘This will disrupt my writing schedule fatally,’ she declaimed. ‘I had promised my impatient publisher to have at least fifty thousand words written by the time we reach Luxor. But now – how can I begin? My imagination cann
ot take fire until I have seen those magnificent ruins.’
I suspected Louisa was thinking of two other ruins. Meydum had never been a city, just a huge cemetery. How could she set an entire novel in a graveyard? Love among the mummies? That one had already been done. Seeing my colleagues gathered at a table nearby, I started towards them, figuring they would know the reason for the change in plan, but then I saw Larry beckoning me. He was sitting by himself in the smoking section. Whitbread and the secretary, whatever his name might be, were at another table.
We exchanged raves on the activities of the day and then I asked, ‘Do you know why the change in schedule?’
‘It has to do with the water level” was the prompt response. ‘This is one of the largest boats on the river; it can’t get through the locks at Asyut, which were designed for smaller vessels, if the Nile is low. There won’t be a problem going upstream, but I gather there is some concern about the return voyage.’
We had been left strictly alone until then. Tact, consideration for Larry’s obvious desire for privacy – or the presence of that tall formidable figure at a nearby table? Ed was facing us; though he did it unobtrusively, he never took his eyes off his boss. He hadn’t been so visible the night before. Had something happened to increase his concern about Larry’s safety? I was considering this, and not liking the possibilities that occurred to me, when a man approached our table. Tall, fair-haired . . . My heart did not skip a beat. My heart would not have skipped a beat even if I hadn’t recognized Foggington-Smythe.
‘May I join you?’ Without waiting for an answer he pulled out a chair and planted himself in it. ‘I felt I deserved a respite after spending the entire day answering idiotic questions from people who didn’t bother doing basic research.’
There was a resemblance to John, all right – that air of condescending superiority. John wouldn’t have made a stupid remark like that one, though. He had too strong a sense of the ridiculous.
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