Читать книгу Whispers in the Sand - Barbara Erskine - Страница 12

O keep not captive my soul. O keep not ward over my shade but let a way be opened for my soul and for my shade and let them see the great God in the shrine on the day of judgement …

Rejected by their gods, and fleeing retribution the two priests sleep in the darkness of the tomb. The scent of oil of cedar and myrrh and cinnamon hangs in the hot dry air. There is still no sound. Far above them the cliff is the haunt of kite and vulture. The call of the jackal rends the night sky as the stars fade and the sun disc returns from its voyage beneath the earth to rise again over the eastern desert. In the darkness time is without meaning or form.

On the shelf between the pillar and the wall the small bottle sealed with blood lies hidden. Inside, the life-giving potion, dedicated to the gods, made sacred by the sun, thickens and grows black.

Tired and dusty they returned to the boat late in the evening to be greeted by fragrant hot towels, handed out at the door to the reception area by one of the crewmen from a steaming metal platter. Next they were given fruit juice and then at last their cabin keys. Anna made her way to her cabin without glancing round to see if Andy and Charley were nearby. On the coach she had sat at the back with Joe, relieved to be excused from talking by his instant somnolence. In her cabin she threw her bag on the bed, and as exhausted as Joe had been, she kicked off her shoes and began to pull off her dress.

Abruptly she stopped. Her skin was prickling. The cabin had grown cold and for a split second she had the feeling that there was someone in there close to her; watching her.

‘This is stupid.’ She said the words out loud, staring at herself in the mirror. The cabin was a scant ten feet by eight. The tiny shower had room for barely one person. There couldn’t be anyone there. She pushed the door open with her foot and it swung back to reveal basin and shower, fresh towels ready on the rail.

She glanced up suddenly at her case on top of the cupboard. Had it been moved? She didn’t think so. With a sigh she shook her head. She was just very tired. She had imagined it. It wasn’t cold at all. On the contrary, she felt as hot and sticky as she had on the bus, after her day in the sun. Peeling off her dress she shook it to remove the creases and dust and hung it on the door, then shaking her hair free and sweeping it back off her face she stepped into the shower and turned on the blissfully cool water.

The only empty chair at her table when she arrived at dinner was between Ben and Joe. Slipping into it with a sympathetic smile at the now wakeful Joe, Anna saw Charley link her arm through Andy’s and give it a proprietorial squeeze.

‘So, how did you enjoy day one?’ Ben said quietly in her ear as he poured her a glass of wine.

‘Wonderful.’ She smiled at him and caught his wink. ‘I could get used to all this very easily.’

‘And so you shall. But today is not over yet. Did you see the noticeboard outside the dining room? Omar is going to give us a talk in the lounge after dinner, then the boat leaves at about eleven, so when we wake up in the morning we shall be well on our way up the Nile.’

There was a sudden roar of laughter from one of the other tables and Anna turned. Glancing up Toby caught her eye. With a sardonic wink he raised his glass and mouthed a toast at her, but in the general noise of conversation and laughter she couldn’t hear it. She raised her own glass back and saw Andy turn quickly to see who it was she was smiling at. He frowned. ‘So how did your visit today compare with Louisa Shelley’s?’ He leant across his plate, raising his voice so that it reached her across the table. ‘Has the valley changed a great deal?’

‘Out of all recognition in some ways.’ She glanced from him to Charley and back. ‘In others not at all. There really is a timelessness, isn’t there?’

‘As there is all over Egypt,’ Ben put in.

‘Louisa had the valley all to herself, of course. It must still be wonderful when all the tourists go and it’s empty. That’s a problem all over the world nowadays, I suppose. There are so few places left where one can get away from other people.’

‘The cry of a true misanthrope.’ Andy grinned at her.

She felt herself blushing. ‘No, I like people, but I like to be able to get away from them too, especially when it’s somewhere where atmosphere is part of the attraction. It’s the same in great cathedrals. It should be possible to get away from parties of noisy tourists and uninterested school children who are just ticking the place off their list of trophy visits, or being dragged around by desperate teachers without the slightest genuine interest.’

‘Hear, hear! Well said.’ Andy clapped solemnly. ‘A great speech.’

‘And a sensible one.’ Ben smiled at her. ‘Which I think we would all agree with deep down in our heart of hearts.’

There was a moment’s silence. At the table next door Anna noticed that Toby had turned to listen. She looked down at her soup in confusion. It was a novelty, she suddenly realised, to be listened to!

Exhausted, she went back to her cabin early. Glancing out of the window, shading her eyes against the reflections, she could see the dark river; they had not as yet moved away from the bank. With a shiver of excitement she got ready for bed, and at last reached up for her case, to retrieve the diary. She was looking forward to reading another section before she fell asleep.

‘Sitt Louisa?’ Hassan’s shadow fell across the page of her sketchbook. Louisa glanced up. Her easel, her parasol clipped to the canvas, had been set up in the bows of the dahabeeyah as it slowly sailed south. Of the others on the boat there was no sign. Succumbing after their midday meal to the heat of the afternoon they had returned to their cabins, leaving her alone on deck with her watercolours. Only the steersman at the opposite end of the boat, the tiller tucked under his arm, had kept her company up to now. She glanced up at Hassan and smiled.

‘Before we left Luxor I went to the bazaar,’ he said. ‘I have a gift for you.’

She bit her lip. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Hassan –’

‘I am pleased to do it. Please.’ He held out his hand. In it there was a small parcel. ‘I know you wanted to visit the souk yourself to buy a memento.’

Sir John and Lady Forrester on hearing of Louisa’s plan to visit Luxor again had decided almost wilfully that now was the time to sail south.

Taking the parcel from him Louisa looked at it for a moment.

‘It is very old. More than three thousand years. From the time of a king who is hardly known, Tutankhamen.’

For a moment the angle of the boat changed and the shadow of the sail fell across them. She gave an involuntary shiver.

‘Open it.’ His voice was very quiet.

Slowly she reached for the knotted string which held the paper closed. Untying it she let the string fall. The paper crackled faintly as she pulled it away. Inside was a tiny blue glass bottle. With it was a sheet of old paper, crumbling with age, covered in Arabic script. ‘It is glass. From the 18th dynasty. Very special. There is a secret place inside where is sealed a drop of the elixir of life.’ Hassan pointed to the piece of paper. ‘It is all written there. Some I cannot read but it seems to tell the story of a pharaoh who needed to live for ever and the priests of Amun who devised a special elixir which when given to him would bring him back to life. It was part of a special ceremony. The story on the paper says that in order to protect the secret recipe from evil djinn their priest hid it in this bottle. When he died the bottle was lost for thousands of years.’

‘And this is it?’ Louisa laughed with delight.

‘This is it.’ Hassan’s eyes had begun to sparkle as he watched her pleasure.

‘Then it is truly a treasure and I shall keep it always. Thank you.’ She looked up at him and for a moment their eyes met. The seconds of silence stretched out between them, then abruptly Hassan stepped back. He bowed and turned away from her.

‘Hassan –’ Louisa’s voice was husky. The name came out as a whisper and he did not hear her.

For a long time she sat still, the little bottle lying in her lap, then at last she picked it up. It was little taller than her forefinger, made of thick opaque blue glass decorated with a white, twisted design and the stopper was sealed in place with some kind of resiny wax. She held it up to the sunlight, but the glass was too thick to see through it and after a minute she gave up. Slipping it into her watercolour box, she tucked it safely into the section where the brushes and water pot lived. Later in her cabin she would put it away in the bottom secret drawer of her wooden dressing case.

Picking up her brush again, she turned back to her picture, but she found it difficult to concentrate.

Her thoughts kept returning to Hassan.

Anna laid down the diary and glanced at the slatted shutters over the window. The boat had given a slight shudder. Then she heard the steady beat of the engines. Climbing to her feet she went to the window and pushing back the shutter she opened it. Already they were moving away from the bank. She watched the strip of dark water between the boat and the shore widen slowly then the note of the engines changed and she felt the steady forward thrust of the paddle wheels. They were on their way. She stood for several minutes watching the luminous darkness, then leaving the window open she went back to her bed and sliding under the cotton quilt she picked up the diary again. So, the bottle lying there in her bag, had originally been a gift from Hassan. And what a gift! It wasn’t a scent bottle at all. It was some kind of ancient phial, a holy artefact from the time of Tutankhamen, whose tomb of course had not yet been discovered in Louisa’s day, and it contained nothing less than the elixir of life!

She shuddered. For an instant she was back in that dark inner burial chamber looking down at the mummy case of the boy king and she remembered how she had become instantly and totally aware of his body lying there before her, and how she had dropped her bag – and the bottle – virtually at his feet.

Pulling the quilt more closely under her chin she picked up the diary again, soothed by the gentle rumble of the engine deep in the heart of the boat, and she began to read on.

That night, dressed in her coolest muslin Louisa lingered at the saloon table after Augusta had retired to her cabin. Sir John raised an eyebrow. ‘We sail as soon as the wind gets up a little. The reis tells me that should be with the dusk. The wind comes in off the desert then.’ He reached for the silver box of cheroots and offered it to her. Louisa took one. She had never smoked before coming to Egypt. To know how shocked her mother-in-law would be to see her was enough reason. The scandalised lift of Lady Forrester’s eyebrow had been a second. With a silent chuckle she leant forward and allowed Sir John to light it for her.

‘Can I ask you to translate something for me?’ She reached into her pocket for the paper which had been wrapped around the little bottle.

Sir John took it. Leaning back he inhaled deeply on his own smoke and rested it on a small copper ashtray. ‘Let me see. This is Arabic, but written a long time ago, judging by the paper.’

He glanced at her for a moment. ‘Where did you say you found this?’

She smiled. ‘I didn’t. One of the servants found it in the souk with a souvenir he bought for me.’

‘I see.’ He frowned. Laying it down on the table he smoothed out the creases and peered at it in silence for several moments. Watching him, Louisa could feel her first casual interest tightening into nervous apprehension. He was frowning now, a finger tracing the curling letters over the page. At last he looked up.

‘I think this must be a practical joke. A piece of nonsense to frighten and amuse the credulous.’

‘Frighten?’ Louisa’s eyes were riveted to the paper. ‘Please, will you read it to me?’

He was breathing heavily through his nose. ‘I needn’t read it exactly. Indeed it is difficult to decipher all of it. Sufficient to say that it seems to be a warning. The item it accompanies –’ he looked up at her, his blue eyes shrewd – ‘you have that item?’

‘A little scent bottle, yes.’

‘Well, it is cursed in some way. It belonged once to a high priest who served the pharaoh. An evil spirit tried to steal it. Both fight for it still, apparently.’ His face relaxed into a smile. ‘A wonderful story for the gullible visitor from abroad. You will be able to show it to people when you go back to London and watch their faces pale over the dinner table as you recount your visit to Egypt.’

‘You don’t think it’s serious then?’ She tapped ash from her cheroot onto the little copper dish.

‘Serious?’ He roared with laughter. ‘My dear Louisa, I hardly think so! But if you see a high priest on the boat, or indeed any evil djinn, please tell me. I should very much like to meet them.’

He moved his chair closer to hers as he laid the paper down on the table between them. ‘There are real antiquities to be bought if you have the contacts. I could arrange for some to be brought to the boat when we return to Luxor. There is no need for you to send servants to the bazaar.’

‘But I didn’t –’ She bit off the words before she could finish the sentence, realising suddenly that it would not be wise to tell Sir John that the bottle had been a present from her dragoman.

He leant closer to her. ‘I have been looking at some of your watercolours.’ He nodded towards the corner of the cabin where she had left a folio of sketches. ‘They are very good.’

It was extremely hot in the cabin. She could feel the heat from his body so close beside her; smell his sweat. She edged away from him. ‘That is kind of you to say so. And yes, I should like it if it were possible to have some antiques brought to the boat. I have as you know very little spending money, but if I saw something I liked I could at least sketch it.’

He let out a roar of laughter. ‘First rate! Good idea! I shall look forward to seeing you do that.’ His hand came down on top of hers, suddenly, as she rested it on the table and he gave it a squeeze. ‘First rate,’ he repeated.

Louisa pulled her hand away, her anxiety not to offend him fighting with her desire to stand up and put as much distance as possible between them.

A sound in the doorway made them both turn. Jane Treece stood there, her eyes on the table where, a moment before, their hands had lain together on the piece of paper with its Arabic script.

‘Lady Forrester wondered whether Mrs Shelley would like me to help her get ready for bed.’ The voice was a monotone. Cold. The woman’s eyes strayed to the ashtray where Louisa’s cheroot lay, a thin wisp of smoke rising up towards the cabin lamp hanging from the ceiling beams.

‘Thank you.’ With some relief Louisa stood up. ‘Forgive me, it has been a tiring day.’ She moved away from the table, her black skirts rustling slightly. She could feel Sir John’s eyes on her and her face grew hot again.

‘Your note, my dear.’ He picked up the piece of paper and held it out to her. ‘You had better keep it safe. Your grandchildren will no doubt enjoy the story.’

Anna stopped reading for a moment. Beneath her she could feel the steady movement of the boat as it forged its way south. In the diary Louisa too was making her way over exactly the same stretch of river, heading towards Esna and Edfu. With her scent bottle. A scent bottle with a curse, haunted by evil djinn. In spite of the heat of the cabin Anna shivered.

She lay looking up at the shadows on the ceiling thrown by the small bedside light, the diary propped open on her chest. What had happened to that piece of paper with its story, she wondered.

Her eyes wandered over towards the little dressing table, where she had left her bag. It was dark there; she could just see the outline of the mirror, the glass faintly echoing the light the lamp threw onto the ceiling. She stared at it sleepily and then suddenly she frowned. Deep in the mirror had she seen something move? She caught her breath as a shaft of panic shot through her. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She gripped the quilt tightly to her chest then she closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. This was nonsense. She was dreaming, frightened by a fairy story. She pushed herself up against the pillows and groped for the switch to the main cabin light as the diary slid to the floor with a crash. In the harsh clarity the overhead lights threw on the scene she could see clearly that there was nothing there. The key was still in the cabin door. No one could have come into the room. Her bag was lying untouched where she had left it – or was it? Still trembling with shock she forced herself to push her feet out from under the sheet and, standing up, she went over to the dressing table. Her bag lay open, the scent bottle in full view on top of her sunglasses. Cautiously she touched her scarf. It had been wrapped round the bottle in the bottom of the bag, she was sure of it. Now the scarf lay across the dressing table, a swathe of fine scarlet silk against the dark-stained wood. She stared at it with a frown. Across the silk lay a scattering of some kind of brown papery stuff. Curious, she reached out to touch it and rubbed some of it between her fingers. Then she swept it to the floor. Under the scarf lay the hairbrush she had used before she climbed into bed, the hairbrush she had taken from her bag last thing before she rezipped it and put it on the shelf. She was sure of that too. She had closed it and put it away.

She glanced round. There was nowhere for anyone to hide in the room; nowhere. She threw open the shower room door and rattled back the curtain, still damp from her shower only a couple of hours or so earlier. She looked under the bed, she shook the door handle. It was firmly locked. But already she knew there was no one there. How could there be?

With another shiver she made her way over to the bed and bent down to pick up the diary. It had fallen open when it hit the floor, cracking the spine lengthways. Forgetting the scarf she ran her finger sadly over the leather. What a shame. It had lasted so long undamaged and now it had been broken. It was as she was preparing to climb back into bed that she noticed that an envelope lay on the floor where the diary had fallen. She bent to pick it up and saw that the strip of sticky brown paper with which it had been stuck in the back of the diary had torn away. The thick woven paper told her at once it must be contemporary with the diary and turning it over she saw a crest embossed on the flap. It depicted a tree with a coronet. She smiled. Forrester? Had it been she wondered part of the stationery they used on the boat? Forgetting her fright in her curiosity she opened it. Folded inside was a flimsy piece of paper. Already she had guessed it was Louisa’s Arabic message.

If you see a high priest on the boat, or indeed any evil djinn, please tell me …

The words from Louisa’s entry echoed for a moment in her head.

A high priest who served the pharaoh … an evil spirit … both fight for it still …

Anna found that her hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, she put the paper back in the envelope and opening the drawer in the bedside table slotted it into her slim leather writing case.

Climbing back into bed and pulling her feet up under her she drew the covers up to her chin. The cabin was cold. A stream of sharp, night-scented river air came in from the open window.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and resting her chin on her forearm, she shut her eyes.

She sat there for a long time, her eyes straying every now and then to the bag still lying on the dressing table. At last she could bear it no longer. Climbing to her feet again she pulled the little bottle from the bag. Holding it in her hand she stared at it for a long time, then reaching down her suitcase from the top of the cupboard she rewrapped the bottle in her scarf, put it in the suitcase, tucking it into an elasticated side pocket where it would be safe, closed the lid, turned the key and hefted the case back into place. Helping herself to a glass of water from the plastic bottle on the table she stood for several minutes sipping the cold water, staring out at the blackness of the night as it drifted by, then snapping off the main cabin light she climbed back into bed.

Louisa was not sure what had awakened her. She lay looking at the ceiling in the darkness, feeling her heart thumping against her ribs. She held her breath. There was someone in her cabin. She could sense them standing near her.

‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper but it seemed to echo round the boat. ‘Who is it?’ Sitting up she reached with a shaking hand for her matches and lit her candle. The cabin was empty. Staring into the flickering shadows she held her breath again, listening. Her cabin door was shut. There was no sound from the sleeping boat. They had moored as night fell, against a shallow flight of marble steps, where palms and eucalyptus trees grew down to the edge of the river. Water lapped against the steps and in the distance, against the fading twilight she had seen the outline of a minaret.

A sharp crack followed by a rattling sound made her catch her breath. The noise had come from the table in front of the window. It sounded as though something had fallen to the floor. She stared at the spot, straining her eyes in the candlelight then, knowing she would not rest until she had looked more closely, she reluctantly climbed out of bed. She stood for a moment in her long white nightgown, the candle in her hand, staring at the floor. One of her tubes of paint had fallen from the table. She picked it up and stared at it. The slight movement of the boat as it lay against its mooring must have dislodged it and allowed it to roll from the table. Her eyes strayed to Hassan’s scent bottle. She hadn’t seen him to speak to since he had given it to her that afternoon. While she dined with the Forresters he had been sitting on the foredeck with the reis, smoking a companionable hooker, both men deep in conversation.

She had tucked the piece of paper with its Arabic warning into an envelope and slipped the envelope into the back of her diary. Joke or not, the message made her feel uncomfortable.

The little bottle was standing on the table with her painting things. She frowned. She had surely tucked it into her dressing case? She remembered distinctly doing so before dinner. Perhaps Jane Treece had moved it when she tidied away Louisa’s muslin gown and, not recognising it, had assumed it was part of her painting equipment. She reached out to pick it up and at the last moment hesitated, almost afraid to touch it. What if it were true? Supposing it was three or four thousand years old? Supposing it had been the property of a temple priest in the days of one of the ancient pharaohs?

Drawing in a quick deep breath she picked it up and taking it back to her bed she sat down. Leaning back against her pillows, the little bottle cradled between her palms, she lapsed into deep thought, her imagination taking her from the high priest who followed the scent bottle, to Hassan. Why should he have given her a present at all? She pictured his face, the strong bones, the large brown eyes, the evenly spaced white teeth and suddenly she found herself remembering the warm dry touch of his hand against hers as he passed her the flaring torch in the tomb in the valley. In spite of herself she shivered. What she had felt at that moment was something she had never thought to feel again, the intense pleasure she used to feel at the touch of her beloved George’s hand when he glanced at her and they exchanged secret smiles in unacknowledged recognition that later, when the children were asleep, they would keep an assignation in his room or hers. But to feel that with a comparative stranger, a man who was of a different race and one who was in her employ? She could feel herself blushing in the light of the candle. It was something too shocking, almost, to confide even to her diary.

Anna awoke to find the sunlight flooding across her bed from the open window. The boat was still moving and when she climbed to her feet and went to look out she found a breathtaking view of palms and plantations streaming steadily by. For a few moments she stood still, transfixed, then she turned and pulling off her nightshirt she headed for the shower.

Toby was just sitting down to breakfast as she arrived in the dining room. ‘Another late arrival? I believe most of the others have already finished. Please, join me.’ He pulled out a chair for her. ‘This morning we go to the temple of Edfu. I gather we will be arriving fairly soon.’ He beckoned the waiter with his coffee pot over to the table as Anna sat down. ‘You look tired. Did the Valley of the Kings prove too much of an exciting start?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

‘Not sea sick, I trust!’

She laughed. ‘No, though I must admit I noticed the movement. It did feel odd.’ She reached for the cup.

‘I expect it disturbed you when we went through the lock at Esna. It must have been some time in the early hours. It certainly woke me, but not enough to make me want to go up on deck and watch.’

She shrugged. ‘Would you believe, I missed that. No, actually I was reading Louisa’s diary until late and I think it gave me nightmares. I kept waking up after that.’

‘What on earth was she describing?’

‘She was talking about a scent bottle which her dragoman bought for her in a bazaar. It had the reputation for being haunted.’

‘The scent bottle or the bazaar?’ His eyes crinkled rather pleasantly at the corners, she realised, although he kept all traces of laughter out of his voice.

‘The bottle. I know it sounds strange. A haunted scent bottle!’

‘What haunted it? A genie, presumably. They seem to favour living in bottles.’

‘She called it a djinn. Is that the same thing?’ She smiled, hoping that would show she didn’t believe it herself, that she could laugh it off as he had.

‘Indeed it is the same. How intriguing. Well, you mustn’t let such imaginings disturb your sleep again. Perhaps you’d better not read such sensational stuff at bedtime.’ He stood up, pushing back his chair. ‘What can I get you from the buffet?’

She watched as he made his way across the dining room and picked up two plates. She saw him carefully select two of the largest croissants from the basket on the counter, then he was on his way back. ‘We’ve arrived. Do you see?’ Putting down the plates he gestured towards the windows. ‘Just time to eat, then we’d better go and claim our places in a suitable calèche. We drive to the temple of Edfu in style.’

A line of four-wheeled open carriages, drawn by an array of painfully thin horses was drawn up on the quayside waiting for them, each driven by an Egyptian in a colourful galabiyya and turban. Beside each driver a long, formidable whip rested against the footrail. Every so often one was cracked loudly as the horses milled about, jostling for position. The shouting was deafening, as around the calèches and between the horses’ feet a dozen little boys shouted for baksheesh, and urged the tourists towards their own particular choice of vehicle.

As they assembled on the quayside, Anna found herself standing next to Serena and it was with some relief she saw that they were both bound for the same calèche. She became aware that she had been scanning the crowds for Andy and Charley almost without realising it, but there was no sign of either of them; with them when they were finally settled into their seats were Joe and Sally Booth. Their driver, whose name, so he informed them, was Abdullah, could have been any age between seventy and one hundred and fifty, she decided as she quailed beneath his toothless grin. His skin was especially dark, gauntly drawn into deep creases and his missing teeth rendered his smile particularly piratical. Anna settled beside Serena with a fervent prayer that they were not going to be whisked off into the desert and never seen again. They set off at a canter, passing the other vehicles and heading into the centre of town where the horses challenged lorries and cars with no fear at all. Holding frantically to the side of the carriage Anna wished she had a hand free to take out her camera. There was something deeply primitive in this mode of transport which appealed to her greatly.

The calèche lurched into a pothole and Anna fell sideways against her companion. Serena laughed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? I am so looking forward to seeing Edfu Temple. It’s very special you know. It’s not nearly as old as somewhere like Karnac which we shall see next week. It was built in the Ptolomaic period, but it is famous for its inscriptions and carvings and they were faithful still to the old Egyptian gods even in Roman times.’

Anna found herself wishing suddenly she had spent less time reading up about the scent bottle and more on Louisa’s diary entry on her visit here. As the calèche hurtled up the main street and over a crossroads she pictured Louisa and Hassan together in just such a conveyance. There was a shout from behind them. She turned in time to see another vehicle, drawn by a grey horse with hips that stood out like coat racks draw level with them. Its driver cracked his whip in the air above the horse’s head and gave a shout of triumph as Andy leant forward to wave at them. ‘Last one there pays for the beer!’ His call rang in their ears as his calèche drew ahead.

Serena laughed uncomfortably. ‘He’s like a child, isn’t he?’

Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you see a lot of him if he and Charley are together.’

Serena shrugged. ‘Not that much. Not as much as Charley would like.’ She broke off and they both watched anxiously as a woman crossed the road in front of them, a watermelon balanced on her head. Abdullah cracked his whip just behind her with a malicious grin, clearly hoping to make her jump and she turned, melon still firmly in place, to shout and swear at him without losing an iota of poise and grace. It was impressive to watch.

‘Aren’t they wonderful?’ Serena glanced at the camera which had finally appeared in Anna’s hands now that they were in the thick of the crowds and the pace was less breakneck. She watched as Anna focused and pointed it at the departing woman. ‘I wonder why we don’t carry things on our heads. I don’t know that it’s ever been a western tradition, has it?’

‘Perhaps it’s the damp. Our belongings would get wet in the rain and we’d all develop arthritic necks.’ Anna laughed. ‘It could be a sign that global warming is with us for real – when all the people at the bus stop one morning put their briefcases and bags on their heads.’

Both women laughed. They fell silent again as a small boy passed them, a trussed turkey tucked beneath his arm. The bird’s eyes were crazed. It was panting with fear. Anna raised her camera as Serena shook her head. ‘I find it hard to cope with, the cruelty. That bird. These horses …’

‘They don’t seem to actually hit them,’ Anna put in. ‘Most of the whip cracking is for our benefit. I’ve been watching. My guess is that they know jolly well it would upset the effete western tourists if they hit the horses.’

‘While we are here, perhaps not, but what happens when we’ve gone?’ Serena did not sound convinced.

‘At least they feed them.’ Bags of bright green fodder were hung from every vehicle.

They left the calèches in the shade at the back of the temple and walked the final distance, its full length, towards the entrance. Anna stared up in awe. The temple was huge, a vast squat building, rectangular behind the enormous pylon or monumental gateway, forty metres high, carved with pictures of Ptolemy defeating his enemies. They stopped in front of it, their group forming obediently around Omar, as they listened to his summary of two thousand years’ history and the temple’s place in it.

A white robed figure stood near the entrance, beside the statue of the god Horus as a huge hawk and Anna found herself watching him. A black line of shadow cut across the dazzling white cotton of his galabiyya as he leant silently against the wall with his arms folded. She had the sense that he was watching them and she felt a sudden tremor of nervousness.

‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Serena was watching her face.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing really. I keep getting this strange feeling that there’s someone out there watching me …’

Behind them Omar took a deep breath and continued his story. Neither woman was listening.

‘Not someone very nice, judging by your reaction.’

‘No.’ Anna gave a small laugh. ‘I think Egypt is making me a bit neurotic. Perhaps we could have a drink before dinner this evening and I could tell you about it?’

About what? A nightmare? A feeling that someone had unpacked her bag in the dark of her cabin and moved her little scent bottle? A scent bottle haunted by an evil spirit. She shook her head, aware that Serena was still watching her curiously. It might sound stupid in the cold light of day, but after all, Andrew and Toby knew about the diary. Why not someone else? And someone in whom she sensed she could confide without feeling embarrassed. Wasn’t it Toby yesterday who had suggested she speak to Serena about her strange feelings in the Valley of the Kings? He had thought she might understand.

They were late back to the boat, exhausted and dusty and hot after their visit. Warm lemonade and scented washcloths were followed by lunch and then as the boat cast off and headed once more upstream, the passengers retired either to their cabins or to the sunbeds on the upper deck.

It was there that Andy found Anna a couple of hours later. He was carrying two glasses. Sitting down in the chair next to her he offered her one. ‘I hope you haven’t been to sleep without your hat.’

‘No, as you can see.’ It was hanging from the chair-back. She pulled herself upright and sipped the fresh juice he had brought her. ‘That was lovely. Thank you.’ The deck was deserted, she realised suddenly; while she had been asleep, one by one, everyone else had disappeared. ‘What time is it?’

‘No such thing as time in Egypt.’ He grinned. ‘But the sun disc is getting low in the west. Which means it will soon be time for another meal.’ He patted his stomach ruefully. ‘I suspect our excursions ashore, strenuous though they are, are not going to be sufficiently energetic to make up for all the food we eat.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would this be a good time to let me see the diary?’

The abrupt change of subject startled her. He was, she realised, looking down at her bag, which lay on the deck beside her chair.

‘It’s in my cabin. Maybe later, Andy, if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. No hurry.’ He leant back and closed his eyes. ‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’

‘On the boat, you mean?’ She glanced at him over the rim of her tumbler. It was impossible to read his expression behind his dark glasses.

He nodded.

‘No. Toby is the only one who has seen it. On the plane.’

‘Toby Hayward?’ Andy chewed his lip for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking, I know his name from somewhere. He’s a bit of a loner from what I gather.’

‘As I am,’ she pointed out gently. ‘At least on this cruise. He is a painter.’

She did not miss the raised eyebrow. ‘Indeed. Is he well known?’

Anna smiled. ‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps that’s why you know his name? I don’t think I’ve heard of him, but that doesn’t really mean anything.’

Andy drained his glass. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you want to, but I do think you should take care of that diary, Anna. Apart from being worth a lot of money it’s a piece of real history.’

‘Which is why I have left it locked up.’ She spoke perhaps more firmly than she had intended, but his tone was beginning to irritate her. There were shades of Felix in his manner. And it was patronising.

He laughed, which infuriated her even more. Putting his arms across his face he pretended to duck sideways. ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. I surrender. I should have realised you are perfectly able to take care of it and of yourself. You are after all, Louisa’s great-great-granddaughter!’

A fact she reminded herself about later when she met Serena in the bar and they settled into one of the comfortable sofas in the corner of the room. Outside it was dark. They had moored alongside a stretch of river bank which was, so they understood, within walking distance of the great temple of Kom Ombo. Around them the others were assembling a few at a time. She could see Andy perched on a stool at the bar. Charley stood near him and they were engaged in a noisy conversation with Joe and the barman.

‘So, tell me about these strange feelings of yours.’ Serena leant back against the cushions, her glass in her hand. She scanned Anna’s face intently for a moment then she glanced back at the bar where a particularly loud shout of laughter erupted from the group standing around Andy.

‘It sounds a bit silly talking about it in cold blood.’ Anna shrugged. ‘But someone mentioned you were interested in sort of psychic stuff.’

Serena smiled. ‘Sort of? I suppose so. I gather this is to do with the man we saw at Edfu this morning?’

‘Not him especially. He was real. But for some reason he made me feel nervous. He was watching us, and I keep getting this feeling that I’m being watched by someone. It’s nothing specific …’ She broke off, not knowing quite how to go on.

‘Start at the beginning, Anna. I find things are much more clear that way.’ Serena was giving her her full attention now. ‘There is clearly something worrying you and that’s a shame on what should be a lovely carefree holiday.’

‘You don’t read Arabic, I suppose?’

Serena shook her head and laughed. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘I have a diary in my cabin.’

‘Belonging to Louisa Shelley, I know.’ She saw Anna’s face and laughed again. ‘My dear, it’s a small boat and there aren’t very many of us. You don’t surely expect it to stay a secret?’

‘I suppose not.’ Anna was taken aback. She was thinking suddenly of Andy’s warning. ‘Well, in this diary there is a description of how Louisa was given a little glass bottle by her dragoman as a gift. I have inherited the bottle. With it was a piece of paper, which I also have, written in Arabic, saying that the bottle, which it claims is pharaonic in date, has a sort of curse on it. The original owner, a high priest in Ancient Egypt, is following it and so is an evil spirit because a secret potion is sealed into the glass. I know it sounds ridiculous, like something out of a film, but it’s worrying me …’ Her voice trailed away in embarrassment.

‘You have this bottle with you, on the boat?’ Serena asked quietly. In the general hubbub Anna could hardly hear her.

She nodded, relieved that Serena had not laughed. ‘I brought it with me. I wish I hadn’t now. I don’t really know why except it seemed right to bring it back to Egypt. I’ve had it for years. I always assumed it was a fake. An antique dealer friend of my husband’s said it was a fake. Andy thinks it is a fake.’

‘Andy Watson?’ Serena’s voice was sharp. ‘What does he know about it? Have you shown it to him?’

‘He saw it yesterday. He says masses of fakes were sold in Victorian times to gullible tourists.’

‘He’s right of course. But you don’t strike me as being gullible, and I am sure Louisa wasn’t either, nor her dragoman, if he had any integrity at all.’ Serena paused for a moment. ‘And you are afraid of this curse?’

It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement of fact.

Anna didn’t reply for a moment, then slowly she shrugged. ‘I’ve only known about it since last night.’ She bit her lip with an embarrassed little laugh. ‘But I suppose if I’m honest it is beginning to get to me. Even before I knew the story I had the strangest feeling there was someone watching me. I’ve been jumpy since I arrived in Egypt. Then once or twice I had the feeling that someone has been touching my things when the cabin door was locked and no one could have been there. I’ve tried to persuade myself I was dreaming or hallucinating or imagining it. I was tired after the visit yesterday and everything, but …’ Once again she tailed off into silence.

‘Let’s take things one at a time. Tell me what the note says as far as you understand it. I take it you have a translation?’ Serena’s voice remained quiet, but firm. It had an attractive deep quality which Anna found profoundly reassuring.

Serena thought for a while in silence after Anna had repeated it to her, staring down into the glass she had put down on the low table in front of them, while Anna anxiously watched her face.

‘If Louisa felt there was a spirit guarding the bottle then we must assume the bottle to be genuine, obviously,’ she said at last. ‘And if it’s the same bottle that you have brought with you then the chances are that it does have some kind of resonance about it.’

‘Resonance?’ Anna looked at her anxiously.

Serena laughed again. Anna was beginning to enjoy the deep throaty gurgle. That too was reassuring. ‘Well, my dear, as I said, let’s take this one step at a time. Presumably you know you are of sound mind. When you had this strange feeling, you weren’t asleep; at least you can be sure you weren’t asleep the first time, as you had just stepped out of the shower! You were sober. You knew where you had left your bag. You have probably had your eyes tested at some time in the not too distant past, so, why do you not believe them?’

‘That’s easy. Because if the bag was moved and the bottle unwrapped, someone must have done it. I don’t believe in ghosts. I’m not psychic. After all, nothing has ever happened to it, or me, before. Oh no,’ Anna shook her head, ‘I can’t cope with that idea, I really can’t.’

Serena watched her thoughtfully. ‘Will you show me the bottle?’

‘Of course. Come to my cabin after supper.’ Anna bit her lip. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m a bit nervous about going back in there now. I don’t know what I’m going to find!’

‘If it worries you so much, why not ask them to put the bottle in the boat’s safe with our passports and valuables?’ Serena glanced up as outside the restaurant in the depths of the boat the gong began to ring.

They stood up and began to move towards the staircase which led down to the lower deck.

Anna shrugged. ‘That’s a good idea. I might just do it.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe all this! It must be my imagination. After all, nothing ever happened before I read about it. If it’s true, why has nothing ever shown itself in London?’

Serena turned towards her. ‘Isn’t it obvious? You’ve brought it back to Egypt, my dear. It has come home.’

Unlocking the door later Anna reached in and turned on the light. The small room was empty. Beckoning Serena inside she closed the door behind them. They had lingered over supper with the others, but by an unspoken agreement had turned away from the lounge where the coffee was being served before Omar gave another talk to the assembled company. Tonight’s topic was Egyptian history since the days of the pharaohs.

It seemed crowded in the tiny cabin with two people in there. Serena sat down on the bed whilst Anna swung her suitcase down from the wardrobe. Setting it on the floor she squatted down, unlocked it and threw back the lid. ‘It’s here.’ She reached into the pocket and pulled out the small silk-wrapped bundle. Without removing the scarf she handed it to Serena.

The cabin was very quiet. All the other passengers were in the lounge watching as Omar set up a projector on the bar preparing to take them through Egypt’s more recent history. The two corridors on the boat, off which the ten cabins led, were empty. For the crew, it was their turn to eat. The river bank was dark and deserted. There was a gentle lap of water from outside the half-open window and a dry, quiet rustle from the reeds as the wind began to rise, stealing subtly in from the desert.

Very carefully Serena began to unwrap the bottle. ‘It’s smaller than I expected.’

Anna sat down beside her. ‘It’s tiny.’ She gave a nervous giggle. ‘So small, and it’s causing so much hassle.’

‘Hush.’ Serena pulled away the scarlet silk and dropped it on the bedcover. She was gazing down at the bottle lying on the palm of her hand. She stroked it with her finger. ‘It feels old. The glass is flawed. Bumpy.’ Closing her eyes she went on stroking with her fingertip, gently, scarcely touching it. ‘It’s old. Full of memories. Full of time.’ Her voice was very soft. Dreamy. ‘This is real, Anna. It’s old. Very old.’ She went on stroking. ‘There is magic in this. Power.’ There was a long silence. ‘I can see a figure with my mind’s eye. He’s tall. His eyes are piercing. They see through everything. Silver, like knife blades.’ She was still, caressing the bottle with slow, gentle movements. ‘He has so much power,’ she went on slowly, ‘but there is treachery there. He has enemies. He thinks himself invincible, but close to him there is hatred, greed. Someone, whom he thought a friend, is near him. Waiting. Drawing the darkness of secrecy around him. They serve different gods, but he has not realised it. Not yet …’ Her voice trailed away into silence. Anna held her breath, watching mesmerised as the fingertip with its neat, oval, unpolished nail stroked gently on. ‘There is blood here, Anna.’ Serena spoke again at last, her voice a whisper. ‘So much blood – and so much hate.’

‘You’re making it up.’ Anna backed a step away from her. She leant against the door. ‘You’re frightening me!’ Suddenly she was shivering uncontrollably. Was it this which had woken Louisa and frightened her in the darkness?

Slowly Serena looked up. Her eyes found Anna’s face but she wasn’t seeing it. Her pupils were huge; unfocused.

‘Serena?’ Anna whispered. ‘Serena, please!’

There was another long silence then abruptly Serena rubbed her eyes. She smiled uncertainly. ‘What did I say?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Anna didn’t move from her position near the door.

Serena looked down at the little bottle still lying in her hand. With a shiver she let it fall onto the bed. ‘It is old. Very old,’ she repeated, her voice completely flat.

‘You said.’ Anna swallowed. Her eyes were riveted to the bottle, lying on the bed. ‘But what was all that other stuff? About the blood?’

Serena’s eyes opened wide. ‘Blood?’ There was a moment’s silence then she looked away. ‘Oh shit!’ She put her hands to her face. ‘I didn’t mean that to happen. Forget it, for goodness sake. I’m sorry. Don’t believe anything I said, Anna.’ She reached out towards the bottle, changed her mind and stood up, leaving it where it was. ‘I have a tendency to be melodramatic. Take no notice. The last thing I meant to do was scare you.’

‘But you did.’

‘Did I?’ For a moment Serena stood gazing into her face as if trying to read her thoughts. Then she shrugged and looked away. ‘They must have finished the talk by now. Why don’t we go to the lounge and have a drink?’ She bent over the bed and reached out to the bottle. The hesitation was only momentary, then she picked it up and firmly rewrapped it in the silk square. She held it out to Anna. ‘I should get Omar to put it in the safe for you. I think it probably is genuine.’ Her voice was still strangely flat.

Anna took it reluctantly. She held it for a moment then she stooped and tucked it back in the suitcase. ‘Later. I will. When there’s someone at the desk.’ She opened her mouth to ask another question, then she changed her mind. Grabbing her purse she reached for the door handle. ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’

Drinks in hand they made their way through the lounge where the others had settled in groups round the low tables and they stepped out onto the open covered deck where the tables and chairs were deserted. Anna shivered. ‘There’s a cold wind.’

‘I don’t mind. It’s wonderful – cleansing. Such a relief after the heat of the day.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Let’s climb up onto the sundeck.’

She led the way up to the front of the boat, where Anna had been asleep earlier. All was in darkness up there as they looked down on the string of small coloured lights around the awning of the lower deck. Looking up they could see the velvety black of the sky and the intense brightness of the stars. They stood leaning on the rail looking out across the river. The night was somehow more silent for the sounds of talk and laughter wafting out of the doors below them.

Anna fixed her eyes on the wavy reflections in the dark water below them. ‘How did you do it?’ She took a sip from her glass.

Serena didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about. She shrugged. ‘They call it psychometry. It’s a kind of clairvoyance, I suppose. Reading an object. I’ve always been able to do it, since I was a child. It was what first drew me to the study of psychic phenomena. In children it’s called a vivid imagination. In adults …’ she paused. ‘Eccentricity. Lunacy. Schizophrenia. Take your pick.’ There was the slightest touch of bitterness in her voice for a second, then it was gone. ‘It’s not something to be cultivated lightly, as you can imagine, but it has its uses. Sometimes.’

Anna was still gazing down at the water. ‘What did your husband think about it?’

‘Ah.’ Serena smiled ruefully. ‘Another woman, of course, goes unerringly to the crux of the problem. He vacillated between thinking me delightfully scatty and certifiably insane. But to do him credit he never tried to get me actually locked up.’ Her quiet laugh made Anna glance up at last.

Serena stood back from the rail and sat down on one of the chairs. Leaning back with a sigh she stared up at the stars. ‘We were very happy. I adored him. I kept all this stuff firmly under the hatches as much as I could while he was alive. Then, when he died,’ she paused, ‘I suppose it was rather like coming out. I found kindred spirits. I read. I talked. I wrote. I studied. Charley thinks I’m mad, but she’s not there much and frankly I don’t care what she thinks. I began to study Egyptian mysticism two years ago and I came out here to get a feel of the place in a group before coming back on my own.’

Anna turned back to the river, leaning on the rail. She too was looking up beyond the low bank and the dark silhouette of the trees. The stars were so bright. So clear. She shivered. ‘So, tell me about my bottle.’

‘I don’t remember what I said.’ Serena took a sip from her glass. She caught sight of Anna’s face in the darkness and gave a rueful smile. ‘No, honestly. I don’t. Sometimes I do, but more often than not I go into some sort of trance state. I’m sorry, Anna. But that’s how it is for me. You will have to tell me what I said.’

‘You talked about hatred and treachery and blood.’ The words hung for a moment in the silence. ‘You described a man. The priest. You said he was tall, with piercing eyes.’ She turned with a start at the sound of footsteps behind them.

‘That sounds like me. Tall. With piercing eyes!’ Andy had appeared at the top of the steps. ‘Come on, girls. What are you talking about so secretively? Serena, old thing, I can’t have you appropriating the most beautiful woman on the ship. It’s not allowed. Especially if you’re going to discuss other men.’ He gave an amiable grin.

Serena and Anna exchanged glances.

‘We’ll join you in a minute, Andy.’ Serena did not move from her chair. ‘Now, bugger off, there’s a good chap.’

Anna hid a smile. She said nothing, watching his momentary discomfiture. It was followed by a shrug. ‘OK. Don’t shoot!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘I know when mere males are not wanted. There’ll be drinks on the bar for you if you want them.’

They watched as he padded back across the deck with a nonchalant wave of the hand and disappeared down the steps out of sight.

It was a few moments before Serena spoke. ‘Andy is a scoffer. A non believer. I think it would be wiser not to mention any of this to him.’

‘I agree.’ Anna sat down on the chair next to her. She pulled her sweater round her shoulders with a shiver. ‘So, what do I do?’

‘You could throw the bottle in the Nile.’ Serena tipped back her head and poured the last dregs of her drink down her throat. ‘Then my guess is you’ll be shot of the problem.’

Anna was silent. ‘It was Hassan’s gift to Louisa,’ she said at last.

‘And what happened to them?’

Anna shrugged. ‘I haven’t read much of the diary yet, but I know she came home safely to England.’

‘It’s up to you, of course.’ Serena leant forward with a sigh, her elbows on her knees.

‘You said you were studying Egyptian mysticism,’ Anna said slowly. ‘So, perhaps there is something you could do. Could you talk to him?’ Part of her couldn’t believe she was actually asking; another part was beginning to take Serena very seriously.

‘Oh, no, that doesn’t qualify me to deal with this.’ Serena shook her head. ‘Anna dear, this is – or could be – heavy-weight. A high priest, if that is what he was, would be way out of my league. Probably out of the league of anyone alive today. Those guys practically invented magic. You’ve heard of Hermes Trismegistus? And Thoth, the god of magic?’

Anna bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to destroy the bottle.’

‘OK.’ Serena levered herself to her feet. ‘I tell you what. You read some more of that diary. See what happened to Louisa. How did she deal with it? Perhaps nothing happened to her at all. I’ll spend the night thinking about this; tomorrow we go to the great healing temple of Kom Ombo. Who knows, perhaps we’ll be able to appease the guardian of the bottle by making an offering to his gods.’

It was late when Anna let herself into her cabin. She stood for a moment, her hand still on the lightswitch, staring at the suitcase lying on the floor. Behind her the short corridor was empty. Serena had gone to her own cabin which she shared with Charley on the floor below.

Anna bit her lip. An hour’s cheerful socialising in the boat’s lounge bar talking to Ben and Joe and Sally had relaxed and distracted her. She had not forgotten that the bottle would still be here in her cabin, but had been able to put it to the back of her mind. Leaving the door open behind her she went over to the suitcase and knelt down. Opening it, she looked in. Only a small bulge in the side pocket showed where the bottle was hidden. Taking a deep breath she took it out, still carefully wrapped in its scarlet silk. Not stopping to think she left the cabin, hurried down the short corridor to the main staircase and ran down to the reception desk at the foot of the stairs on the restaurant floor. There, behind a panel in the wall was the boat’s safe where they had all lodged their passports and any other valuables they didn’t want to leave lying around in cabins or bags. The desk was empty and in darkness. Taking a quick, jerky breath, she punched the brass bell which lay on the otherwise empty polished surface. The sound resonated round the reception area, but the door behind the desk which led towards the crew’s quarters remained closed. Agitatedly she put out her hand to strike the bell again, then she changed her mind. A glance at her watch had reminded her that it was nearly midnight. It wasn’t fair to expect anyone to be on duty at this hour. Except for Omar. He had told them he was there for them at any time of day or night if there were any problems. But he had meant appendicitis or murder, not a forgotten trinket. That could wait until morning. Or could it?

Turning she hurried back towards the stairs. His cabin was on the same level as hers, at the far end of the corridor.

Outside his door she stopped. Was she really going to wake him at this hour of the night to ask him to put something in the safe? For several seconds she stood there, undecided, then turning away she walked slowly towards her open cabin door.

On the threshold she hesitated. She had only been away a few minutes but something in the cabin had changed. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the small silk-wrapped bundle in her hand as she stood in the doorway peering in. The suitcase was still lying where she had left it, the lid thrown back, in the middle of the floor. She stared at it. It was empty but something was different. The obliquely slanting light from the bedside lamp threw a wedge-shaped black shadow across the empty case, a shadow in which something was lying. Something which hadn’t been there before. Her mouth dry, her heart beating fast, she forced herself to take a step nearer. A handful of brown crumbled fragments of what looked like peat lay in the bottom of the case. She looked down at them warily, then slowly she crouched down and reached out her hand. They were dry, papery to the touch. When she drew her fingers over them they disintegrated into fine dust. Frowning, she glanced round the room. Nothing else had changed. Nothing had been moved. She rubbed the dust between her fingers then slowly she bent to sniff her fingertips. The smell was very faint. Slightly spicy. Exotic. For some reason it turned her stomach. She dusted her hands together and slammed the suitcase shut. Swinging it back onto the cupboard she rubbed her hands several times on her towel then at last she shut the cabin door and turned the key.

She undressed and showered in nervous haste, her eyes constantly searching the corners of the room. Wrapping the small silk parcel in the polythene bag in which she had packed her film she tucked it into her cosmetics bag and zipping it up tightly she put it on the floor of the shower. Then she closed the door on it.

For several minutes she stood in the centre of her cabin, every muscle tensed, listening intently. From the half-open window she could hear a faint rustle from the reeds. In the distance for an instant she heard the thin piping call of a bird, then silence fell. Turning off the main cabin light at last she climbed slowly into bed and lay there for a moment in the light of the small bedside lamp, listening once more. Then she reached across and picked up the diary. She did not feel in the least bit sleepy now and at least she could lose herself for a while in Louisa’s story and see if she could find any references to the bottle and its fate. Leafing through the pages she found herself looking at a tiny ink sketch, captioned ‘Capital at Edfu’. It showed the ornate top of one of the columns in the courtyard she had seen only that morning.

‘The Forresters decided yet again that it was too hot to do anything other than stay in the boat, so Hassan procured donkeys so that he and I could ride towards the great temple of Edfu …’

Anna glanced up. The room was quiet. Warm. She felt safe. Settling herself a little more comfortably, she turned the page and read on.

The donkey boy who had brought them to the entrance to the temple retired to the sparse shade of a group of palm trees to wait for them while Hassan led the way across the sand. He had commandeered two other small boys to carry the paintbox and easel and sketchbook, their basket of food and the sunshade. They set up camp in the lea of one of the great walls, Louisa sitting on the Persian rug, watching as the boys set down their burden and, rewarded with a half-piastre, scurried away.

‘Come and sit by me.’ She smiled at Hassan and patted the rug. ‘I want to hear the history of this place before we explore it.’

He lowered himself on the edge of the rug, sitting cross-legged, his back straight, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. ‘I think you know more than me, Sitt Louisa, with your books and your talks with Sir John.’ He smiled gravely.

‘You know that’s not true.’ She reached for the small sketchbook and opened it. ‘Besides, I like to hear you talk while I draw.’

Every second the sun rose higher in the sky. She wanted to capture the elegance and power of this place before the shadows grew too short, to record its majesty, the beauty of the carvings which had a delicacy all their own in contrast to the solidity and sheer size of the stone they were carved from. She wanted to reproduce the strength and wonder of the statues of Horus as a falcon, remember the expression of those huge round eyes surveying the unimaginable distances beyond the walls of the temple. Unscrewing her water jar she poured some into the small pot which clipped on the edge of her paintbox and reached for a brush.

‘The temple has only recently been excavated by Monsieur Mariette. Before he came the sand was up to here.’ Hassan pointed vaguely at a spot about halfway up the columns. ‘He cleared so much away. There were houses built on the temple and close round it. They have all gone now. And he dug out all this.’ He waved towards the high walls of sand around the temple on top of which the village perched uncomfortably over the remains of the ancient town. ‘Now you can see how huge it is. How high. How magnificent. The temple was built in the time of the Ptolemies. It is dedicated to Horus, the falcon god. It is one of the greatest temples in Egypt.’ Hassan’s low voice spun the history of the building into a legend of light and darkness. The sands encroached, then receded like the waters of the Nile.

Louisa paused in her work, watching him as the pale ochres and umbers from her palette dried on the tip of her brush. His face was one minute animated, intense, the next relaxed, as the web of his narrative spun on. Dreamily she listened, lost in the visions he was conjuring for her, and it was a moment before she realised he had stopped speaking and was looking at her, a half-smile on his handsome face. ‘I have put you to sleep, Sitt Louisa.’

She smiled back, shaking her head. ‘You have entranced me with your story. I sit here in thrall, unable even to paint.’

‘Then my purpose has failed. I sought to guide your inspiration.’ The graceful shrug, the gentle self-deprecating gesture of that brown hand with its long expressive fingers did nothing to release her. She sat unmoving watching him, unable to look away. It was Hassan who broke the spell. ‘Shall I lay out the food, Sitt Louisa? Then you can sleep, if you wish, before we explore the temple.’

He rose in a single graceful movement and reached for the hamper, producing a white cloth, plates, glasses, silver cutlery. Then came the fruit, cheeses, bread and dried meats.

He no longer questioned her insistence that he eat with her, she noticed. The place settings, so neatly and formally arranged, were very close to each other on the tablecloth.

Washing her brush carefully in the little pot of water she dried it to a point and laid it down. ‘I have such an appetite, in spite of the heat.’ She laughed almost coquettishly and then stopped herself. She must not get too friendly with this man who was, after all, in her employ; a man who in the eyes of the Forresters was no more than a hired servant.

She slipped off the canvas folding stool upon which she had been sitting before her easel and sank cross-legged on the Persian rug, fluffing her skirts up round her. When she glanced up he was offering her a plate, his deep brown eyes grave as they rested for a moment on her face. There wasn’t a trace of servitude in his manner as he smiled the slow serious smile she was growing to like so much.

Taking the lump of bread he offered she put it on her plate. ‘You spoil me, Hassan.’

‘Of course.’ Again the smile.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, listening to the cheerful twittering of the sparrows which lived in the walls high above them. Another party of visitors appeared in the distance and stood staring up at the huge pylon. The woman was wearing a pale green dress in the latest fashion and Louisa reached for her sketchpad, captivated by the splash of lightness in the intensity of the courtyard. The figures disappeared slowly out of sight and she let the pad fall. ‘We look like exotic butterflies one minute, and like trussed fowl the next,’ she commented ruefully. ‘Out of place in this climate. So uncomfortable, and yet for a while, beautiful.’

‘Very beautiful.’ Hassan repeated the word quietly. Louisa looked up, startled, but he had already turned away, intent on the food. ‘Some of the ladies in Luxor wear Egyptian dress in the summer,’ he said after a moment. ‘It is cool and allows them to be more comfortable.’

‘I should like that so much,’ Louisa said eagerly. Then her face fell. ‘But I can’t see Lady Forrester tolerating me as a guest on her boat if I did anything so outrageous. I have gowns of my own which would be more comfortable than this,’ she gestured at her black skirt, ‘but sadly they are bright colours and the Forresters would not approve and so I decided I could not wear them in their presence for risk of offending them.’ Janey Morris’s gowns had, she noticed, been folded away by Jane Treece amongst her nightwear.

‘Perhaps on our visits away from the boat we could arrange somewhere for you to change so that Lady Forrester need not be made unhappy.’ This time there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. ‘I can arrange for clothes for you, Sitt Louisa, if you wish it. Think how much more comfortable it would be for you now.’ Although he barely looked at her she had the strangest feeling he could see through to every stitch she had on – the tight corset, the long drawers, the two petticoats, one of them stiffened, beneath the black skirt of her travelling dress, to say nothing of the lisle stockings, held up with garters and the sturdy boots.

‘I don’t think I can bear it a moment longer.’ She shook her head. The tight wads of her hair, her hat, suddenly everything stifled her. ‘Can we buy some things for me to wear here in the village, on the way back to the boat?’

He shook his head. ‘We need to use discretion. I shall arrange it before we reach our next destination. Have no fear, you will be comfortable soon.’

Setting one of the boys to guard their belongings they strolled a little later through the colonnaded court into the hypostyle hall and stood gazing around them at the massive pillars. ‘You feel the weight of the centuries on your head here, do you not?’ His voice was almost a whisper.

‘It is all so huge.’ Louisa stared up, awed.

‘To inspire both men and gods.’ Hassan nodded, folding his arms. ‘And the gods are still here. Do you not feel them?’ In the silence the distant cheeping and gossip of the sparrows echoed strangely. Louisa shook her head. It was the sound of English hedgerows and London streets where the birds hopped in the road to scavenge between the feet of dray horses. Out here, amidst so much grandeur they were incongruous.

‘Shall we go on?’ Hassan was watching her face as the shadows fell across it. Ahead of them the second hypostyle hall was darker still. He was walking slightly ahead of her, a tall stately figure. On this occasion he was wearing a blue turban and a simple white galabiyya, with embroidery at the neck and hem. The shadows closed over him as he moved out of sight. For a moment she stood still, expecting him to reappear, waiting for her to follow him. But he didn’t. The silence seemed to have intensified around her. Even the birds were suddenly quiet in the unremitting heat.

‘Hassan?’ She took a few steps forward. ‘Hassan? Wait for me!’

Her boots echoed on the paving slabs as she moved towards the entrance where she had seen him disappear. ‘Hassan?’ She spoke only quietly. Somehow it seemed wrong to call out loud, like shouting inside a cathedral.

It was too quiet. She couldn’t hear him. ‘Hassan?’ She reached the entrance and peered into the darkness, suddenly frightened. ‘Hassan, where are you?’

‘Sitt Louisa? What is wrong?’ His voice came from behind her. She spun round. He was standing some twenty feet away in a ray of light from an unseen doorway. ‘I am sorry. I thought you were still beside me.’

‘But I was. I saw you go in there …’ She spun round towards the dark entrance.

‘No. I said we would go and look at the room of the Nile. It is the room from where the water was brought each day for the priests’ libations.’ He came towards her, his face suddenly concerned.

‘I saw you, Hassan. I saw you go in there.’ She was pointing frantically.

‘No, lady.’ He stopped beside her. ‘I promise. I would not frighten you.’ Just for a moment he put his hand on her arm. ‘Wait. Let me look. Perhaps there is someone else here.’ He strode towards the darkened entrance to the hall of offerings and stood peering in. ‘Meen! Who is there?’ he called out sharply. He took a step further in. ‘There is no one.’ He was shading his eyes to see better. ‘But there are many chambers further in. Perhaps there are other visitors here.’

‘But I saw you. You.’ Louisa moved forward until she was standing beside him. ‘If it wasn’t you, it was someone as tall, as dark, dressed the same …’

She leant forward on the threshold of a small inner chamber within the thickness of the wall and her arm brushed his. She felt the warmth of his skin, smelt the cinnamon scent of him.

‘See, it is empty.’ His voice was close in her ear. Usually when she came close to him he moved deferentially away. In the narrow doorway he remained where he was. ‘Without a candle there is nothing to see. I shall fetch one from the hamper –’

‘No.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘No, Hassan. I can see it’s empty.’ For a moment they stayed where they were. He had turned from looking into the darkness and was gazing down at her with a look of such love and anguish that for a moment she found herself completely breathless. Then the moment had gone. ‘Hassan –’

‘I am sorry.’ He backed away from the door and bowed. ‘I am sorry, Sitt Louisa. Forgive me. There is much to see yet, and we have need of light for the inner sanctuary. Istanna shwaiyeh. Please, wait a little. And I will fetch it.’ He strode away from her, his face impassive once more, leaving her standing where she was in the doorway.

She glanced back into the darkness. Her heart was hammering under her ribs and she felt hot and strangely breathless. Turning slowly to follow him she found her fists clutched in the folds of her skirts. Firmly she unclenched them. She took a deep breath. This was nonsense. First she was having visions, imagining she saw him when he wasn’t there, then she was reacting to him as though … But her thoughts shied away even from the idea that she was attracted to him. This could not be.

He had not waited for her. She saw him stride once more into the shadows and then out into the sunlight of the great courtyard in the distance. This time he stayed clearly in sight, and now she could see too, the other group of visitors. She could see the woman in the green dress, gazing up at something their guide was pointing out to them in a frieze far above their heads. She was bored, even from so far away Louisa could see it. And she was hot and uncomfortable in her chic flounced gown with its fashionable slight train dragging in the dust behind her. She could see the dark patches of perspiration showing beneath the woman’s arms, the broad tell-tale stripe of dampness between her shoulderblades and suddenly she longed again for the loose clothing Hassan had promised or the soft cool fabric of the dresses folded beneath her nightgowns in the drawer on the boat. Wasn’t that what she had come to Egypt for? To be free. To be in charge of her own destiny. To be answerable to no one now except herself. Not to her husband’s family in London. Not to the Forresters. Not to their maid. With a sudden leap of excitement she picked up her skirts and ran after Hassan. ‘Wait for me!’ She smiled at the other woman pityingly as she whirled past and wondered with a gurgle of amusement what she thought of this vulgar, hurrying baggage who had emerged from the holy of holies in pursuit of a tall, handsome Egyptian.