Egyptian Honeymoon (3 page)

About half way down the aisle, she noticed a striking-looking woman, who was staring at her intently. She recognised her as Marcia Manning, whom Steve had once brought as a customer to the shop where she modelled. She recalled that she had also acted as hostess at his party. Hard green eyes were fixed maliciously on Noelle's white face, while her full mouth curled contemptuously. Her presence was hardly in good taste, for she had been one of Steve's girl-friends, and Noelle could read her thought: A mere model girl when he could have had me. For Marcia was something of a celebrity in her circle and had money of her own.

Then they were past and Noelle forgot her, with the ordeal of the reception ahead of her. This followed a conventional pattern. Refreshments and champagne were served as it was too early for lunch, the newly wedded pair were catching a flight to Cairo before noon. Noelle inserted a knife into the magnificent three-tiered cake, her hand guided by her bridegroom's. There was much laughter and chaffing, as more professional hands took over and cut the required portions. Their healths were drunk, impromptu speeches made. At last Noelle could escape and went to change in the bedroom reserved for her use, with Jeannette's help.

'Oh, you lucky, lucky girl,' her cousin cried. 'How I wish I were you! He's absolutely gorgeous and he'll give you everything you want.'

Noelle stepped out of the shimmering folds of her wedding gown, and reached for the blue linen outfit she had chosen for travelling. Though it was autumn in England it would be hot in Cairo. The dress and matching jacket were simple but beautifully cut. Dispassionately she considered Steve. To Jeannette's unsophisticated eyes he would appear the materialisation of a young girl's dream—handsome, elegant, surrounded by an aura of success and emitting that sexual charm which had enslaved so many women, but beneath all that he was ruthless and callous, for so she judged him, and she wondered if Jeannette had ever noticed how cold those grey eyes could look. But she wouldn't, of course; she was blinded by his glamour, the evidence of his wealth, for which she herself cared not one jot.

'Yes, I suppose I am lucky,' she said without enthusiasm, as she re-fastened Steve's pearls about her neck. She had everything… except love, for Steve had never mentioned that. He scorned the tender emotion. He desired her body and wanted to add her to his collection of beautiful objects, that was all.

Jeannette reverently folded the wedding dress which Noelle was leaving behind to be retrieved on her return. The rest of her trousseau was packed in the new leather cases, another present from Steve. Mrs Steven Prescott must travel with luggage suited to her position.

'You're very pale,' she remarked. 'Don't you think you should add a little colour?'

She admired her cousin immensely, she was so lovely and had such a graceful, slender figure. She herself was a little short and stocky, but she seemed oddly unmoved at the enthralling prospect of going away with Steve. Rather she appeared to be remote, wrapped in some dream world of her own.

Noelle glanced indifferently at her face in the mirror.

'It'll do. I've packed my make-up.' She looked at her watch. 'We'd better be going.'

Yet she felt reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the room. Downstairs Steve was waiting and she felt no urge to join him. She had been bought, but the price had still to be paid.

They were served lunch during the flight, the meal arriving neatly packed in the plastic containers used by the airlines.

'Hardly a celebration,' Steve said drily, noticing how little she ate. 'But we'll make up for it at dinner tonight.'

He had insisted that she had the window seat, for Noelle had never been on a longer flight than to Paris. Not that there was much to see, for beneath them were mainly clouds, a billowing mass of grey and white. It had been overcast when they left London. The cabin was filled with the bright light from the sunlit upper sky, a brilliant blue above them. Steve had changed into a lightweight grey suit with a blue shirt, tie and socks. He had taken papers from his briefcase, and after lunch spread them on the table flap before him and became absorbed in perusing them. Though Noelle did not want any amorous demonstration from him, she was a little piqued by his neglect. After all, she was a bride.

'Do you have to do business even on our wedding day?' she asked resentfully.

'I can hardly take advantage of that in a public aircraft,' he returned coolly. 'Haven't you a book or a magazine?'

He had bought a selection at the airport, but they lay unopened on her knees.

Noelle turned her shoulder to him. 'Yes, but I'd rather look out of the window.'

Only the massed clouds met her view.

'I'll have more time to devote to you once I've got these papers out of the way,' Steve told her.

'Oh, go ahead,' she murmured. 'I won't interrupt.'

He turned his head and gave her a long level look under which she wilted. She preferred to be ignored, didn't she, why had she tried to attract his attention? She hastily opened a magazine and became apparently engrossed in it, not realising she was holding it upside down. Steve regarded her drooping head and averted profile with a pleased smile. She was very decorative, this new wife of his, and he had noticed that even among the hurry and scurry of the airport, men had looked at her. He owned what other men desired, which gave him infinite satisfaction. Noelle was unaware of the trend of his thoughts, but she was very much aware of his critical survey. At least her profession had taught her how to dress, her garments fitted perfectly and the colour became her. She looked immaculate and her poise was perfect, he could not fault her there, but inwardly she was quaking. She had told him she did not love him and she had no intention of trying to shirk her marital duties, but would a simulation of passion satisfy him, and could she pretend what she did not feel? He had not married her merely to look at her, nor for the pleasure of her society, which he did not seem to want. She wondered if he realised that she had never slept with Hugh and she was totally inexperienced, in sex. However willing she was she feared she might shrink from Steve's touch, which was not the response he would expect from a woman he had bought at some considerable expense. Perhaps if she drank freely at dinner that night it might help.

Steve returned to his papers and Noelle abandoned the magazine for the window. She could see water below them now and here and there an island. The Mediterranean. She and Hugh had planned to visit it some time when they had enough spare cash for a foreign holiday, though they would have had to wait a long time before they could have saved enough to go as far afield as Egypt. Due to Simon's blundering, Steve believed it was where she most wanted to go, and was offering it to her on a plate; that was kind of him, but she had no wish to visit it in
his
company. Ah, if only Hugh was sitting beside her instead of this intimidating stranger! Why, oh, why did he have to be killed? Unconsciously she sighed, and Steve gave her a sharp look.

'Not much longer,' he said, and began to fold up his papers. In confirmation a disembodied voice over the intercom told them they would be landing in fifteen minutes and the sun was shining over Cairo. 'But then it always does.'

Steve returned his papers to his briefcase as they came in over land. As the aircraft lost height, Noelle could distinguish buildings, waterways and roads spread beneath them. Egypt, one of the oldest civilisations the world, the land of the Pharaohs, where men had lived, loved, fought and died through aeons of history. A country that had been cultured when England was a wooded swamp peopled by barbarians. Noelle felt her pulses stir as the romance of it hit her. Then the lights went on behind the notices forbidding smoking and ordering them to fasten their seat belts. They were arriving.

The hotel where Steve had booked a suite for them overlooked the Nile. It was air-conditioned and seemed almost chill after the heat outside. The suite comprised a sitting room, a bedroom, bathroom and a dressing room. The hotel had recently been rebuilt and was adorned with appropriate murals. Noelle sank into one of the deep armchairs in the sitting room and looked about her. The thick piled carpet was beige, the walls honey-coloured and decorated with pseudo-Egyptian reliefs, of tan-coloured figures in the conventional attitude, shoulders square, faces in profile, dressed in white kilts. There was Osiris, wearing the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, holding the crook and flail, sitting in judgment over the departed souls, escorted by the jackal-headed Anubis. Noelle, who had always been interested in Egyptology, was pleased that she had recognised him. Steve wrinkled his straight nose at the Lord of the Underworld, remarking:

'A bit overdone, isn't it? Like the paintings in a tomb. Would you care for a drink?'

'Yes, please. Lemonade with plenty of ice.'

He gave the order over the phone.

In a short space of time it arrived in a tall frosted glass. Service was prompt, the waiter obsequious. He had learned to recognise quality. Noelle looked curiously at his dark features surmounted by a small white turban and when he had gone, enquired:

'I suppose they're all Arabs?'

'Yes. The descendants of the original Egyptians are the Copts, who are mostly Christians, but they're in the minority.'

Noelle knew that, but did not betray her knowledge. If it pleased him to instruct her let him do so. She would do anything to atone for the inadequacy of her feelings towards him. He went on to suggest that she bathed and changed, she could use the bathroom first as he had one or two contacts to make. They would dine early in the hotel restaurant as she must be hungry after such a poor lunch. Noelle thanked him for his consideration, though she felt she never wanted to eat again. Her mouth was dry as she watched Steve prowling about the room, commenting upon this and that. He was used to luxury and critical; she was not, and felt a little overwhelmed.

Their luggage had been taken into the bedroom through another door and she went to unpack. The bedroom too overlooked the Nile and was opulently furnished, the dresser having triple mirrors supplemented by a pier-glass; the wardrobes were built in, the whole decorated in white and green. There were twin beds, but each was large enough to accommodate a couple; the quilts were decorated with a lotus, flower design. Involuntarily Noelle's eyes kept straying towards them. An early dinner, Steve had said, and then… the night together. Mechanically she unpacked her cases, shaking out her trousseau dresses. The wardrobe space was all hers, for Steve's luggage was in the dressing room, where apparently he would change. Her own things disposed of, she hesitated. Should she unpack his? It seemed a liberty, but the man
was
her husband and might expect her to do so.

She decided to bath first, and selecting clean nylon underwear went into the gleaming bathroom. The bath was of what looked like white marble, the taps glittered like silver. There was an array of white Turkish towels on the heated rail and an assortment of crystals and bath essences, for the hotel catered for the rich and charged accordingly. The white purity of the room was relieved by a mosaic on the wall beside the bath depicting Cleopatra's arrival at Cydnus to meet Mark Antony. She was shown reclining on cushions in her barge, amidst a wealth of black hair, the traditional gypsy queen, though being a Macedonian she could well have been fair. Recalling that tragic love story, Noelle wondered vaguely if a man could be so infatuated as to lose a kingdom for love of a woman. Certainly Steve never would. If she threatened his business prestige she would very quickly be discarded, she thought wryly. He expected her to enhance it by acting as a gracious hostess and make herself beautiful to impress his friends. That part would not be so difficult, her training would help, but he would also expect reciprocation in bed. Throughout the day he had seemed like a polite stranger, and yet tonight… She dragged her thoughts away from the ordeal ahead, and tried to relax. The warm, scented water drew the fatigue of the journey out of her. She had made her bed and she must lie on it… with Steve, but she would not think of that until the dreaded moment came.