Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) (17 page)

“There are vendors at the top?” Elizabeth asked, tilting her head back and peering up into the bright sun.

“They’re everywhere, the buggers.”

Simon hadn’t noticed the climbers at first, but now he saw small groups of tourists at the northeast edge making their way to the top of the pyramid. Two men stood on a level above and pulled each person up by the arms while a third got behind and pushed. It looked like a cross between an awkward ballet and torture on the rack.

Simon could tell from Elizabeth’s expression that she was dying to see what it was like at the top, but she shook her head. The Everetts happily took their tickets.

“Right!” Trevor said, raising his golf club into the air. “You brought extra balls this time?” he asked his wife.

She patted her purse.

Good God in Heaven, what an ass. He was going to hit golf balls from the top of the Great Pyramid.

“Up we go, old girl!” Trevor said as he pulled his wife away. “See you at the hotel later. Ta!”

Simon watched them go with disgust. Finally, he turned to Elizabeth and could see the longing for adventure in her eyes. “Are you sure? Don’t mind them.”

She nodded, but it was regretful. “I hate not to do it, but I can’t bring myself to, knowing how much damage it does.”

Simon, although not tempted to climb it, had the same thoughts. It was a shame so little care had been taken in these early days. God only knows how much destruction reckless tourists had done over the years. As two nearby sightseers chipped off pieces from one of the giant stone blocks, he had an idea how much. He’d even heard that most would carve their initials at the summit. Carved them into the last standing of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. He was glad he wouldn’t, at least, have to see that for himself.

“Well,” Whiteside said, “There’s always the interior.”

“We can go inside it?” Elizabeth asked in shock.

“Of course, but it is close quarters in there. It’s a bit dodgy, but safe enough. Although,” he said as he took in her white frock, “I’m not sure you’re exactly dressed for it.”

“It’s very cramped,” Christina said. “You have to crawl in some parts. And it smells like bats anyway,” she finished, wrinkling her nose.

The temptation to see the great chambers and halls was strong, but Simon was saved by a long line of tourists waiting their turn. Instead, they walked along the base of the massive pyramid past blocks taller than a man, before moving on to the Sphinx.

“Wow,” Elizabeth said softly. He knew this was one of the things she’d most wanted to see and it did not disappoint.

There was something incredibly powerful and majestic about it. Over 60 feet tall and over 200 feet long, it was hard to imagine it had been carved out of a single piece of stone. Whoever built it remained a riddle worthy of the Sphinx itself.

The face was battered from weather and man. Supposedly, Napoleon’s troops had used it for target practice. Whoever it had been, they were hardly the first or the last, he thought as several men stood on the shoulders and posed for pictures.

The sand itself had buried the forepaws as it had the entire thing many times through the ages and worn away the edges. Time and man had taken their toll. The long narrow pharoanic beard and the six-foot wide nose were broken off.

He was about to say as much to Elizabeth, but as he looked down at her he knew that wasn’t what she was seeing. Her eyes had that far off look in them and a gentle smile played around the corners of her mouth.

He knew in her mind, she’d cleared away the sand, repaired the damage, and swept the men off its shoulders. While he saw simply what was, she saw what could have, should have been. It was one of her gifts. She could see the best in everything, living or not.

She glanced up at him and slipped her hand into his as if their touch could make him see what she saw before she turned back to the Sphinx.

“This is amazing,” Elizabeth whispered.

“Shall we?” Whiteside asked from behind.

They lingered a moment and then turned to leave. Simon heard Elizabeth sigh. He followed her gaze. Christina. The girl sat on the edge of a stone, drawing into a small sketchbook before closing it and staring off into space.

“Poor thing,” Elizabeth said with a concerned pout. “I wish there was something we could do.”

Simon knew that look in her eyes and sighed as he released her hand. Honestly, he was surprised it had taken her this long to stick her oar in.

“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the forlorn girl. “Work your magic.”

Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled with a smile. She kissed his cheek before walking over to Christina. The girl was like an injured bird and Elizabeth never could resist helping anything or anyone in need. Knowing he would only get in the way, Simon lengthened his step and caught up with Whiteside, who forged ahead like Stanley looking for Livingstone.

After the Valley Temple, they walked up the long, 500-meter causeway carved from bedrock that lead to Khafre’s mortuary temple and pyramid. Whiteside, happy to have an audience again, picked up where he’d left off and spared no detail.

Despite his initial misgivings, the company suited Simon well. Whiteside was incredibly knowledgeable and even Simon had to admit his enthusiasm was catching. By the end of their three hour tour, Simon had learned more about Giza and the necropolis than he would have in reading a dozen books.

~ ~ ~

Simon let himself enjoy the respite as the sun began to set behind the pyramids just beyond the lush front garden of Mena House. Elizabeth had managed to pull Christina out of her shell. The girl was still clearly upset, but bucking up and making the best of things. Despite Whiteside’s general bewilderment at nearly everything Christina said or did, it was clear how much he loved her, and how much she loved him. He chatted amiably of his time with the Ashmolean museum and his travels with his daughter.

“Do you remember in Switzerland, Christina,” Whiteside said, “when you found that Neolithic axe made from deer antler. Quite clever.”

Simon smiled over at Elizabeth, enjoying Whiteside’s obvious fatherly pride.

“If I recall, father, I found it by literally tripping over it.”

He smiled. “Well, you still found it, didn’t you?”

“It was quite by accident. I was only seven.”

“Such a precocious child!” he said proudly.

Christina shook her head, but smiled fondly at her father.

“I used to travel with my father,” Elizabeth said. “Although,” she added with a small smile for Simon, “we didn’t go to such exciting places as Switzerland.”

To anyone else, she would have sounded like the usual Elizabeth—charming and self-effacing. However, Simon knew her too well and heard the sadness in her voice that always accompanied thoughts of her father.

Eddie West had been an itinerant gambler. He’d taken Elizabeth with him on his travels much the same way Whiteside had with Christina. Except, of course, Elizabeth stayed in shabby motels in Texas and not the four-star elegance of Europe and beyond that the Whitesides were accustomed to.

Arthur was about to ask Elizabeth about her father when a man announced that dinner was being served. Their foursome followed the rest of the crowd into the main hotel and toward the special dining area designated for the Cairo museum benefit.

Simon’s good mood evaporated as they rounded the corner. Standing just inside the main hall leading to the dining room were the last two men on earth Simon wanted to see. Henri Jouvet and Ahmed Kassem stood talking with a well-dressed woman he’d seen around Shepheard’s.

Jouvet called out to them and Ahmed blanched as he saw Simon. Or had he? It took Simon a moment to realize that he didn’t appear to be the cause of Ahmed’s discomfort. The boy was looking right past him and at Christina.

The small amount of color her cheeks had had a moment earlier paled, and her large eyes widened behind her glasses. “Ahmed.”

Oblivious to it all, Whiteside greeted Jouvet with an enthusiastic handshake. The boy stared at Christina, a moment of joy at seeing her vanished and was replaced by embarrassment. Simon’s jaw tightened as the realization set in. Their erstwhile kidnapper had been the one who’d broken Christina’s heart.

That was strike two against the young man. Simon narrowed his eyes at Ahmed, who tugged uncomfortably at his collar.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” the woman by his side said as she slipped her arm possessively through his.

She was attractive in a forced beauty pageant sort of way, mid-twenties, wealthy from the look of her clothing, and, from the look of annoyance on her face, the sort who expected to be the center of attention At. All. Times.

“Awkward,” Elizabeth whispered under her breath, before giving Christina a “courage Camille” smile.

Ahmed started to speak, but had to clear his throat. “I’m sorry. This is Annabelle…”

“Douglas,” she finished with an impatient edge that was hardly softened by a Southern accent and a ridiculous amount of eyelash batting. “Of the Savannah Douglases.”

“Oh, of course, pleasure,” Whiteside said. “I’m sure I’ve seen you around the hotel, haven’t I? Are you a patron of the museum?”

She laughed and her eyes slid to Ahmed, clearly enjoying his good looks and oblivious to his discomfort. Simon rolled his eyes. He’d met this type before and they never failed to set his teeth on edge. “I am now,” she said as she pulled Ahmed closer.

Ahmed obviously wanted to edge away, but was forced to smile politely and endure her advances. Simon took a moment to enjoy his discomfiture.

“Yes,” Jouvet said. “Miss Douglas has been quite generous.”

“I just love old things,” the woman said. “They’re just so…”

“Old?” Simon finished for her, politely ignoring Elizabeth’s snort of laughter.

“Yes!” she said enthusiastically.

“Well,” Whiteside said, trying to fill the awkward silence that followed. He glanced around the small group and finally noticed his daughter’s expression. “Are you all right, my dear?”

Christina looked at Ahmed for a moment and then straightened her shoulders and turned away from the man who had obviously broken her heart. Good for her, Simon thought. “I’m fine, father.”

He frowned and looked between her and Ahmed, but before he could say anything more, Elizabeth stepped in to save her.

“I think Christina and I are going to wash up. Will you excuse us?”

“Are you going to the little girls’ room?” Annabelle said, as she moved to follow.

Simon abruptly stepped in her way. “I think your table is ready.” He glared meaningfully at Ahmed who spluttered in agreement.

“Good seeing you again,” he said as he pulled a confused Annabelle away.

Jouvet, arched an eyebrow. He’d clearly seen the undercurrents, but appeared to have no idea what they were about. He bowed slightly. “Arthur. Cross.”

Whiteside watched him follow Ahmed and Annabelle into the dining room and Simon could see the dawn breaking as he realized why his daughter had been upset.

Simon cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should wait for the ladies over there?”

Christina’s eyes were red-rimmed when they returned, and he half expected the girl to beg off for the evening, but she stayed, soldiering through dinner and conversation. She commented occasionally throughout their meal, but the bright, charming girl he’d had a glimpse of earlier had dimmed.

When the last plate had been cleared, the men were invited into the billiard room for cognac and cigars. Simon would have preferred to have gone with Elizabeth to sit on the veranda, but he dutifully played his role.

Men sat in large leather club chairs clustered together in a comfortable salon. Simon and Whiteside found a pair of chairs in a corner near the windows. It was dusk now and hotel workers traversed the perimeter of the grounds lighting torches as they went.

Whiteside watched them move from right to left and puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. Simon took a sip of what turned out to be a rather fine glass of Martell.

“I wish she’d told me,” Whiteside said at last. When Simon didn’t respond, he glanced over at him and smiled. “I’m old, but I’m not blind. Or perhaps I am. I had no idea until today.”

Simon shook his head in confusion, pretending not to know what Whiteside was talking about, but the other man just smiled sadly. “It’s all right. I suppose the father’s always the last to know.”

Having never been on this side of events, Simon didn’t know what to say and found himself offering vague platitudes. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

Whiteside nodded, although the crease between his eyes and the worried set of his mouth betrayed his true thoughts. “Of course.”

He took a pull on his pipe and let the smoke drift of its own accord before blowing it out in a long smooth stream. “You don’t have children, do you, Cross?”

“Not yet,” Simon said. The confidence in his voice caught him by surprise, as though it were a certitude. Perhaps, in his heart it was.

“Hmm.” Whiteside settled back in his chair. “You know, I was about your age when Christina was born.”

It was a simple truth, but it hit Simon squarely in the gut.

Whiteside shook his head and looked every year of his sixty. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I never realized how old I’d feel even though she’s still so young. Now she’s growing up and I feel like one of those antiquities half buried in the sand. Bound to be forgotten.”

The realization that he would be in his sixties when his child was Christina’s age caused Simon’s head to spin and his chest to tighten.

“Of course, if her mother were still alive, I…” Whiteside inspected the bowl of his pipe and frowned. “I don’t mean to be so maudlin, but it’s times like these when I feel her loss most acutely. Most acutely indeed.”

Simon could only imagine. Just the merest thought of losing Elizabeth made his blood run cold. “How long has it been?”

“Ten years. Christina was just eight when…her mother passed. I was at a total loss, as you can well imagine.” Whiteside took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m afraid I’ve not done a very good job of it. Dragging the poor girl all over the world.”

He sat forward in his chair and tapped his pipe against a crystal ashtray. “I just couldn’t bring myself to pack her off to boarding school or leave her in London. Told her we were a matched-set, couldn’t be broken up. I suppose it was selfish of me.”