The Master's Wife (12 page)

‘What did Mr Blaine think of your exhibition?’ Sabra asked as Antonia inserted a fresh glass plate into the frame.

‘Spencer relies on my father for his opinions. As he has been too busy at the Consulate to come and see my photographs, Spencer has remained silent on the subject.’ She took another picture. ‘Which is a great relief, as it spares me the pain of biting my tongue while he pontificates on matters on which he is completely ignorant. I care for only one person’s opinion – apart from yours, of course.’

She carried the heavy camera back inside. ‘We were so caught up in arrangements for the trip into the desert I had no opportunity to ask Sheikh Imad for his reaction. He must have told you though, Sabra. You were talking for ages. What did he say?’

‘He thought your photographs were remarkable and that you have considerable ability. I’m sure he will have said as much to you.’

‘Yes, he did. But I thought – I hoped he might have said something more to you.’ Desperation tightened her voice. ‘Why else would he have come?’

‘He and I had several appointments last evening. Alas, our conversation was more of politics than the pleasure of viewing your photographs.’

‘But he must have liked his portrait?’ Antonia insisted. ‘Caseley said it was the best of the entire exhibition.’

‘Madame Barata shows shrewd judgement,’ Sabra said, and Caseley knew the Sheikha understood how she had been manipulated. ‘Antonia, you should know by now that Sheikh Imad takes his tribal responsibilities very seriously. For all his wealth and power he is a modest man. So though he admired the skill of the photographer, and no doubt told you so, he will say little about his image. To do so would be vanity.’

‘I don’t understand that,’ Antonia huffed out a breath.

‘Which is why, as your friend, I advise you to look among your own people for –’ she paused for an instant and, seeing Antonia’s mouth compress mutinously, Caseley held her breath, ‘– for future portraits,’ Sabra finished, neatly avoiding a potential argument.

‘Politics,’ Antonia snorted. ‘My father and Spencer talk of little else. It’s so boring.’

Impatience crossed Sabra’s face. ‘The future of this country will be decided in coming weeks. The English have brought order to Egypt’s finances, for which we must be grateful. But the Egyptian people do not want to be governed by a foreign power.’

‘But the Khedive –’ Antonia began.

‘The Khedive is a weak man determined to be on the winning side by playing British, French, the Nationalists and the Sultan against one another.’

‘How do you know that?’ Antonia was curious.

‘Because I know him. He is my cousin.’

Impatient to tell Jago, Caseley was suddenly startlingly aware how, immersed in her grief, and the anger and blame that went with it, she had shut him out, leaving him isolated. Was that why he had volunteered for the long winter voyages to Canada? Was that why he had turned, not to her, but to his former mistress?

––––––––

T
he calèche arrived outside the hotel, drawing up behind another already there. Stepping down, Caseley saw Jago and Hammer lifting out a trunk.

‘Thank you so much, Antonia. It has been a fascinating afternoon.’

‘You and Sabra certainly found plenty to talk about.’ Petulance coloured her voice. ‘I don’t know why you had to whisper. I felt quite excluded.’

‘Speaking for myself, I was anxious that our chatting did not disturb your concentration. I imagine you have an idea in your mind of how you want a picture to look?’ She had assumed the Sheikha lowered her voice because they were speaking of matters that Antonia, unmarried and a non-Muslim, would know nothing about. But nor had she lowered her voice until Sabra’s revelation. It had been an extraordinarily intimate confidence to share; yet so had hers. She felt as if she had taken a step forward, as if her burden of grief was a fraction lighter.

Antonia nodded. ‘There is far more to taking a good photograph than most people realise. Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ Her smile widened, grew warmer. ‘Just think – tomorrow we leave for Cairo. The city is sweltering at this time of year. I hope you will not find the heat too much.’ Instructing the driver to go, she waved then sat back under the shade of the calèche’s hood.

Caseley walked towards Jago.

‘I don’t like it,’ Hammer was saying. ‘Jimbo and I should be going with you to look after that gold.’

‘You know that’s not possible,’ Jago replied. ‘Nathan needs you to sail
Cygnet
to Cyprus. Besides, having you two along as guards would insult the Sheikh.’

‘How’s that then?’

‘It would imply he’s unable to guarantee the safety of his guests and their property.’

Catching sight of her, Hammer raised a crooked forefinger to his forehead. ‘Af’noon, missus. All right, are ’e?’ Jago turned. His glance was searching and Caseley knew he was seeing more than she might have wished.

‘Hello, Hammer. I’m very well, thank you.’

‘Did you have a pleasant afternoon?’ Jago enquired.

‘It was certainly interesting. Shall I ask the concierge to send servants to help with the trunk? Have a safe trip, Hammer. Please pass on my good wishes to the rest of the crew.’

‘Thank ’e kindly, missus. I’ll tell ’em.’

After setting the trunk down near the window, the servants left. Clean laundry had been placed in three neatly folded piles at the foot of the bed.

Jago shrugged out of his coat, crossed to the table at which Caseley had written her letter, and poured fruit juice from the glass jug into two crystal tumblers. He handed one to her and sat on the lid of the trunk. Caseley perched on the chair.

‘What happened?’ The gentleness in his voice made her eyes sting. She didn’t want him to be gentle. She couldn’t be angry when he was kind. Yet she was weary of rage and grief. Her breath caught on a sob. She disguised it by clearing her throat and bent her head to stare blindly at the juice.

She swallowed. ‘Sabra told me –’ looking up, she was jolted by the devastation on his features. It was gone in an instant, leaving her wondering if she had imagined it.

‘Sabra told you?’ he prompted. His raised glass hid the lower half of his face.

‘That the Khedive is a weak man who is determined to be on the winning side by playing the English, French, the Nationalists and the Sultan off against each other. How does she know this? Because the Khedive is her cousin.’

He was silent and she knew he was weighing up all the possible ramifications. Then he raised his glass in salute. ‘You are – invaluable. But surely you did not talk politics all afternoon? I cannot imagine Miss Collingwood bearing that with patience.’

Caseley drank. The juice was sweet and tart and slid down her dry throat like soothing nectar. ‘You’re right. She has little concern for anything except what interests her.’

‘What does interest her?’

‘Sheikh Imad. Sabra tried with great tact to warn her off. But Antonia is deaf to anything she does not wish to hear.’

‘What is your opinion of the Sheikha?’

‘I like her. She knows her position is unusual, especially for an Egyptian woman. Her wealth and status give her freedom to live as she chooses.’ Caseley drank again. ‘She envies me.’

Jago leapt to his feet. ‘Envies you?’ He frowned, incredulous. ‘If she had any idea –’

‘She does,’ Caseley broke in. ‘She was surprised that I had accompanied you and asked did I not have children. Please, will you sit down?’

Lowering himself onto the end of the trunk he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, turning the glass in his fingers. They were barely a foot apart. ‘I’m sorry. Go on.’

‘I told her I’d had two sons but they had died.’ Saying it made her want to rip her clothes and howl. But hearing the words come from her mouth was another small step towards accepting that it was not a nightmare from which she could wake. It was real and all the tears in the world would not change it.

‘She envies me because I have experienced something she never will.’ He raised his eyes to hers and waited. She knew him as a ship’s master who drove his ship and his crew hard, demanding instant obedience, yet never asking of them anything he would not do himself. She also knew him as a man of deep emotion and infinite patience.

Caseley moistened her lips. ‘All Muslim girls go through a – a procedure. Sabra said they are cut.’ She felt heat flush her face. ‘It is done so they cannot feel pleasure and will remain faithful in marriage.’ His expression had hardened to an unreadable mask. But the horror she saw in his eyes made her glad she had told him. She wanted him to understand.

‘Something went wrong and she was left with scarring that meant –’ Caseley swallowed. ‘She cannot be a wife and will never be a mother.’

Muttering a curse, Jago jumped to his feet and prowled the room. ‘She told you this to win your sympathy?’

Caseley watched him. ‘If she did, I willingly give it. But I don’t think that was her motive. Her situation makes her an outsider, as I am. Losing my mother, my limp, working for my father – it made my life very different from those of the girls I grew up with. And now – a mother without children – I am even more so. This afternoon was only the second time I have met her. Yet there is a bond – it is hard to explain.’

A knock on the door made them both turn. Jago took a folded paper offered by the servant, who bowed and disappeared down the passage. Closing the door, he unfolded the note.

‘It’s from Robert Pawlyn. He has just arrived back from Cairo and has news he believes I should know.’

‘Invite him to dine with us. Unless you would prefer to see him alone?’

‘I would not. I value your opinion. You often notice things I might dismiss as unimportant or irrelevant. The more information we have before leaving for the desert, the better.’

While Caseley bathed, Jago dashed off a note and took it down to the concierge for a servant to deliver.

Cool and fresh, Caseley redid her hair, then put on a clean shift and her newly laundered lilac gown. Servants emptied the bath and brought large copper cans of clean water. Jago was in the bath when there was another knock on the door.

A servant stood outside. Begging her pardon for the intrusion he told her Miss Collingwood was downstairs and needed to speak with her most urgently.

Caseley followed him down. Antonia was pacing the foyer. Seeing Caseley as she descended the final few stairs, Antonia hurried forward. Before she could speak, Caseley took her arm and steered her past the reception desk and curious gaze of the concierge into an empty lounge.

‘You have to do something!’ she burst out as Caseley closed the glass door.

‘Why don’t we sit down and you can tell me what has upset you?’

Antonia drew herself up. ‘Don’t patronise me!’

Caseley flinched. ‘That was not my intention. I am simply concerned that your hasty arrival and obvious distress might provoke gossip.’

‘You’re right.’ In another of her lightning changes of mood, Antonia touched Caseley’s arm. ‘I should not have spoken so. But how can I be calm when my whole future is at stake?’

Caseley sat down on the nearest chair and gestured to the one beside her.

Reluctantly Antonia sat, then leaned forward to confide, ‘My father has learned of the bad feeling between Sabra and the Khedive.’

‘How?’

‘From Spencer, who else? Horrible little man. Though how he would have heard ... Still, I daresay such information could not remain secret for long. The point is my father has decided I am not to visit the Sheikha any more, which is ridiculous when only days ago he was praising the usefulness of the connection. He says my unconventional behaviour and choice of friends are causing people to question my loyalties. What people? Most of the English have gone. He must mean Maud. I never liked her. Now he announces that he wants me to marry Spencer. He says it will put an end to gossip. Well, I won’t. Nor can he make me. But Caseley, he is forbidding me to attend the desert wedding. You must ask your husband to speak to him. I can’t miss it. I just can’t.’

Battered by this impassioned torrent, Caseley leaned forward and touched Antonia’s knee. ‘Try to be calm –’

‘Calm?’ Antonia’s voice climbed an octave. ‘Have you any idea what –?’

‘Hush, Antonia.’ Hearing herself use the same tone she had used to discipline her sons, Caseley felt her heart stutter. ‘Do you want the hotel servants spreading your private business all over the city?’

‘No, of course not. But –’

‘You are upsetting yourself for no reason.’

‘How can you say that?’

Ignoring Antonia’s muted shriek, Caseley continued evenly, ‘You could remind your father that my husband is acting on behalf of the British government, so he must go with Sheikh Imad to meet the tribal elders. Jago needs me with him because I speak French but he doesn’t. Neither of us speaks Arabic, but you do. That being so your presence is vital to the mission. As Mr Pawlyn speaks both those languages it might be better if you do not mention his presence in the party. But that must be your decision.’

Antonia’s tension drained away, her anger and anxiety softening into a relieved smile. ‘Of course. That’s perfect. I have to go because Captain Barata needs me.’

‘And I will welcome your company, not simply as another Englishwoman, but to advise me on protocol when we meet the Bedouin women.’

‘But I don’t know anything about Bedouin life.’ Seeing Caseley’s surprise, Antonia lifted one shoulder. ‘Why would I? Sheikh Imad’s education means he is practically a European.’

Recalling the Sheikh’s adherence to cultural rules forbidding him even to shake hands with a woman, Caseley doubted that. But she decided it was more diplomatic not to comment.

‘My own father had very strong views and never hesitated to voice them,’ she told Antonia. ‘So I sympathise with your situation. My advice would be not to argue. Tell him you understand his concerns. But as a diplomat and Sir Charles’s deputy, he will surely want to do whatever is necessary, regardless of his personal feelings, to persuade the Bedouin to take England’s side.’

Antonia clapped her hands. ‘That’s perfect! I should have thought of it myself. But if he says anything more about me marrying Spencer –’