Whispers in the Sand (18 page)

“Don’t.” She spoke sharply. “Quickly. I can hear voices. Make the offering.”

Outside in the distance Anna heard a guffaw of laughter, followed by a sudden animated burst of conversation in what sounded like excited Arabic.

“Quickly. Put your hands together.”

She did as she was told and felt the warm wine trickle into her palms.

“Hold it up! To the great gods of Egypt. Haroeris and Thoth and Isis, lady of the moon.”

Anna repeated the names, and then added for good measure, “Please protect us and keep us safe.” She held out her hands for a moment, then, slowly parting her two palms, allowed the wine to splatter on the stone at her feet. All desire to laugh had left her. The atmosphere in the small room was suddenly electric. She felt herself holding her breath and glancing at Serena, saw that she was staring at the wall, transfixed. She followed her gaze and gasped. Was that the shadow of a man superimposed upon the carving? For a moment she didn’t move, then Serena brought her arms up and crossed them over her chest. Her bow towards the wall was deep and reverent. Anna hesitated, then copied her.

They had barely finished when two figures appeared in the doorway. “I thought I saw you duck in here. What are you up to?” Ben’s shape blocked out the light for a moment. He pulled off his hat and wiped his forehead with his arm. “Have you seen anything interesting? Have you looked at the mummified crocs yet?”

Joe had followed him in. Both men had cameras in their hands. Anna surreptitiously rubbed the red wine from her palms on a tissue. She could smell it, rich and alcoholic in the air, and waited for the men to comment, but they seemed not to notice. Serena had screwed the cap back on her bottle. She slid it into her bag. In seconds they were back in the sunshine and the four of them were heading slowly further in towards the heart of the temple.

Anna glanced at Serena. “Did you see it?”

Serena nodded. She put her finger to her lips. “Well talk later, back on the boat. Keep your eyes open, though. The gods are definitely around.” With a grin, she linked her arm through Ben’s. “We’ve lots more to see, then Omar said we should look at the stalls down there in the village and buy ourselves something pretty if we can negotiate a good price.”

For the second time, Anna made her way up onto the sundeck after their late lunch. She glanced round for the empty chairs and chose one at the extreme front of the boat. Clutching her hat and the bag which contained both sun lotion and diary, she made her way towards it, between the intrepid sun worshippers who were braving the afternoon’s heat, and, sitting down, she swung her long brown legs up on the leg rest in front of her. The air was very hot, and she could feel the lethal bite of the sunlight on her skin, even through the sun cream. Most of the others were below in the shade or asleep in their cabins, content to rest after the strenuous morning.

She heard footsteps near her suddenly and feigned sleep behind her dark glasses. She couldn’t cope with Andy and Charley at this moment. Lunch had provided Charley with several opportunities to clutch at his arm and pout in Anna’s direction. The display had left her cold, and Andy, she was glad to see, had ignored the woman almost completely, plainly growing tired of her petulance.

She half opened one eye and saw that it was Toby who had come up on deck. Ignoring the chairs, he walked up to the rail and leant on it. There was a sketchbook in his hand, she noticed, though he hadn’t opened it. He didn’t seem to have noticed her, concentrating all his attention on the river, where a graceful felucca was winging its way past them.

She lay still, Louisa’s diary unopened in her bag. The hot air was heavy, and it was hard to stay awake. Her eyelids drooped. She was aware of Toby putting one foot on the lower rail to rest more comfortably, then he opened his sketchbook and pulled a pencil out of his shirt pocket.

The boat would soon be leaving Kom Ombo to travel on south towards Aswan. Once they had started moving, there would be a slight breeze. Stretching like a cat, she closed her eyes.

She woke with a start as she heard the engines beginning to rumble in the depths of the boat, and a slight tremor ran through the deck.

“We’re just leaving.” Toby was still at the rail. He didn’t turn round, but she assumed he was addressing her; there was no one else within earshot. He was sketching swiftly and fluently, his pad resting in front of him, glancing up every few seconds to take in more detail of his subjects. This time, it was a man in a turban rowing a small boat heavily laden with green animal fodder,
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. Anna sat up and levered herself to her feet. She went to stand beside him at the rail. “Those are good.” She had glanced down at the page of small sketches. He had made several of the boat, so low in the water there was virtually no free-board. And he had sketched separately the strange oars she had noticed everywhere—back to front compared with the ones she knew at home—with the broad end at the top for the rower’s hand and the narrow part in the water.

“Thank you.” He drew for a few more seconds. “That is the island where the crocodiles used to bask. Sobek’s subjects…” He nodded at a low-lying sandy dune ahead. The temple ruins were above them now on the east bank.

“I was hoping we’d see some crocodiles.” Anna leant next to him, feeling the cooler breeze now on her cheeks.

He shook his head. “Not any more. They disappeared from the river after they built the Aswan Dam.” He finished his sketch and flipped his notebook shut. Turning, he leant on the rail, his back to the water. “Are you enjoying the trip so far?”

She nodded. “Very much.”

“When are you going to let me see the diary?” He wasn’t looking at her. She followed his gaze and saw the old book, unmistakable in its worn leather cover, poking out of her bag on the deck beside her chair. She frowned. She couldn’t explain her reluctance to show him, but already he had pushed himself off the rail and gone to squat beside her bag. Throwing his own sketchbook down on the chair, he picked up the diary and, without further delay, opened it. “There aren’t many sketches.” It was almost an accusation.

“No.” She was irritated by all this interest in her property and indignant that he had picked it up without her permission. She didn’t want him to touch it. “I’m sorry I can’t lend it to you. I’m reading it myself.” She kept her voice steady with an effort.

“And you don’t trust me.” He squinted up at her suddenly. His eyes were very clear in the blinding sunlight. His face had changed from a pleasant openness and had reverted to the hard, closed look she had seen on the plane.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone with it,” she said as calmly as she could. “It is a personal document belonging to my family.”

“And pretty valuable, no doubt.” He was still leafing through the pages almost greedily. He paused when he reached one of the tiny cameo watercolours and turned the book round to see it better. “She was good. Delicate. Her eye was fantastic. And her sense of colour. Do you see? She never falters—never hesitates. One stroke and it is perfect. You shouldn’t bring this out in the sun, you know. Or put it near your sun cream. It’s not some cheap paperback novel to cart around as the mood takes you. This is priceless!”

“It wasn’t in the sun until you took it upon yourself to open it!” Anna retorted. She could feel her cheeks burning and was suddenly furious with him. She was being patronised again. “If you’d be kind enough to give it to me.” She held out her hand.

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse. He was holding it open, staring down at it as though he were trying to photograph it and fix it in his memory forever. Reluctantly, he closed it and handed it to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you that I’m not interested in its monetary value? It’s the drawings themselves. They are unique. She captures the atmosphere as I would never hope to do in a million years.” Just for a second, she saw through his defensive mask and glimpsed something of the spent-up frustration and anguish which seemed to be hiding there. He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something else, changed his mind, and turned away. She watched as he disappeared down towards the lower decks.

There was no time to consider his outburst. Seconds later, another figure had appeared. It was Andy. He saw her immediately and raised his hand. Hastily, she squatted down beside her chair, and returning the diary to her bag, she pushed it out of sight under the seat.

“Was that Toby Hayward I saw up here with you?” His question appeared casual as he leant against the rail.

Anna raised an eyebrow. “It was.”

“Wasn’t he welcome?” He inclined his head towards her slightly.

“Not particularly. I was hoping to read for a bit in peace.”

“That sounds a bit frosty. Am I getting the brush-off too?”

She sighed. She enjoyed Andy’s company, there was no denying it, but just at this moment she could do without anyone’s, even his. “It is not a brush-off, Andy. I am just tired after this morning. It was pretty strenuous, after all. We all had a nice lunch together. I was hoping now to let the boat take the strain and enjoy some quiet, leisurely cruising.”

She thought for a moment he was going to turn away, and she gave a sigh of relief, but he changed his mind. He stopped and faced her again. “Did he ask you about the diary?” he asked casually.

“He did.” She groaned inwardly, thoroughly irritated by his persistence. Was there to be no end to this questioning? First one, then the other. Stooping, she scooped up her bag. “Actually, Andy, if you will forgive me, I think I’ll go inside. It’s a bit hot up here for me, and I might have a bit of a sleep before we all start eating again.” She didn’t give him a chance to reply. Leaving him standing there, she made her way below, heading back towards her cabin.

Reaching into her bag for her key, she pushed open the door. The cabin was in semi-darkness. Before she had left it, she had slid the slatted shutters across the open windows to keep the sunlight out. She stepped inside and stopped, gagging. The air was thick with the same dusty, spicy smell which had come before from the peaty substance in her suitcase. Choking, she staggered towards the window, and throwing the bag on the bed, she pulled off her hat, and hurling it down, she dragged back the shutters. Sunlight flooded across the small cabin. She spun round, scanning the room, and then she spotted it on the floor, near the shower room door, a thin scattering of brown, resiny fragments. She shuddered.

The shower room door itself was open, and slowly she forced herself to move towards it.

Her cosmetics bag was lying on its side under the washbasin, the contents scattered across the floor. Of the polythene-wrapped bottle there was no sign. With an exclamation of alarm, she bent and scooped the things back into the bag and looked round. It was only a small area. There was nowhere for the bottle to have rolled. There was nothing for it to hide beneath. Carrying the bag back into the cabin, she emptied it onto the bed. She was shivering, she realised suddenly. Reaching for the sweater that was lying on the quilt, she pulled it on and then stood looking at the collection of lipsticks and eye shadows and the tiny travelling plastic pots of this and that cream. Irrelevantly she found herself wondering why she had brought them. She had used virtually none of them since she had come. But of the one thing she wanted to see, the little Egyptian bottle, there was no sign.

She sat down on the bed, running her hands lightly over the make-up as though to fix it there, in her cabin.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, then she stood up again and went to kneel by the door to the shower. These fragments were not powdery like the last. They were sticky. She stared down at her fingers with a shudder of revulsion. She couldn’t shake the stuff off. It clung to her skin, permeating her hands with the cloying scent of cedar and myrrh and cinnamon. Frantically she scrambled to her feet, and throwing herself towards the wash-basin, she grappled with the taps, turning them on full and rubbing her hands again and again on the tablet of soap until they were raw. Drying them at last, she stepped over the rest of the mess, and snatching up her key, she threw herself at the door. Letting herself out into the corridor, she ran towards the stairs.

There were six cabins on the restaurant deck, three on each side of the long narrow corridor much like her own. Each was numbered, like hers, and all the doors were shut. Which one was Serena’s? She stood there frantically, racking her brains. Had Serena told her the number of her cabin? She couldn’t remember.

A door opened suddenly, almost beside her, and Toby appeared. She stared at him, startled, then forced herself to take a deep breath. Relaxing her face into a smile, she greeted him. “Ah, a friendly face at last!” Perhaps not the most appropriate thing to say, but the first that came into her head. “I was beginning to think it was a bit like the Marie Celeste down here. You don’t happen to know which is Serena’s room, do you?”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry. I think she’s up at the end somewhere, but I’m not sure which one.” Closing his own door after him, he locked it, and edging past her with a nod, he made for the stairs.