Whispers in the Sand (63 page)

She was drifting, rootless, overwhelmed with anger, then cold with fear as the gods came near and shook their heads and turned away.

“Anna? Anna!”

Voices echoed in her head, then died away, carried on the desert wind from the south.

“Anna? Can you hear me? Oh God, what’s happened to her?”

She smiled as the sweet scents of flowers and fruit blew across the sand from the temple buildings. Aniseed and cinnamon, dill and thyme, figs and pomegranate, olive and grape and sweet, juicy dates. Herbs from the carefully irrigated gardens, and from the incense rooms, resins and oils.

Her hands reached out towards the dazzling light. She could feel the sticky richness of wine and honey on her palms. Oh, beloved land, Ta-Mera, land of the flood and of the fire.

“Anna!” It was Toby’s voice, Toby’s hands on her shoulders, her arms. “Anna, what’s wrong?” He was far away, his voice an echo across time. Then there were other voices, bright lights in her eyes, fingers on her pulse. She shrugged. They were distant and unimportant. The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson. Soon the stars would shine out across the desert: the great river in the sky, the milky way, mirror image of the river below and, brighter than any other, the sacred star, Sept, the dog star at the heel of the god Osiris.

Then all was dark. She slept. When she woke she felt the cold sweet waters of the Nile on her lips. Voices again, echoing over untold distances, the silence and darkness again.

“Anna!” That was Serena. “Anna, you’re going home.”

But this was home. The home of the gods, the land of the sun god, Ra.

Strange. She was in a car. She could feel the rattle of wheels, hear the blast of horns, smell exhaust fumes, but they were all so far away. There was a strong arm round her shoulders, and she leant on it gratefully, her body tired beyond all endurance whilst her brain still yearned towards the desert and the sun.

She slept again. The scream of jet engines was the mighty roar of the cataracts inside her head, the swirling water lit by rainbows beneath the dark Nilotic rock, the lift of the wheels from the tarmac, the free flight of the great falcon from whose eyes the whole land of Egypt could be seen.

Obediently she sipped fruit juice and nibbled a piece of bread. Her eyelids closed. Her head filled again with the shriek of the wind, the fury of a dust storm, and the fierce sword stroke of desert lightning above clouds that would never give birth to rain.

Above her head Serena and Toby exchanged glances and frowned. When the cabin attendant brought more food, they waved her on.

The air of England was ice-rimed and sharp. In the taxi Anna stirred. The voice inside her head grew querulous. The being that stared out of her eyes grew restless. Where was the sun?

Anna grew weaker every second.

“I’m sorry to land all this on you, Ma. We didn’t know where to take her.” Toby’s voice was clear suddenly, his arm, still there around her, guiding her, giving her strength. “She lives alone, and as we told you, Charley is at Serena’s, so there is no room there, and I don’t know how to contact her family.”

“Take her upstairs, darling.” The voice that answered his was kind and deep, cultured and reassuring.

“Let her sleep. The doctor is on his way.”

She sank down into the soft, warm bed and felt the embrace of duck down, the support of fluffy pillows in the cool darkness of an English bedroom.

Bit by bit, his grip was loosening, the parasitical hold on her life force was weaker each moment she lay asleep under cold northern skies. Egypt was far away.

The priest of Sekhmet looked out of an English woman’s eyes at a strange and alien world and felt sudden, overwhelming fear.

15

I am Yesterday and Today; and I have the power to be born a second time.

Let the decree of Amen-Ra, the king of the gods, the great god,

the prince of that which hath come into being from the beginning, be performed.

The fever that kills everyone in the house of the merchant shocks his neighbours and his friends. His nephew comes to retrieve his treasures and boxes them up to take them to the bazaar. Much money changes hands over the weeks and months that follow. The pretty bottle, a fit gift for a lady, with the piece of paper that tells its legend, stands on the shelf and beckons. The priests, strong and angry, fight one against the other in the halls of the heavens and rend the curtains of darkness with their spears.

The merchant who looks after the stall in the bazaar falls sick. His last sale is to a handsome young man whose eyes are alight with love and who seeks a gift for his special lady.

“Anna, are you awake?” Frances Hayward put her tray down near the door and, crossing to the window, pulled back the heavy curtains so that the watery winter sunshine poured in across the patchwork coverlet. She turned to view her charge. The woman she saw lying propped up on the pillows was pale and very thin, her long, dark hair strewn across the sprigged cotton; her large, green eyes, opening slowly to view the room for the first time clearly, were deeply undershadowed with exhaustion and strain.

For days now, the strange amnesia which had been blanketing her mind and preventing her from functioning on any but the most basic level had been growing lighter. She smiled at Frances as she pulled herself up against the pillows. The room, already scented by the bowl of pink hyacinths on the table in front of the window, was suddenly full of the smell of rich coffee and toast.

“So, how do you feel?” Frances put the tray on Anna’s knees, then she sat down beside her. There was a second cup of coffee on the tray, and she helped herself to it, her eyes on Anna’s face.

Anna shook her head. “Confused. Woolly. My memory is so muddled. It doesn’t seem to be coming back.” She glanced quickly at Frances. Her hostess was a tall woman with wild, curly grey hair. She had strong bones and a handsome face. The resemblance to Toby was there, oblique but unmistakable.

She met Anna’s gaze steadily and smiled. “Shall I tell you again? I’m Toby’s mother, Frances. You have been here three weeks now. You remember who Toby is?” She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Anna was playing with a small piece of toast. When there was no response, Frances went on, “You met him on a Nile cruise. You became ill during your last few days there. Toby and your friend Serena didn’t know what to do, so they brought you here.”

“And you’ve been looking after a complete stranger.” Anna crumbled the piece of toast between her fingers.

“It’s been a pleasure for me. But I’m worried, my dear. You must have friends and family who are wondering where you are.”

Anna picked up her coffee cup and blew gently at the hot steam. The smell cut deep into her brain, and she frowned, trying to cudgel her memory. There was so much there, just out of reach, like a dream that slips away even as one wakes up. There were pictures of sand dunes and shimmering heat, of the brilliant blue of the river and the green of the palms, but no faces, no names, nothing to pin anything to. She sipped the coffee again and frowned.

“Toby was wondering whether it would jog your memory if we took you to your house. If you feel strong enough, that is.” Frances was watching Anna’s face.

Anna looked up. Her expression was suddenly more animated than it had been so far. “You know where I live?”

Frances smiled. “Yes, we know that much! But we couldn’t leave you there alone, could we? And we didn’t know who to call about you. You told Toby something of your family circumstances, but he couldn’t remember any names or addresses.”

They took a taxi across London later that afternoon, Anna wearing a borrowed pair of trousers and an elegant sweater from Frances’s wardrobe against the cold March wind. All the clothes in her suitcase were light summer fabrics designed to be worn on a cruise. There was nothing there which would protect her from the southeasterly which was whipping through the streets, rattling billboards, scattering litter along the pavements and whining in the TV aerials far above the street.

The taxi pulled up outside a small, pretty terraced house in Notting Hill, and they all climbed out. Anna stood surveying the warm grey brick, the square Queen Anne windows with narrow wrought iron windowbox holders, the blue front door with a half-moon skylight, and the tiny front garden. It seemed familiar, yet somehow strangely unconnected.

“It looks nice,” she said with a wry smile. “Are you sure I live here?”

“I’m not sure of anything.” Toby put his arm lightly round her shoulders. “See if you’ve got the key.”

She glanced at him sharply, then she rummaged in her shoulder bag and pulled out a bunch of keys.

The house smelt cold and unlived in, and there was a pile of letters behind the door. Stooping to pick them up, Anna walked into the living room on the right-hand side of the narrow hallway and looked round. The room was furnished with antiques, the sober polished woods set off with colourful rugs and cushions and scarlet swagged curtains which were half-drawn across the windows looking out onto the garden at the back.

Toby reached for the light switch. “Nice house.” He grinned.

On a table by the small Knole sofa, a light on the answerphone blinked steadily, announcing five calls.