Night Train to Memphis

Chapter Three

I YELLED. At its loudest my voice is the equal of any Wagnerian soprano’s, in volume if in no other quality. My call for help was answered sooner than I had dared hope; apparently I hadn’t been the only one to observe Jen’s sickly look. First on the scene was her devoted son, with Mary close on his heels.

Jen had resisted my attempt to lift her, curling herself into a ball with knees raised and arms clasped over her midsection, but when she saw John she made a gallant effort to smile.

‘Just my silly old tummy,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll be fine in a minute.’

Her face was now green instead of grey, and sticky with perspiration. Mary knelt by her with a little cry of sympathy.

‘Mother Tregarth!’

‘Get out of my way,’ John said brusquely. I didn’t know whether he meant me or his bride. Mary assumed it was me. As she bent tenderly over Jen, the latter was violently and messily sick. Mary stumbled to her feet and backed off, her face twisted with disgust.

John hoisted his mother into his arms and put her down again a few feet away. Contemplating the spots on my brand-new outfit I said, ‘Oh, shit,’ took a handful of tissues from my pocket, and began wiping Jen’s face.

‘I do admire a woman with an extensive vocabulary,’ John said under his breath. ‘Don’t just squat there, fetch the doctor.’

‘I’ll go,’ Mary said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I . . . I’ll go.’

When they returned they were accompanied by several of the other passengers, moved by kindly concern or morbid curiosity. It’s not always easy to tell the difference, I admit. I felt fairly sure it was the latter emotion that had moved Suzi to join us, but I was willing to give Blenkiron the benefit of the doubt. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

Jen demonstrated. I had hoped she would throw up on John, but he managed to avoid it, supporting her head and shoulders so she wouldn’t choke. She kept on heaving, poor thing, although she had obviously got rid of everything in her stomach.

I hadn’t paid much attention to Dr Carter when he was introduced the night before, except to hope devoutly I would not require his services. He was a particularly unnoticeable man – middle-aged, middle-sized in both height and girth, with a bland, pink face.

‘Just a case of the pharaoh’s curse,’ he said, with that infuriating blend of condescension and jollity some doctors’ mistake for a soothing roadside manner. ‘Relax, Mrs Tregarth; we’ll get you back to the boat and – ’

‘No.’ John didn’t look up. ‘I want her in hospital. The boat has moved on, we’re as close or closer to Cairo.’

‘Now, son, there’s nothing to worry about. This is a common affliction, and the infirmary is – ’

‘Moving steadily south, among other disadvantages,’ John said, in his most offensive drawl. ‘My mother is not a young woman, Doctor, and she has had difficulties of this sort before.’

Carter started to fuss, and Blenkiron murmured, ‘Mr Tregarth is right, Ben. It would be foolish to take chances. Perhaps the bus can take her to Cairo and then return for us?’

His voice was soft and hesitant, but when you are rich you don’t have to yell to get your point across.

‘Just what I was about to suggest,’ Carter exclaimed.

Jen was too weak to resist. She looked awful, her closed eyes sunken. ‘Wouldn’t an ambulance be better?’ I said anxiously.

Blenkiron directed a smile in my general direction. ‘The back seats on the bus fold down into a cot, Vicky. She’ll be far more comfortable there, and safely in Cairo by the time we could get an ambulance out here.’

John scooped his mother up and walked off, followed by Mary and Carter.

‘Wow,’ said Suzi, staring. ‘He’s stronger than he looks, isn’t he? The old lady must weigh a hundred and sixty, and he’s practically running.’

Since I knew exactly what she was thinking I decided to ignore this. Since Blenkiron did not know, he responded. ‘One can understand his concern, though I’m sure it’s unnecessary. Many travellers get some kind of digestive upset. It’s nice to see a young man so devoted to his mother, isn’t it?’

‘He’s not so young,’ I said.

‘Had you known him before?’

I recollected myself. Blenkiron’s question had been casually disinterested, but the gleam of avid curiosity in Suzi’s eyes warned me that she was the kind who thrives on scandal. ‘No,’ I said.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met formally,’ Blenkiron said. ‘First names are easier and friendlier; mine is Larry.’

He looked younger and more relaxed in a sweat-stained shirt open at the throat and a pair of wrinkled khaki pants. I noted with sympathetic amusement that he was wearing a pith helmet. The damned things were practical, shielding the head and neck from the deadly rays of the sun, and heavy enough to resist the tug of the constant north wind.

‘I believe this is your first visit to Egypt?’ he went on, looking down at me and offering me his hand.

I let him pull me to my feet. He was still looking down at me; not many people can do that. A part of my mind I try to ignore assessed the breadth of his shoulders and his flat stomach and decided he wasn’t at all bad for a man of fifty-odd. And he was a multi-millionaire. Or a billionaire? What’s a few million more or less? I thought tolerantly.

‘Does everyone on the boat know I’m a fraud?’ I asked.

‘Now, Vicky, don’t call yourself names. You have quite a reputation. I read your article on the Riemenschneider reliquary with great interest.’

‘I’m flattered. But I don’t know a damn thing about Egyptology,’ I admitted, with one of my most winning smiles.

‘Would you like me to show you around? I’m only an amateur, but I know Sakkara fairly well.’

It was one of the most fascinating mornings I have ever spent. Sakkara is a very complicated site; there are several smaller, ruined pyramids in addition to the Step Pyramid, which is surrounded by a maze of subsidiary buildings, temples and courtyards, corridors and chapels. There are underground structures whose function is still unclear, and a lot of private tombs built for high officials. The larger of these mastabas, as they are called, are mazes in themselves. One has thirty-four separate rooms in the superstructure and a tomb shaft below. I had given the guidebook a hasty perusal the night before and ended up with my head stuffed full of miscellaneous, unrelated facts. Larry made sense of it all.

‘You’ve missed your calling,’ I said, as we left the temple complex. ‘You ought to be a guide.’

He looked absurdly pleased at the silly compliment. We were getting on like a house on fire, I thought complacently. No wonder the poor man fled from women like Suzi; he must be sick of being relentlessly pursued. All he wanted was to be treated as an intellectual equal, to be admired for his brains instead of his money. I could sympathize with that, though in my case it wasn’t money that distracted admirers from my intellectual achievements.

‘It’s easier to simplify a complex subject when one is an amateur,’ he said modestly. ‘Shall we have a look at one of the mastabas before lunch? As an art historian you are probably familiar with the reliefs.’

‘I remember some Old Kingdom reliefs – they were wonderful, very delicate and detailed – but at this moment I couldn’t tell you which tomb they were from There was one of a baby hippopotamus . . .’

‘You’re probably thinkihg of Mereruka.’ Larry took my arm. ‘But some of the other tombs are equally remarkable. We’ll see which is least crowded.’

They were all crowded, at least to the eyes of someone like me, whose definition of too many people is three, but Larry said, ‘Never seen so few people here at this time of year. Tourism is down, people are afraid of terrorists. Nice for us, but unfortunate for the Egyptian economy.’

I got to see my baby hippopotamus, who was ambling along through the river reeds apparently unaware of the huge crocodile right on his heels (if hippos have heels). He had no cause for alarm; his devoted mum had grabbed the predator and was in the process of biting it in two.

The photographs I’d seen hadn’t done the carving justice. To an eye accustomed to Western sculpture the reliefs had a simplicity that verged on naivety, but the more I studied them the more I realized that that impression was deceptive. The technique was sure and skilled and highly sophisticated; only an ignoramus or an observer who was unable to put aside his unconscious prejudices would have undervalued them.

Larry absolutely agreed with me and told me how clever I was to have reached that conclusion. We were having a lovely time when I heard shuffling footsteps and a familiar voice. ‘That’s Feisal, surely,’ I said.

Larry looked at his watch. ‘He is right on schedule. It’s later than I thought. The time has gone very quickly.’

He gave me a meaningful look. I probably simpered.

The first to enter the room was the tall raw-boned man who had been at Larry’s table the night before. He had been following us at a discreet distance all morning, and he continued to be tactful, staring off into space until Larry murmured, ‘I don’t believe you two have met. Dr Victoria Bliss – Ed Whitbread.’

‘’Morning, ma’am.’ Ed whipped off his hat – a broad-brimmed white Stetson – and bowed.

Despite the stifling heat he was wearing a jacket. I thought I knew why. He was a good three inches taller than Larry, which made him almost six-five. I sincerely hoped that Larry had convinced him I was a friend. I wouldn’t have wanted him to think of me as an enemy.

Led by Feisal, the others crowded into the room. Larry faded discreetly away as Suzi headed towards me, shoving bodies out of her way with good-natured impetuosity. ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ she said, ‘How’d you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘You know.’ She gave me a grin and an elbow in the ribs. It was a surprisingly sharp elbow to belong to a woman so well padded elsewhere. ‘It sure didn’t work when I tried it. You’ll have to tell me how you – ’

‘Quiet, please.’ Feisal clapped his hands like a teacher calling a class to order. ‘We have only fifteen minutes, there is another group waiting. The reliefs in this chamber . . .’

He was a good lecturer, crisp and witty and, so far as I could tell, absolutely accurate. I had a hard time concentrating, since Suzi kept whispering and nudging me. After a while Feisal broke off and fixed a stern eye on her. ‘Suzi, you are a bad girl, you do not pay attention. Come here and stand by me.’

Giggling happily, Suzi obeyed. Feisal caught my eye and lowered one eyelid in a discreet wink.

The sun was high and hot when we left the tomb and set out across the uneven surface of the plateau. Sunlight bleached the sand and rock to a pale buff; though the distance wasn’t great, several of my companions were puffing and complaining by the time we reached our destination.

The bus was waiting. I collapsed into a seat with a sigh of relief and accepted a glass of water, tinkling with ice, from a smiling waiter. Not for us the crowded rest house where ordinary tourists ate and drank, risking not only discomfort but the pharaoh’s curse; the seats had attached trays, like those on planes, and we were served chilled wine and food on fine porcelain. Even as I thought how easy it was to accustom oneself to such luxuries, my scholar’s conscience reminded me that the exhaust was pouring out pollution that gnawed away the very stones of the pyramids.

As soon as everyone was settled, Feisal addressed us. ‘Some of you know that one of our friends was taken ill this morning. You will be glad to hear that Mrs Tregarth is now comfortably resting in a Cairo hospital . . .’

I didn’t hear the rest. One word had forced its way through the layers of stupidity that enrobed my brain.

Cairo. The Cairo Museum was in Cairo. Take it slow, Vicky, slow and easy; you obviously aren’t up to complex reasoning. Right. No question about it. The museum was in Cairo. And now John was too.

Not only was he in Cairo (where the museum was) but his departure had been sudden, unexpected, off schedule. I had told myself I had three more weeks. I should have known – damn it, damn it, I should have known! – that John never stuck to schedules and that the unexpected was his stock-in-trade. The mere sight of me would have warned him that someone had got wind of his scheme. He wouldn’t abandon it, not John, not until he had to; he’d change his plans, catch me off guard, find an excuse to get to the scene of the crime ahead of schedule, a nice valid excuse like . . .

Poisoning his own mother?

It seemed a trifle extreme, even for John.

All the same . . .

I blundered up out of my seat, squeezing past the tray with its load of china and glasses. Bright and Sweet were a few rows ahead of me; I could see Bright’s thick, brown expensive hair over the top of the seat. They beamed a welcome, but I didn’t wait for an exchange of greetings.

‘It’s a shame about Mrs Tregarth, isn’t it?’

‘Very sad,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘But Feisal says she is on the road to recovery. It should be a lesson to us all, you know; the poor dear lady was constantly overeating. That is especially dangerous when one is unaccustomed to strange food and water.’

Bright nodded vigorously. He probably wouldn’t have spoken even if he had been able to, but in this case he wasn’t; he had just shoved an entire stuffed egg into his mouth.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I wonder how long they’ll stay in Cairo. Where the – ’ I managed to stop myself. Larry, in the seat across the aisle, was watching me with a bewildered smile.

‘Let us hope she will be able to join us again soon,’ Sweet said. ‘A pity to lose part of such a delightful trip.’

I tried again. ‘Especially when it’s also a honeymoon. I suppose her son will stay in Cairo with her?’

‘I suppose so.’ Sweet gave me a puzzled look.

I got a grip on myself and turned to go. ‘Well. See you later.’

‘We will meet in a pyramid,’ Sweet called after me.

I inserted myself into my seat and picked up a sandwich – nothing plebeian like cheese or chicken, but a masterpiece of shrimp and chopped egg yolk and some mysterious sauce. Sweet and Bright didn’t appear to be concerned; in fact they had both looked at me as if I were losing my feeble mind. Of course, I told myself; they were professionals. Like the others they had heard of Jen’s illness. They might not know John was the man they were after, but they’d be on the alert for anything unusual. They probably even knew the Cairo Museum was in Cairo.

I can’t say I enjoyed the remainder of the tour of Sakkara, even though Feisal was at his most eloquent and Alice stuck with me most of the afternoon. She was good company, knowledgeable and yet unassuming, with an unexpectedly wicked sense of humour. Watching Suzi, who had attached herself to Feisal, she said with a grin, ‘Looks as if she’s going to settle for youth and beauty instead of cash. Larry will be relieved, he looked like a cornered rabbit last night.’

‘He’s a very nice guy,’ I said. ‘Larry, I mean. Do you know him well?’

‘Nobody knows him well.’ Striding briskly, her hands in her pockets, Alice looked as fresh as a woman half her age. ‘I’d met him once or twice; he’s truly dedicated to archaeology and very well informed. But I was surprised to find him on this trip, he’s a very private person. Of course the highlight of the cruise is the reopening of Tetisheri’s tomb and that has been his major interest for over three years. He’s probably hoping to persuade the other filthy-rich types on board to support similar projects.’

She stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, and I said, trying not to pant, ‘He’s not with the group this afternoon. Trying to avoid predatory females?’

She caught my meaning. ‘Not you. You made quite a hit. In fact he sidled up to me and asked me if I thought you’d like to accompany him this afternoon – he’s gone off to see the Eighteenth-Dynasty nobles’ tombs, which aren’t open to the public’

‘And you told him I wouldn’t? Hell’s bells, Alice, how am I going to catch myself a millionaire if you interfere?’

Alice laughed. ‘Don’t blame me. He talked himself out of it before I could reply. Honest to God, I felt like a high school student counsellor trying to convince some bashful kid it was okay to ask the cheerleader to a dance. But,’ she added, with a shrewd glance at me, ‘don’t get your hopes up. He likes you because you treated him like a human being but I don’t think he’s interested in matrimony.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘Sensible woman.’

‘Why didn’t you go with him? This tourist stuff must be boring for you.’

‘My dear, I’m on duty. Anyhow, I never tire of the tourist stuff. I haven’t been inside the Teti Pyramid for years.’

‘Is that the next stop? I’m getting confused,’ I admitted.

‘No wonder. We’re cramming an awful lot into one day. The brain overloads. You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.’

‘I think I won’t. Go ahead, I’ll sit here and admire the view.’

All but the most energetic were beginning to flag, after a long morning and a large lunch. Some had stayed on the bus, others wandered off in search of souvenirs, of which there was no dearth. Only a dozen people expressed an interest in the interior of the pyramid. Among them were Bright and Sweet and the large square woman who had been pointed out to me as a famous novelist. No one could have accused her of treading on Egyptian sensibilities; she was draped from shoulders to shins in flowing robes, with a scarf wound wimple-style around her large square face. Her features were vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen them, and I thought I would have remembered that face. Not many famous lady novelists have perceptible moustaches.

‘What’s her name?’ I whispered to Alice.

‘Louisa Ferncliffe. But she writes under the name of Valerie Vandine. Ever heard of her?’

I had. I had even, for my sins, read a couple of her novels. She was one of Schmidt’s favourite authors. Schmidt only reads two types of fiction: hard-boiled mysteries featuring lean tough detectives, and torrid historical romances featuring helpless voluptuous heroines. Violence and sex, in other words. I studied the massive form ahead of me with disbelief. The woman must have an incredibly vivid imagination. The sexual gymnastics she described in such interesting detail would have been physically impossible for someone built like that.

So that was why she looked familiar. The photographs on the backs of her books had omitted the moustache and the lines scoring her forehead. A couple of chins had been airbrushed out too.

‘Her heroines are all tall and slim and blond,’ I muttered. Alice chuckled. ‘It will be interesting to see how she gets a tall slim blond into a novel about ancient Egypt. She’s gathering material for one, I understand.’

Louisa tilted her head back and inspected the crumbling side of the structure. ‘Where are the Pyramid Texts?’ she demanded.

Feisal had almost certainly heard dumber questions; he said patiently, ‘Inside the pyramid, Miss Vandine. Are you coming?’

Instead of answering she turned her back on him and addressed Alice. ‘Are you?’

‘I had intended to, yes.’

‘In that case I will accompany you. I want to have some of the texts translated; to hear echo, in the air of the tomb chamber, the magical words of protection.’ Throwing her arms up, she intoned, ‘O gods of the underworld, greet this pharaoh in peace! O heavenly guides, bring down the wrath of Anubis on all who would violate this tomb!’

That was too much for Feisal. ‘I’m afraid there is no such text, Miss Vandine.’

She looked him up and down and back up again. ‘How would you know? Dr Gordon is an expert – ’

‘Not on the Pyramid Texts,’ Alice said. Her face was flushed, though not as darkly as Feisal’s. She went on, very quietly, ‘Feisal’s doctoral dissertation involved a comparison of Pyramid and coffin Texts. He is a graduate of Oxford and the University of Chicago. I believe I won’t accompany you after all. The air is rather . . . close inside.’

After the group had gone in I said, ‘Well done, Alice. Firm but ladylike.’

‘Too ladylike.’ Alice took off her hat and fanned her hot face. ‘She didn’t get it. There are always a few like that in every group. I don’t know why I bother; bigotry and rudeness are unconquerable.’

‘With his qualifications, why is he working as a guide?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Jobs are hard to find. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.’

‘You’re right.’ The memory of how I had wangled my own job made me squirm uncomfortably. Blackmail would be too harsh a word, but . . .

‘His father is a low-level bureaucrat;” Alice went on. ‘Hardly more than a glorified clerk. He has sacrificed all his life so that his son – the only son – could have a professioual career. The pressures on Feisal have been enormous, as you can imagine.’

‘Yeah. People are pretty much the same everywhere, I guess.’

‘In some ways.’ Alice grinned at me. ‘And very different in other ways. Let’s have a look at a few of the other mastabas, shall we? If you like reliefs, some are quite lovely. Or would you rather visit the Serapeum? It’s a little distance, but – ’

‘I’m not really all that keen on deep dark places.’

I spoke without thinking, and after I had done so I was sorry I had let down my guard, even with someone as friendly as Alice. She didn’t pursue the matter, just nodded.

By the time Alice had finished showing me around I had begun to think more kindly of dark sunless places. I wasn’t the only one who was weary, sweat-stained, and red-faced when we assembled at the bus. The group that had been inside the pyramid looked as bad as I felt. Apparently they had enjoyed themselves, though. Sweet rhapsodized about Feisal’s lecture, and Bright kept nodding and grinning. I was happy to observe that Louisa’s veils were in tatters. Somebody must have stepped on her hem.

As I reclined in air-conditioned comfort sipping my iced drink, I tried to concentrate on the exotic scenery gliding past – the Step Pyramid, golden in the afternoon light, green fields of alfalfa and vegetables, barefoot children smiling and waving as we spoiled foreigners passed – but my mind was a jumble of disconnected impressions. ‘The Step Pyramid is two hundred and four feet high . . . He likes you because you treated him like a human being . . . O gods of the underworld, greet this pharaoh in peace . . . The poor woman was constantly overeating . . .’

Jen hadn’t been faking. Some unpleasant evidences of that still clung to my clothes. Would John really go to that length to carry out his plans? I felt reasonably certain the Cairo Museum was still intact; if he’d laid plans for an event to take place three weeks hence, they couldn’t be changed so quickly. Anyhow (I kept telling myself) I had now done my duty as a good little spy. Sweet and Bright knew John was the one they were after. I had been as direct as I dared; they couldn’t have misunderstood the message. It was out of my hands now; I hadn’t volunteered to defend the museum with six-shooters in hand.

The first person I saw when I walked up the gangplank was John. He was leaning on the rail, cigarette in hand. Fair hair becomingly ruffled by the breeze, shirt as fresh and clean as new-fallen snow, he surveyed the dusty, sunburned, limping crowd with kindly condescension.

‘Much better,’ he called, in response to a question from someone – Feisal, I think; it certainly wasn’t from me, I was speechless. ‘No cause for concern, the doctors said.’ He turned eyes as blue and expressionless as cornflowers on me and added, ‘I felt certain you’d want to know at the earliest possible moment.’

Whereupon he vanished, leaving me a prey – as Louisa Ferncliffe might have written – to a torrent of passionate, conflicting emotions. Chief among them was fury.

I plucked Suzi out of the group waiting at the desk for their room keys. ‘You’d better see the doctor about that sunburn,’ I said abruptly.

She looked surprised. ‘Is it that bad? It doesn’t hurt.’

‘Your back is bright red.’ That was a slight exaggeration, but she was bright pink all over the parts that showed.

My forceful personality (or something) prevailed; Suzi allowed herself to be towed away.

Carter earned his passage; he was on call twenty-four hours a day, ashore and on land, but the only time when one could count on finding him in the infirmary was after the tours returned, when he would be available ‘to attend to any minor injuries incurred.’ I hadn’t liked the sound of that; however, after seeing the rough terrain and feeling the heat of the sun, I could understand why people might be in need of attention for a variety of ‘minor’ ailments ranging from sunstroke to twisted ankles. The infirmary was an impressive set-up, spotlessly clean and very well equipped, including a locked cabinet that presumably contained drugs.

While Carter was inspecting Suzi, I asked about Jen. ‘Not a damned thing wrong with her except overindulgence and a touch of the usual virus,’ was the irritable reply. Apparently the doctor’s amour propre had been seriously ruffled. I could guess by whom. ‘She managed to persuade that officious son of hers to go on with the cruise, which he finally consented to do, after inspecting the hospital and interrogating the entire staff.’

‘So you all came back together?’

‘Yes. If you ask me, Mrs Tregarth was relieved to be rid of him and looking forward to a few days’ peace and quiet. All right, Suzi, you’re in fine shape, if you’ll permit me to say so; use this ointment tonight and cover up for a few days.’

So that was that. Unless one of the hospital staff was a stooge of John’s, he hadn’t had a chance to speak to anyone. I hoped.

I hadn’t left a message in my safe, but I found one there when I opened it. It was short and succinct. ‘Please report soonest.’

I screwed up the paper and tossed it into the waste-basket. If Burckhardt wanted to be so damned mysterious and security conscious he could damn well wait till I was good and ready. Anyhow, I had reported, to Sweet and Bright.

I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I got in the shower and let the nice hot water flow over my aching body. It was tension rather than exercise that had stiffened those muscles; I’d been on edge all day. Considerate of John to reassure me at the earliest possible moment . . . Damn his insolence!

Dress that evening would probably be informal, I decided, slipping into a cotton skirt and sleeveless shirt. Everyone else would be tired too. The schedule was really fierce, and tomorrow would be another full day, with tours to Meydum and the Faiyum. I found myself looking forward to Tuesday, when we were supposed to cruise all day. I hadn’t had time to enjoy my little balcony or explore the amenities of the boat, which included a hairdresser, shop, gym, and pool.

However, when I arrived at the saloon in time for Happy Hour I found the others discussing the change in schedule which had been posted on the bulletin board. Meydum and two other scheduled stops had been postponed till the return trip. We were to sail immediately for Amarna.

Most of the group didn’t seem to care, but a few were complaining bitterly – the elderly couple from San Francisco because they were habitual complainers and Louisa because she wanted to use Meydum as the setting for her new novel. ‘This will disrupt my writing schedule fatally,’ she declaimed. ‘I had promised my impatient publisher to have at least fifty thousand words written by the time we reach Luxor. But now – how can I begin? My imagination cannot take fire until I have seen those magnificent ruins.’

I suspected Louisa was thinking of two other ruins. Meydum had never been a city, just a huge cemetery. How could she set an entire novel in a graveyard? Love among the mummies? That one had already been done. Seeing my colleagues gathered at a table nearby, I started towards them, figuring they would know the reason for the change in plan, but then I saw Larry beckoning me. He was sitting by himself in the smoking section. Whitbread and the secretary, whatever his name might be, were at another table.

We exchanged raves on the activities of the day and then I asked, ‘Do you know why the change in schedule?’

‘It has to do with the water level” was the prompt response. ‘This is one of the largest boats on the river; it can’t get through the locks at Asyut, which were designed for smaller vessels, if the Nile is low. There won’t be a problem going upstream, but I gather there is some concern about the return voyage.’

We had been left strictly alone until then. Tact, consideration for Larry’s obvious desire for privacy – or the presence of that tall formidable figure at a nearby table? Ed was facing us; though he did it unobtrusively, he never took his eyes off his boss. He hadn’t been so visible the night before. Had something happened to increase his concern about Larry’s safety? I was considering this, and not liking the possibilities that occurred to me, when a man approached our table. Tall, fair-haired . . . My heart did not skip a beat. My heart would not have skipped a beat even if I hadn’t recognized Foggington-Smythe.

‘May I join you?’ Without waiting for an answer he pulled out a chair and planted himself in it. ‘I felt I deserved a respite after spending the entire day answering idiotic questions from people who didn’t bother doing basic research.’

There was a resemblance to John, all right – that air of condescending superiority. John wouldn’t have made a stupid remark like that one, though. He had too strong a sense of the ridiculous.

‘They aren’t scholars,’ I said. ‘Just tourists having fun. Why should they do any work when they have an expert like you to set them straight on every possible subject?’

Larry raised a hand to conceal his smile, but Foggington-Smythe only nodded gravely. ‘I suppose that’s true.’ Then he turned to Larry, who, I suspected, was the real attraction. ‘Is it true that our schedule has been changed because the authorities learned that terrorists were planning an attack at Meydum tomorrow?’

Larry’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘That’s the rumour that is going around.’

‘To the best of my knowledge there’s no basis for it,’ Larry said firmly. He glanced at the door of the saloon. ‘At any rate, we’re under way now. Why don’t you take Vicky out on deck and show her some of the sights?’

I didn’t blame him for wanting to escape from Perry, or even for using me as a decoy. ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said agreeably. ‘Sure you won’t join us?’

‘Duty calls, I’m afraid,’ Larry murmured. ‘This may necessitate an alteration in my plans for the reception and formal opening of the Tetisheri tomb. I’ll have to find out what’s going on.’

His staff fell in behind him as he made for the door, and Perry led me out.

The sun was sinking in a smoky haze. I couldn’t see any of the sights Perry pointed out; I don’t think he could either, but he indicated their location and went on to tell me all about them. I let the words wash over me; an occasional ‘Really?’ or ‘How fascinating!’ was all he wanted anyhow. The view was lovely. Sunset colours stained the rippling water and lights began to twinkle along the shore.

‘Damn,’ Perry said suddenly. ‘Here comes the bride.’ He chuckled at his own wit, and went on, ‘Pretty little thing, but without a brain in her head; I suppose she wants to ask some fool question . . . Ah, Mrs Tregarth. If you are in quest of information, perhaps you would be good enough to wait until this evening. I am lecturing on Egyptian literature but will take questions afterwards.’

It was as rude a put-down as I had ever heard, but Mary met it head-on. Smiling, she drawled, ‘How frightfully kind of you. It was Vicky I wanted to talk with, actually.’

‘Oh? Oh. Well, then – uh . . . Excuse me.’

Mary gave me a conspiratorial smile. The breeze whipped her full skirt around her calves and moulded her silk blouse to her body. ‘He’s the world’s most pompous ass, isn’t he? I hope I didn’t misinterpret your expression of glazed boredom, Vicky.’

‘You rushed to my rescue?’ I inquired.

With a graceful gesture she invited me to walk with her, and we strolled on in silence for a while. Then she stopped, leaning against the rail, and turned to face me.

‘I really did want to speak with you. To thank you for being so kind to Mother Tregarth.’

‘I just happened to be there.’

‘You did what I ought to have done.’ Mary’s pretty mouth twisted. ‘I’m so squeamish; I can’t stand seeing someone I love in pain. I hope you don’t think badly of me. I’d like us to be friends.’

It was not a relationship that held much appeal for me. A ghastly picture formed in my mind – the bride and the groom and the bride’s new friend, in a cosy trio. I couldn’t bring myself to slap her down, though. She had to tilt her head back to look into my eyes, and hers were big and wide and innocent. The irises were an unusual shade of golden brown; they glowed like amber in the sunset light.

‘I admire women like you so much,’ she went on. ‘You’re so intelligent and so capable – so in control of your life. Not like me.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘That’s very . . .’

‘Inaccurate’ was the word that came to mind. I substituted a feeble ‘kind.’

‘You wouldn’t be intruding,’ Mary went on eagerly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think that. If we’d wanted to be alone together we wouldn’t have joined a cruise like this one.’

‘Or invited your mother-in-law to come along,’ I said, before I could stop myself. Instead of being offended at my candour, Mary laughed.

‘I needn’t tell you it was the other way round. Poor darling, she’s so devoted to John. She kept sighing and dropping hints about how lonely she’d be.’

So her doting son had yielded and let her come along? That theory certainly cast a new light on John’s character. When he had spoken of his mother – which wasn’t often – it had been with detached, amused exasperation.

‘John is a very private person in many ways,’ Mary went on. ‘And very reserved. He doesn’t make a public show of his feelings. When we’re alone . . .’ She broke off with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t know why I’m saying these things. You have a way of inducing confidences, Vicky. I feel so comfortable with you.’

‘That’s nice.’ I didn’t trust myself to say more.

‘I hope you don’t mind my unburdening myself.’

I minded. The last thing I wanted was to be the recipient of her confidences about her relationship with John. Had he suggested she approach me? Surely not; it was to his advantage to keep us apart. More likely she had picked me as a confidante because I was unattached, and closer to her age than the other women on the boat. I had wondered – oh, yes, I admit I had – why he’d settled on a half-baked girl barely out of finishing school, but it was becoming clearer now. Adoration, that was what he wanted – unquestioning, doglike devotion. And money? It was one of his favourite things, and I had already noticed, as what woman wouldn’t, that Mary’s clothes had not been bought at Marks and Spencer.

‘Not a bit,’ I said, lying in my teeth. ‘Uh – I’ve been admiring your earrings. They’re excellent reproductions.’

She accepted this as a tactful, if ungraceful, method of changing the subject. ‘Oh, they aren’t copies. Second century B.C., according to John. He gave them to me.’

Before I could stop her she had unfastened one and handed it to me.

I was almost afraid to touch it. The miniature head was only three-quarters of an inch high, but every feature had been moulded with delicate accuracy. It was a classically Greek face, with the long unbroken line from the forehead to the end of the nose, but on its brow it wore an ornament that was not Greek – the horns and full moon of the Egyptian goddess Isis. A modern jeweller had added new wires. One wouldn’t want to keep bending the ancient gold; it was almost pure, close to twenty-four carat.

Silently I returned it to her. I had never seen anything I coveted more.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ Casually she replaced the earring.

‘Gorgeous.’

‘He asked if I’d rather have diamonds,’ Mary said innocently. ‘But I prefer these. He has such wonderful taste.’

‘Uh-huh,’ I said. The enamelled golden rose, invisible under my blouse, seemed to burn into my hide.

‘There he is.’ Mary looked past me. ‘I guess it’s time to dress for dinner. I’m so glad we had this talk, Vicky.’

She didn’t ask me to join them. I watched her hurry towards him; he stood waiting, arms folded, like the Emperor preparing to receive a humble subject, and then I turned to go – the other way.

There was no warning, not even a rush of running feet. He hit me hard and low, hurling me forward. I bounced off the rail with a force that knocked the breath out of me and crashed to the deck, derriere first, the back of my head a close second. Bright specks darted through the blackness like pretty little shooting stars.

After a while I opened my eyes, and immediately closed them again when I saw a familiar face hovering over me. Then I opened them again. Not that familiar. It was Foggington-Smythe.

‘Good old Perry,’ I croaked.

‘Good,’ said good old Perry. ‘You know me. You’d better lie still, though; that was quite a crack on the head.’

‘She’s not got concussion.’ John was sitting on the deck next to me. He was rubbing his wrist and scowling like a gargoyle on a cathedral. ‘I think I broke my arm,’ he went on bitterly.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You were the one who knocked me down. I should have known.’

‘I think I broke my arm,’ John repeated.

It was like old times, me bruised and prostrate, John whining. ‘God damn it, what’d you do that for?’ I demanded. I sat up and then grabbed the back of my head. ‘Ow.’

Perry put a manly arm around my shoulders and squeezed. ‘Ow,’ I said again.

‘I’ll carry you to the infirmary,’ Perry aunounced.

‘No, you won’t. I don’t have a concussion.’ I indicated John, who was still nursing his arm. ‘Carry him. I’ll take his feet. We can drop him, heavily, several times along the way.’

The corner of John’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing. I saw Mary, pressed up against the rail, her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified. I saw the spattered dirt and fragments of pottery and the broken remains of the jasmine that had been in the pot. It had hit the deck in the exact spot where I would have been standing if someone hadn’t knocked me out of the way.

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Vicky, don’t be angry with him.’ Mary knelt beside me and put her arm around me, from the other side. A pretty tableau we must have made. ‘It was my fault, I saw the flowerpot tottering on the edge and cried out. John acted instinctively, as any gentleman would.’

I glowered at John. His eyelids fell, but not in time to hide the fury that had darkened his eyes to sapphire. I wasn’t moved to apologize; at that point I wouldn’t have given him credit for good intentions if the testimonial had come from the pope. ‘Oh, right,’ I snarled. ‘Thanks a lot. My head hurts worse than it would have done if that little bitty pot had landed on it and I’ve got a bruise on my bum the size of a soup tureen.’

‘It might have hurt you badly, Vicky,’ Mary insisted.

I staggered to my feet, assisted by Perry. ‘Worse than this? Oh, well. I guess I’ll live. Excuse me. I’ve got to shower and change and find out who tried to brain me.’

‘You aren’t implying that it was deliberate, I hope,’ Perry exclaimed.

‘An unfortunate accident,’ said John. ‘Or a warning.’

‘Warning?’ Perry repeated, staring.

‘To enjoy life to the full while one can,’ John said sententiously. ‘“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.” This is a world fraught with peril; one never knows when the axe will fall. Life is at best – ’

‘Darling, please.’ Mary abandoned me and hurried to take his arm. ‘Vicky will think you’re making fun of her.’

‘Oh, she’d never be mistaken about that,’ John said.

‘Never,’ I agreed, and let Perry lead me away.