'Inshallah.' He shrugged.
With a slight bow and that infuriating phrase which had so irritated Louisa Ibrahim backed away. She did not call him back. What was there she could say? It was an hour later that she finally rose to her feet and made for the steps onto the upper deck. The boat was still deserted. She had seen neither passengers nor crew since Ibrahim had left her alone but the river was busy. Tourist cruisers juggled for position along the narrow moorings, launches, feluccas, overloaded rowing boats, ferries, small fishing boats and motor boats plied up and down, some within feet of the boat's rail. She could hear the bustle of the town, the hooting of cars, the shouts from the Corniche but the deck itself was empty. She had, she realised, been trying to pluck up courage ever since she left her cabin that morning. To tell herself that she should wait for Serena was nonsense. It was an excuse. She must dig up the bottle, take it back to her cabin, put it in a sealed envelope and when Omar returned at lunchtime give it to him to put in the boat's safe.
The flowers had been watered early but already the deck was dry. She walked slowly towards them and stood at the rail, looking out across the river towards the sand-coloured hills, already half- shrouded in heat haze. It would only take a second.
She pictured the little bottle as she had known it for so many years of her life, standing innocently pretty on her dressing table, first at her parents' home, then in the house she shared with Felix. She had not been afraid of it then. She remembered suddenly the rainy afternoon when, as a child, she had taken a penknife to the stopper, working it into the seal, trying to jiggle it free. What if she had managed it? What if whatever substance was in the bottle had spilt? Why had the guardians of the bottle not appeared to stop her then? Was it the cold English climate, the distance from their native land, that had inhibited them? Or had her innocence saved her, together with the fact that, quickly bored by her lack of success she had tucked her penknife back into her shorts, put the bottle guiltily back where it belonged and run out of the house to play in the rain. It was the last time she had ever tried to open it.
A felucca swooped by, crewed by two boys. They waved and shouted and she waved back with a smile. All she had to do was turn round, put her hand under the plants and feel around in the soil with her fingers. No more than that. Then she would carry it 177.
down, wrap it safely and give it to Omar. It would take five minutes at most.
She realised suddenly that there was someone watching her. She could feel eyes boring into her back. Almost certainly it was someone on the high deck of the big cruiser against which they were moored. No one else. Just an idle spectator who wouldn't be able to see what she was doing anyway. It was nothing sinister; if it were, she would know. She would feel the tiptoe of goosepimples across her skin, feel the cold and the fear as something tangible. She took a deep breath and turned, holding tightly to the rail. The deck was deserted. When she glanced up there was no one to be seen.
Gritting her teeth she moved towards the plant container and stooped over it. The inner leaves were still wet and the soil beneath them was muddy. She raked through the tangle of stems and roots and touched something cold and hard. closing her eyes she stealed herself sternly and began to work it free of the pot. At last it came loose. Straightening, she lifted it clear of the leaves and began to dust off the clinging streaks of wet earth. It was as she did so that the deck suddenly grew cold.
She held her breath. Please God, no. Not again. Slowly she forced herself to look up.
The priest of Sekhmet, transparent, wispy as a breath of mist, was dressed in the skin of a desert lion. She could see it - the tawny pelt, the great paw hanging over his shoulder with its claws outstretched, the gold collar round the man's neck, the gold chain across his chest to hold the skin in place. She saw his long lean legs, his sandals, his sinewy arms, the single lock of hair across his shoulder and she saw, for a fraction of a second, his face, the burning fury of his eyes, the taut anger of his jaw. He had seen her even as she had seen him. He had registered her presence, she was sure of it. He knew that she was the one who had hidden the sacred bottle amongst the plants and that it was she who had brought it back to Egypt.
No!
She doubted that she had spoken the word out loud. Her mouth was dry, her throat constricted with fear. The silence around her was, she realised, total. All the extraneous sound from the river and from the town had ceased.
In one frantic movement she spun round and lifted her arm to throw the bottle into the Nile.
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As she did so a hand closed round her wrist, and the bottle fell harmlessly onto the bleached calico of the cushions on one of the deckchairs. Suddenly she could hear again: the boats, the cars, the shouts, all the noise of the modern day and with them a familiar voice.
'What on earth are you doing?' It was Andy. He stood staring at Anna, puzzled. 'Whatever it's done it doesn't deserve that.' He grinned at her and bent to pick it up.
There was a moment's silence as she stared at him, then turned to look at the empty deck behind her. She was hallucinating. Of course she was. Her tiredness, her obsession with the story, even her conversation with Ibrahim. They had all conspired to make her imagine she had seen something.
Andy squinted carefully at the bottle in his hand. 'It's not genuine. But obviously you know that. I wasn't wrong. These are always fakes. All the genuine stuff is in museums by now.' He was rubbing off the soil. He took out a handkerchief and gave it a quick polish, seemingly incurious about why it should be covered in wet earth. 'Do you see this?' He held it out to her, pointing at the stopper. 'The glass here has been machined. It's not even a particularly old fake.'
She did not put out her hand for it. 'It has to be over a hundred years old if it belonged to Louisa Shelley.' She swallowed hard. To her surprise her voice sounded quite normal, even defensive. If he were right, there could be no ghost. How could there be a ghost?
He looked taken aback at her comment. 'Of course. I had forgotten it was hers. But are you sure it is the same one? Family legends and stories are famous for getting it wrong. I know about provenance. It's my job, remember. People swear their grandmother or great grandfather did this or that and often it's a complete fabrication. They are not deliberately lying, it's just that memories and stories get confused over the years. Maybe Louisa sold it or lost it. Maybe a son or daughter found this in one of her drawers and thought, this is it. This is the bottle she writes about in her diary. Did she write about it?'
'Oh yes, she writes about it.'
'And does it fit the description?' He was picking at the seal with his fingernail.
'Yes it does.'
He looked up at her and frowned. 'Then why were you going to 179.
throw it away? Even if it's Victorian and not Pharaonic it has a certain curiosity value, you know.'
'It's not Victorian, Andy. It's genuine.
He glanced at her thoughtfully and then brought the bottle up close to his face, squinting at it with one eye closed. 'And you were going to throw it in the Nile?' She grimaced. 'I had my reasons, believe me.'
'Perhaps I had better look after it for you?'
She hesitated. It would be so easy to give it to him, to forget the whole business. To abrogate responsibility.
Watching her face he frowned. 'What is it about this wretched little bottle? First Charley nicks it; now you want to get rid of it.'
'It's haunted, Andy. There is a curse attached to it. It has a guardian spirit-' She broke off abruptly as she caught sight of his face.
'Oh, come on! I don't think so. Serena's behind this, isn't she!' He suddenly roared with laughter. 'Oh my poor Anna. Listen, lovie. You mustn't be led on by her. Serena is as mad as a hatter. All her psychic stuff and her Ancient Egyptian mystic magic. It's tosh! She got into all that when her husband died. You mustn't let her scare you.'
'It's not like that, Andy.'
'No? Well, I'm glad to hear it. They almost certified her at one point. That's why Charley went to live with her. Charley's mum and Serena's sister are close friends. In fact I think they went to school together or something. I think everyone reckoned it was better Serena didn't go on living alone.'
'I don't believe you!' She stared at him again. 'Serena is knowledgeable. Reliable. I like her.'
'We all like her, Anna. That's why we've taken so much trouble to help her. That is why if we're honest we've all come on this trip. To keep an eye on her in case she gets carried away by all the mumbo jumbo.' He sat down abruptly on the deckchair. 'I'm sorry. This is obviously a shock for you. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. But all this occult stuff is worrying and if she's got you believing it...'
'She hasn't got me believing it, Andy.' She paused. 'I believe it because I have seen things happen with my own eyes.
There was a moment's silence. She studied his face. He was watching her, head a little to one side, a quizzical twinkle in his 180.
eyes. 'So you said. So what exactly have you seen? Remind me.'
'A man. Two men. A man with a lion's skin; a man with a long robe.'
'Practically every Egyptian you see is wearing a galabiyya, Anna,, he said gently. 'We are on a boat where there are more crew to wait on us than there are passengers. You must have noticed, they change our sheets and towels about a dozen times a day. They hover around, waiting for our every whim -'
'Andy!' She raised her hand. 'Stop right there. I am not a fool. Please, don't patronise me. I know what I saw.
He shrugged. His smile was as ever charming. 'In that case I apologise.'
'I saw the second priest just now,' she went on. 'Here. Almost where you were standing. He wasn't dressed in a galabiyya, he was dressed in a lion's skin. That was why I wanted to throw the bottle away. I was afraid.'
He shook his head. 'The whole thing sounds very strange, and perhaps I see why you were tempted to throw the bottle away. But there must be some other solution, surely.'
'I thought Serena had the answer.'
He shook his head forcefully. 'Please, don't get involved with her over this stuff. I suggest you put that away,' he glanced at the bottle, 'and forget it. Concentrate on enjoying your holiday. Why didn't you go with the others this morning? Serena and Charley were all revved up to learn how to haggle in the bazaar and spend lots of money on exotic things.'
She smiled faintly. What was the use of trying to explain her feelings? 'I overslept.'
'Ah. Too much reading into the small hours!' His grin broadened. Neither of them had mentioned the previous night's activities, but suddenly the memory of his kiss hung in the air between them. He leant forward and patted the chair next to him. 'Listen, you look so poised for flight, standing there. Why don't you sit down for a bit and I'll go down and get us both a drink. The others will be back before long and after lunch there is a coach coming to take us to see the high dam. That will be worth visiting. And your genie of the bottle won't be able to get you there.' His tone was conciliatory.
She frowned. 'You still don't believe me, do you?'
'Anna, my dear -'
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Her irritation was mounting. 'No. Excuse me, Andy, but I have things to do in my cabin. I'll see you at lunch.' Picking up her bag she tucked the bottle into it and began to walk away.
'Anna! Don't be cross. I'm sorry, I really am. I'm sure you do think you've seen something. Perhaps you have.' His voice followed her across the deck. Then its tone changed. 'Anna, listen to me. Before you go there is something important I must tell you. I was thinking last night. About Toby -'
She stopped. Slowly she turned round. He had levered himself out of the chair and was following her. When he saw her pause he halted in his tracks. 'There is something in his past. I was right. It's something serious. I don't gossip, but this is a small boat and you have clearly caught his attention and I think you should know, I'm fairly sure where I remember seeing his name now. And his face. It was in the papers. He was indicted for something very serious.' He paused. Anna waited, her bag on her shoulder, half of her wanting to leave, half wanting to stay and hear what he had to say.
'I think he was accused of killing his wife, Anna.'
Her eyes widened in shock. 'I don't believe you!'
'I hope I'm wrong. But I had to tell you. Just to make sure you're careful.'
'I will be.' She was stunned. And very angry. Angry at Toby and angry at Andy. 'That is gossip, Andy. You don't know for sure and anyway whatever it was it is clearly in the past or he would not be here now!' She spun on her heel and made for the steps. She didn't wait to see if he followed.
Letting herself into her cabin she threw the bag on the bed. All thoughts of the bottle had vanished. She was thinking about Toby.
'Shit!' She stared at herself in the dressing table mirror for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed but whether with anger or from standing on deck in the sun she wasn't sure. Her eyes filled with tears. It was all too much. The sleepless night, the bottle, the ghostly apparition on deck and now this. She was, she realised suddenly, desperately hoping that Andy was wrong. That Toby was not the man he thought. And she was also certain that she had had enough of them both and their insatiable desire to get their hands on her scent bottle or the diary.
Turning furiously towards the bed she took the bottle out of her bag. Glancing round the cabin she held it out. 'OK, Anhotep or Hatsek, whoever you are! Where are you? If you're there, why 182.
don't you take the damn thing?' Her voice was shaking. 'If it's so special and precious, why didn't you take it a long time ago? Why wait till now?' She paused. 'Or did you have to wait for me to bring it back to Egypt? Is that it? Nothing happened as long as we were in cold old England! But now we're here you want it for yourself. Fine. Take it. Have it!' She held it out, turning slowly round in a circle. 'No? No takers? Well then, leave me alone! If I so much as glimpse you once more it's going over the side and it will never be seen again. Never!' Pulling open the drawer in the dressing table she tossed the bottle in and slammed it shut.
At almost the same second there was a knock on the door. She swung round to face it, her heart hammering with fright. 'Who is it?' she swallowed nervously. 'It's me, Andy. I want to apologise.'
'There's no need.' She made no move to open the door.
'Please, Anna, let me in.' The handle turned. She hadn't locked the door and it swung open. 'I am truly sorry I upset you. I didn't mean to. I just thought you should know.'
'You didn't upset me, and I wish you wouldn't keep barging into my cabin uninvited! For your information, I couldn't care less about Toby or his past, and I don't care whether or not you believe me about the bottle, either!'
'Are you sure?' He gave a rueful little grimace. 'You could try convincing me.' She hesitated, glaring at him. Then she shrugged. 'All right. Let me show you something.' She stepped over to the bedside table. 'You think I'm imagining Anhotep? Look at what Louisa says about him. See if you believe her.'
'It's not that I disbelieve you, Anna '
'Yes, it is. You think I'm a neurotic fool. After all, that's what you think of Serena and if we believe the same things you must think it of me too.' She pulled the diary out of the drawer and sitting on the bed flipped it open.
Andy came over and sat down on the bed beside her. His eyes were fixed greedily on the book. 'Show me,' he said quietly. 'Show me what Louisa says about all this.'
She glanced up at him, then quickly looking away again she began to leaf through the pages. OK. Look. Here: "I reached out to ward him off and my hand passed through him as though he were mist." And here: "The figure was watching me... he began 183.
to move towards me, drifting over the rough paving slabs. His arms were crossed over his chest but as he moved closer he unfolded them and reached out towards me. I screamed And look at this. And this. And look how keen Lord Carstairs was to get his hands on the bottle. Why would he be interested if it were not genuine?' Andy made as though to take the book from her. Changing his mind at the last moment he let his hand fall between them on the coverlet. His eyes were riveted to the open page lying on her knee. Between the blocks of close-written, slanted writing there was a small watercolour sketch some two or three inches high. It showed a handsome Egyptian, staring into the middle ground against a background of desert dunes. 'Is that your ghost, Anhotep?' he asked meekly. She shook her head. 'It doesn't say, but I think it must be Hassan, her lover.'
'Her lover!' He tore his eyes away from the diary to look at her.
She nodded. 'Her dragoman. She fell in love with him as they visited the sites together. It was he who gave her the bottle as a gift.'
'Good God! That was a bit daring, wasn't it? That crossed every sort of Victorian taboo. Class, race and religion all in one go! Good for Louisa!'
Anna nodded. 'It strikes me she was a very brave woman. There, look. There's another description of the spirits.' Her finger traced the words across the page. 'Do you believe me now?' She glanced up at him.
He rubbed his chin. 'I really am not into spirits and things, Anna. Whatever it says here. I'm sorry. I always look for a more down-to-earth explanation when unusual things happen. After all, there must have been as many good-looking Egyptians floating around in white robes behaving shiftily in her day as there are in ours!' He paused, obviously aching to see what happened next. 'So, leaving aside these spirits for a minute, and assuming they didn't actually do anything beyond drifting about at Philae in the shadows, what happened when she got back to the boat? Did Carstairs pursue the bottle?'
She turned over the page. There were two sketches there, one of a felucca swooping across the Nile as the sun set behind a sand cliff and the other of a woman in Nubian costume, a veil draped 184.
over her head and part of her face, a jar balanced on her head. Beneath them the writing flew across the page, growing more and more cramped as it approached the bottom.
"'It was nearly dark when we drew alongside the dahabeeyah and Hassan threw a rope up to the reis who was waiting for us. As I climbed aboard once more, uncomfortable in my respectable shoes and gown the reis shook his head in some perturbation. 'Sitt Louisa, there is big trouble! You must go at once to the saloon.' This was followed by a tirade of Arabic directed at my poor Hassan."'
Anna looked up. 'Are you sure you want to hear all this?'
Andy nodded vehemently. 'I certainly do. Go on. What happened next?'Louisa saw at once that Lord Carstairs was sitting at the table in the saloon. Near him were the two Fielding ladies and Augusta. Sir John was waiting for her by the door.
'Thank God you are safe, Louisa, my dear. Thank God!' He grabbed her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on her cheek. 'We have been sick with worry!'
She frowned. 'You knew where I was, surely?'
'Oh, I knew where you were, but when Roger told us some of what has happened to you we were distraught, my dear. What a disaster! What a scandal!'
Louisa stared first at him, then at Carstairs. 'What disaster, what scandal? I don't understand.' She was suddenly suspicious. Carstairs, having stood up briefly to acknowledge her entry into the saloon had sat down again at once and was now studying his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. He did not look up. 'Please, Lord Carstairs, what scandal is this you feel you have to report to my friends?' A sudden wave of anger gave strength to her voice and he looked up at last to meet her eyes. She quailed slightly. The extraordinary depth of his gaze was without 185.
expression. For a moment her mind went completely blank. Desperately she grabbed at her composure and as she did so he smiled. It was a smile of extraordinary warmth and radiance.
'Mrs Shelley, forgive me. I am so sorry. It was my desperate and sincere concern for your safety which made me speak to the Forresters in the way I have. I had no intention of breaching confidences; I would never knowingly have spoken of anything which might in any way harm your good name.'
'Nor could you, my lord!' She persisted in holding his gaze and was relieved when finally he looked away. 'I have done nothing which could possibly incur such an accusation. How dare you imply that I have!'
She was aware suddenly of the eyes of the others in the saloon all fixed on her face. Katherine had placed one hand gently over the swell of her stomach as though to protect her unborn child from the unspoken horrors which surrounded it. On Venetia's face there was an expression of strange, excited, awe. Augusta looked merely embarrassed, Sir John angry and David Fielding obviously wished himself heartily anywhere else on earth.
It was the latter who broke the silence. He had remained standing after Louisa's arrival in the saloon and now stood, his hands clasped behind him, as though addressing a meeting. 'I think, my dears, it is time we returned to our vessel. It has been a tiring day for all of us and I am sure Mrs Shelley would like a little time to rest and compose herself without us all here, too. Katherine?' He held out his hand to his wife who stared at him for a moment, her face registering naked disappointment at being denied the spectacle of the first-class quarrel which seemed in the offing. Venetia, clearly also aggrieved, turned on her brother in fury. 'We cannot go without Roger! We were all to spend the evening together, surely?'
David pursed his lips. 'I am sure Roger will forgive us on this occasion. We can always meet once more tomorrow.'
His mild-mannered politeness belied the determined note which had entered his voice. In seconds Katherine had levered herself to her feet and shortly after that Venetia found herself with no option but to stand up as well.
Watching them make their farewells and troop up on deck to call their boatman Louisa at last sat down. With Sir John and Lord Carstairs gone after their guests to bid them farewell, she found herself alone with Augusta.
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'What is this nonsense?' she asked briskly. 'What has he accused me of? That man is a perfect nuisance. He followed me uninvited, interrupted my visit, and generally spoilt the day for me entirely. And now I return to find he has been making some kind of accusations behind my back? What exactly has it pleased him to say about me?'
Augusta settled herself into one of the chairs and clasped her hands in her lap. 'He told us about Hassan, my dear, and his totally inappropriate behaviour. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. He was so highly recommended.' She shook her head. 'But alas, I suppose you are an attractive woman,' she made it clear by her tone that this was a criticism, 'and you and he have spent so much time alone together. He could not restrain himself. And there was something else.' She frowned, not taking her eyes from Louisa's face. 'Roger informed me, discretely, of course, that you were,' she hesitated for the first time, looking suddenly very uncomfortable, 'that you were not properly dressed! In fact you were wearing some kind of native attire which was both provocative and totally unacceptable in a decent woman!' Her face had begun to glow quite pink and she reached into her sleeve for a lace handkerchief to dab her upper lip.
'And was Lord Carstairs spying on me, to make these accusations?' Louisa asked hotly. 'I don't remember inviting him to join me at any point. The dress to which he refers I brought with me from England,' she went on furiously. A small moment of guilt had vanished as quickly as it had arrived. 'It is most certainly not native attire, as he puts it. It is both cool and sensible wear for the climate and is totally decent, I assure you.' Her anger was almost choking her suddenly. 'As for Hassan, he has never ever been anything other than respectful to me. How dare Lord Carstairs imply anything else! He insults me, Augusta!'
Augusta stood up, agitated, and took one or two small steps up and down the saloon. 'No, my dear. He does not mean any such thing. He was right to speak to John and me, he really was. He was enormously concerned for your reputation. He admires you, Louisa. He has a tremendous respect for your talent which he tells us is considerable.' She picked up one of the letters from a pile which had been left lying on the side table and she fanned her face with it. 'He meant it for the best, my dear, he really did.'