Whispers in the Sand. Barbara Erskine
saw that they were both bound for the same calèche. She became aware that she had been scanning the crowds for Andy and Charley almost without realising it, but there was no sign of either of them; with them when they were finally settled into their seats were Joe and Sally Booth. Their driver, whose name, so he informed them, was Abdullah, could have been any age between seventy and one hundred and fifty, she decided as she quailed beneath his toothless grin. His skin was especially dark, gauntly drawn into deep creases and his missing teeth rendered his smile particularly piratical. Anna settled beside Serena with a fervent prayer that they were not going to be whisked off into the desert and never seen again. They set off at a canter, passing the other vehicles and heading into the centre of town where the horses challenged lorries and cars with no fear at all. Holding frantically to the side of the carriage Anna wished she had a hand free to take out her camera. There was something deeply primitive in this mode of transport which appealed to her greatly.
The calèche lurched into a pothole and Anna fell sideways against her companion. Serena laughed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? I am so looking forward to seeing Edfu Temple. It’s very special you know. It’s not nearly as old as somewhere like Karnac which we shall see next week. It was built in the Ptolomaic period, but it is famous for its inscriptions and carvings and they were faithful still to the old Egyptian gods even in Roman times.’
Anna found herself wishing suddenly she had spent less time reading up about the scent bottle and more on Louisa’s diary entry on her visit here. As the calèche hurtled up the main street and over a crossroads she pictured Louisa and Hassan together in just such a conveyance. There was a shout from behind them. She turned in time to see another vehicle, drawn by a grey horse with hips that stood out like coat racks draw level with them. Its driver cracked his whip in the air above the horse’s head and gave a shout of triumph as Andy leant forward to wave at them. ‘Last one there pays for the beer!’ His call rang in their ears as his calèche drew ahead.
Serena laughed uncomfortably. ‘He’s like a child, isn’t he?’
Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you see a lot of him if he and Charley are together.’
Serena shrugged. ‘Not that much. Not as much as Charley would like.’ She broke off and they both watched anxiously as a woman crossed the road in front of them, a watermelon balanced on her head. Abdullah cracked his whip just behind her with a malicious grin, clearly hoping to make her jump and she turned, melon still firmly in place, to shout and swear at him without losing an iota of poise and grace. It was impressive to watch.
‘Aren’t they wonderful?’ Serena glanced at the camera which had finally appeared in Anna’s hands now that they were in the thick of the crowds and the pace was less breakneck. She watched as Anna focused and pointed it at the departing woman. ‘I wonder why we don’t carry things on our heads. I don’t know that it’s ever been a western tradition, has it?’
‘Perhaps it’s the damp. Our belongings would get wet in the rain and we’d all develop arthritic necks.’ Anna laughed. ‘It could be a sign that global warming is with us for real – when all the people at the bus stop one morning put their briefcases and bags on their heads.’
Both women laughed. They fell silent again as a small boy passed them, a trussed turkey tucked beneath his arm. The bird’s eyes were crazed. It was panting with fear. Anna raised her camera as Serena shook her head. ‘I find it hard to cope with, the cruelty. That bird. These horses …’
‘They don’t seem to actually hit them,’ Anna put in. ‘Most of the whip cracking is for our benefit. I’ve been watching. My guess is that they know jolly well it would upset the effete western tourists if they hit the horses.’
‘While we are here, perhaps not, but what happens when we’ve gone?’ Serena did not sound convinced.
‘At least they feed them.’ Bags of bright green fodder were hung from every vehicle.
They left the calèches in the shade at the back of the temple and walked the final distance, its full length, towards the entrance. Anna stared up in awe. The temple was huge, a vast squat building, rectangular behind the enormous pylon or monumental gateway, forty metres high, carved with pictures of Ptolemy defeating his enemies. They stopped in front of it, their group forming obediently around Omar, as they listened to his summary of two thousand years’ history and the temple’s place in it.
A white robed figure stood near the entrance, beside the statue of the god Horus as a huge hawk and Anna found herself watching him. A black line of shadow cut across the dazzling white cotton of his galabiyya as he leant silently against the wall with his arms folded. She had the sense that he was watching them and she felt a sudden tremor of nervousness.
‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Serena was watching her face.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing really. I keep getting this strange feeling that there’s someone out there watching me …’
Behind them Omar took a deep breath and continued his story. Neither woman was listening.
‘Not someone very nice, judging by your reaction.’
‘No.’ Anna gave a small laugh. ‘I think Egypt is making me a bit neurotic. Perhaps we could have a drink before dinner this evening and I could tell you about it?’
About what? A nightmare? A feeling that someone had unpacked her bag in the dark of her cabin and moved her little scent bottle? A scent bottle haunted by an evil spirit. She shook her head, aware that Serena was still watching her curiously. It might sound stupid in the cold light of day, but after all, Andrew and Toby knew about the diary. Why not someone else? And someone in whom she sensed she could confide without feeling embarrassed. Wasn’t it Toby yesterday who had suggested she speak to Serena about her strange feelings in the Valley of the Kings? He had thought she might understand.
They were late back to the boat, exhausted and dusty and hot after their visit. Warm lemonade and scented washcloths were followed by lunch and then as the boat cast off and headed once more upstream, the passengers retired either to their cabins or to the sunbeds on the upper deck.
It was there that Andy found Anna a couple of hours later. He was carrying two glasses. Sitting down in the chair next to her he offered her one. ‘I hope you haven’t been to sleep without your hat.’
‘No, as you can see.’ It was hanging from the chair-back. She pulled herself upright and sipped the fresh juice he had brought her. ‘That was lovely. Thank you.’ The deck was deserted, she realised suddenly; while she had been asleep, one by one, everyone else had disappeared. ‘What time is it?’
‘No such thing as time in Egypt.’ He grinned. ‘But the sun disc is getting low in the west. Which means it will soon be time for another meal.’ He patted his stomach ruefully. ‘I suspect our excursions ashore, strenuous though they are, are not going to be sufficiently energetic to make up for all the food we eat.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would this be a good time to let me see the diary?’
The abrupt change of subject startled her. He was, she realised, looking down at her bag, which lay on the deck beside her chair.
‘It’s in my cabin. Maybe later, Andy, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure. No hurry.’ He leant back and closed his eyes. ‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’
‘On the boat, you mean?’ She glanced at him over the rim of her tumbler. It was impossible to read his expression behind his dark glasses.
He nodded.
‘No. Toby is the only one who has seen it. On the plane.’
‘Toby Hayward?’ Andy chewed his lip for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking, I know his name from somewhere. He’s a bit of a loner from what I gather.’
‘As I am,’ she pointed out gently. ‘At least on this cruise. He is a painter.’
She did not miss the raised eyebrow. ‘Indeed. Is he well known?’
Anna smiled. ‘I’ve no idea.