The Cult of Osiris

‘I never said you didn’t! Why’re you getting all defensive about it?’

‘Because . . . because that’s something else that’s been getting me down,’ she admitted. ‘Almost all of my friends are archaeologists or historians. And ever since I got screwed over by the media, they’ve been treating me like I’m radioactive.’

‘Then maybe they weren’t really friends to begin with,’ Eddie told her. ‘So why’d you instantly assume I was seeing a woman friend this morning? What, you - ha! - think I’m having an affair?’

‘No, not really, just . . .’ She sagged. ‘It would have been the perfect capper to a really horrible day. The thought came to me, and it just wouldn’t go away. You’re out at all hours, and I . . . well, I haven’t exactly been the best company recently. And we haven’t, y’know, had sex for a while.’

‘Five days is “a while”?’

‘We only just got married - we’re supposed to be having sex every five minutes!’ She flopped back on the couch. ‘God. After all the horrible crap that happened to us, I thought that at least our getting married would be one perfect thing that would see us through it. But . . .’

‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ Eddie asked, concerned.

‘No, God, no. It’s just . . . it hasn’t been what I thought it would. What I hoped it would.’

‘Marriage’s like life, I suppose. Things always change, and you’ve got to adapt with ’em. There’s a military saying - dunno who said it, Napoleon or someone - “No plan survives contact with the enemy.” ’

‘It was Field Marshal Helmuth von Moltke,’ corrected Nina, earning herself a double-take from her husband. ‘But if marriage was the plan, who’s the enemy?’

‘Everyone and everything outside this room.’

‘I hate this room.’

‘Okay, off this couch.’

‘Not a big fan of the couch, either.’ They both managed half-hearted laughs.

‘Well, look,’ said Eddie, ‘I’m not seeing anyone else, okay? I know what it’s like to be on the other end of that from when I was married to Sophia. So don’t worry about it. Or anything else, either. Have a nice girlie day out with Lola tomorrow, and take your mind off everything.’ He gestured at the wad of money. ‘If Grant asks me to pick up any more orange juice for him, maybe we’ll even be able to afford a holiday.’

‘That’d be nice. Somewhere exotic.’

‘Egypt?’ The TV was showing another promo for the opening of the Sphinx, the live event now only three days away.

Nina huffed. ‘Yeah, right. I think it’d be a tad out of our price range.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings, eh?’

3

Despite waking with another hangover, Nina felt better than she had for quite some time. Merely committing herself to doing something outside her depressed rut had acted like a spark; after Eddie left to babysit another client around town, she decided to follow his example and cross the river to spend time in her native Manhattan before meeting Lola.

She found the memo Lola had given her and double-checked the gallery’s address. The message from Macy Sharif was written above it, forgotten until now. She didn’t remember the name; the intern must have started at the IHA after she left.

Remembering what Lola had said about Macy’s getting into trouble with the Egyptian police, she almost dismissed the note from her mind, but on a whim, prompted by her new-found urge to action, decided to follow up on it instead. It would take her the better part of fifteen minutes to walk to the nearest subway station, so making the call would at least pass the time. She left the apartment, dialling the number as she descended the narrow stairs.

‘Hello?’ A man’s voice.

‘Hi,’ said Nina, thumb already hovering over the button to end the call. ‘May I speak to Macy Sharif?’

Hesitation, then wariness: ‘Who’s calling?’

‘My name’s Nina Wilde. She left a message asking me to call.’

The ambient noise from the other end of the line became muffled as the man put his hand over the phone. There was a short exchange with someone else, then a cry of excitement. Nina raised her eyebrows. This Macy was very keen to speak to her.

A clunk and rattle as the phone was snatched from its owner. ‘Hello? Hello! Dr Wilde, are you there? Is that you?’ The woman’s accent was upscale southern with a vaguely Hispanic lilt.

‘Yeah, hi,’ Nina replied as she reached the sidewalk, rounding a ridiculously large red pickup truck parked outside her building before crossing the street. ‘Is this Macy?’

‘Yes, it is, yeah! Dr Wilde, thanks for calling me back, it’s such an honour to be talking to you. Really! I’m a big fan of yours.’

A fan? Nina wasn’t quite sure how to take that. This wasn’t some practical joke, was it? ‘Uh . . . thanks. You left a message at the IHA that you wanted to talk to me?’

‘Yes. Look, this’ll probably sound weird and maybe a bit stalkerish, but I really need to see you in person. I’ve got something I need to show you. You still live in New York, don’t you?’

Nina eyed the streets around her. ‘More or less.’

‘I’m staying with a friend in the East Village. Is there any chance you could meet me?’

‘I’m actually heading into Manhattan right now,’ Nina volunteered without thinking, before realising that she’d just blown a chance to turn Macy down politely. ‘But I don’t know if I’ll have the time today.’

‘I can meet you whenever, wherever - I just need ten minutes of your time.’

‘For what?’

‘It’s about Dr Berkeley’s dig in Egypt, at the Sphinx.’

The mention of Berkeley brought back the previous day’s humiliating meeting with Rothschild, which didn’t do Macy’s request any favours. ‘That dig’s nothing to do with me,’ Nina told her. ‘If you want to talk to somebody about it, you’d be better off finding someone at the IHA.’

‘No, I really need to show this to you. In person. You’ll understand why once you’ve seen it. Please, Dr Wilde? Just ten minutes. Five minutes, even. It’s really important.’

The pleading in her voice seemed completely genuine. ‘Look,’ Nina finally said, ‘I’m meeting a friend, and we’re going to dinner later. But I might be able to see you after that.’ The East Village was her old neighbourhood, not too far from where she and Lola would be having dinner. She tried to think of somewhere fairly close to a subway station, so she could return home afterwards with the minimum of fuss. ‘There’s a coffee shop called 52 Perk-Up on 7th Street, near Second Avenue. If I’ve got time, I’ll call you and we can meet there. I can’t promise anything, though.’

‘That’d be awesome,’ said Macy with evident relief. ‘Thank you, Dr Wilde. Thanks for talking to me.’

‘No problem. Bye.’ Nina disconnected, already wondering if she could come up with an excuse to let Macy down gently. Whatever she had to say about Berkeley’s dig, it wasn’t her problem.

Still, ten minutes of her time wouldn’t kill her.

Eddie spotted the long queue of people outside the nightclub from the far end of the block. Even relatively early in the evening, people were lined up four abreast in the hope of getting into one of the Upper West Side’s hottest new venues.

‘Looks pretty cool, huh?’ said Grant as his bright orange Lamborghini Murcielago cruised slowly along the street. For day-to-day travel round New York the actor relied on the ostentatious anonymity of the limo service, but when he wanted to be noticed he employed a vastly more eyecatching vehicle. ‘Check out that crowd - hell, check out those legs!’ He lowered his window for a better look at the miniskirted women waiting to enter. The car had already attracted attention, and when people realised a Hollywood star was at the wheel the reaction was almost a riot. Grant grinned his expensive grin and waved, blipping the throttle to let a tiny fraction of the supercar’s 631 horsepower howl through its exhaust pipes.

A section of sidewalk at the club entrance was cordoned off by velvet ropes: the VIP area. Grant pulled over, a valet swooping in to collect the keys in exchange for a token as he got out and stood before a galaxy of flashing