‘He’s just teasing,’ Jen explained, rummaging in her bag. ‘And taking good care of his old mum. I will take a dose, right this minute. I brought the bottle . . . I thought I had . . . Oh, never mind, it can wait. I feel quite well.’
‘I’ll get it,’ John said. ‘Give me your key.’
She handed it over and he left. He hadn’t acknowledged my presence except by a brusque nod.
‘He’s so thoughtful,’ Jen murmured.
‘What does your son do for a living, Mrs Tregarth?’ I asked.
Mary gave me an odd look. The question had been somewhat abrupt, but Jen was in no condition to notice nuances, and John was obviously her favourite topic of conversation.
‘Why, my dear, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him, since his line of work is so closely related to yours.’
I inhaled involuntarily and burst into a fit of coughing. Jen slapped me on the back and went on, ‘He began in a modest way – a little shop in Truro – but his business has expanded at such a rapid rate that he has just opened an establishment in London. I am informed that he is regarded as one of the most reputable authorities in all of England.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ I wheezed. ‘Let me guess. Antiques?’
‘And works of art.’
‘Of course.’ Gasping for breath, I covered my face with my hands.
‘There’s plenty of this revolting stuff to go round,’ said John. ‘Would you care for a nip?’
I fumbled for a napkin and looked up. He stood over me, one eyebrow elevated, both lips curling.
‘Darling,’ Mary said reproachfully.
‘It’s all right. I just inhaled the wrong way.’ I wiped my eyes.
John handed his mother a bottle filled with a virulent pink liquid. ‘Here you go, old girl. Would you care to try one of my cigarettes, Dr – er – Bliss, isn’t it? Yours appear to be a trifle too strong.’
II
By the end of the evening I had managed to meet most of the other passengers. Jen had been guilty of unkind exaggeration when she described them as senile, but ‘elderly’ wouldn’t have been inaccurate; the majority of them had to be at least seventy.
One of the exceptions was Suzi Umphenour, the bleached blonde from Memphis (Tennessee). I hadn’t expected to like her, but I did, perhaps because she cheerfully admitted that she had joined the cruise only because it was hideously expensive and very exclusive. ‘All my friends in Memphis were green with envy,’ she had declared with naive satisfaction.
‘Then you aren’t interested in Egyptology?’
She emitted a fat chuckle and grinned, displaying an expanse of expensively capped teeth. ‘I’m interested in men, honey. Young men. All my husbands were old and boring. I figure now I’m entitled to a little fun. There aren’t as many cute guys on this trip as I’d hoped, but some of the Egyptian boys are kind of sweet, don’t you think?’
I agreed that they were, and left Suzi closing in on Feisal.
By the time I got back to my room I was tired enough to die, but I knew I was too uptight to sleep, so I went out onto the balcony. The lights of the city glowed like jewels against the dark – diamond white, ruby and emerald and sapphire. The night breeze was cool, and if it was polluted – there was no ‘if’ about it, in fact – I didn’t notice.
The worst was over, I told myself. I hadn’t lost my temper or my dignity, and there was no danger of my doing so now – not when I had him dead to rights, under my thumb and in my power.
I had replaced the tiny tape reel in my gold locket, but the old tape was still on the table. It was supposed to be in the little safe under the dressing table.
Every suite had such a safe – not an ordinary lockbox, but specially designed safe with a specially designed key that could not be reproduced by an ordinary locksmith. I’d heard of luxury hotels that provided such a service, but never a cruise ship. However, this was a special ship in every way, and people who were rich enough to take the cruise probably expected such amenities.
We had been warned that if we lost the key the safe would have to be drilled open, at our expense, since there was only one. In my case that wasn’t true. At least one other person had a key to mine. I was supposed to leave messages in it and he – she – it? – would communicate with me in the same way.
Nobody would be entering my room that night The door was equipped with enough hardware to stop a tank. People were nervous about travelling in Egypt, and this was only one of many additional security precautions our management had provided. My mysterious ally wouldn’t open the safe until after I had left the room the following morning. I could leave the tape anytime before then.
There was nothing on that tape that could be of use to Burckhardt and his pals. John hadn’t admitted anything, except that he and I had known one another before.
But that conversation might be enough to identify him to other people who knew him only by one of his innumerable aliases. My acquaintance with Sir John Smythe, et cetera, ad infinitum was a matter of record in the police departments of at least three countries, and I didn’t doubt that Interpol was one of the organizations involved in this investigation.
I sat with my elbows on my knees and my chin propped on my hands and tried to think clearly. That mysterious message of Burckhardt’s had been rather vague. Maybe his informant had been mistaken. Even hot-shot secret agents are mistaken sometimes. Suppose that for once John was on the level. He had a job – a nice, honest job – and a nice little wife. Maybe he
A voice from the not-so-distant past jeered, ‘And if you believe that, you are as innocent as a new-laid egg.’
So maybe I was. I’d rather be innocent (translation: stupid) than vindictive.
He had told me once that he loved me. Only once – and I had badgered him into saying it, at a time when he was too battered and bruised to fight back. I owed him for those bruises, and for a couple of other times when he had risked his precious hide to get me out of a nasty situation. Perhaps he had meant it at the time. Perhaps he had only said it to shut me up.
If I betrayed him now I would stand accused, if only by my own conscience, of revenging myself on a man who had wounded my pride and my vanity. My initial protest to Burckhardt was still valid. Even if I identified John as the thief and swindler half the police of Europe were looking for, they couldn’t arrest him on my word alone. From what I had heard about the Egyptian security forces, they weren’t always too scrupulous about legal formalities, but John was a British subject, protected by the noble code that proclaims a man innocent until proven guilty. I believed in that code, even if it did seem at times to give crooks an unfair advantage.
There was no hurry. The tour wouldn’t return to Cairo for three weeks. If John did mean to have a shot at the museum I’d have to turn him in, there was no question about that. But I could afford to wait a little longer.
I decided to go to bed. A book I had brought along, on the medieval mosques of Cairo, had my eyelids at half-mast before I had read two pages. At that rate, I’d never become an expert on Islamic art in time to lecture on the subject. Cheer up, Vicky, I told myself; you may not have to. Once they put the handcuffs on your ex-lover, you can pull out. With a clear conscience.
III
The horrors of rising at dawn, an activity I try to avoid, were mitigated by the handsome, dark-skinned youth who tapped at my door less than a minute after the chimes had wakened me. I was in no condition to appreciate him, but I certainly appreciated the tray he carried. After two cups of coffee and a cool shower I was ready to face the day.
I made it to the dining room ten minutes before the tour was to leave. Breakfast was buffet-style; there was still plenty of food on the table, but only a few people lingered in the room. One of them was the German urologist, still hunched over his book.
My professional colleagues were gathered in one corner. I deduced that they were waiting for me; as I
