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.
