John answered in German. ‘Valen Dank, gnadige Frau, aber nein.’ In the same language, pitched so I could hear, he added, ‘I try never to perform in public’
The phone woke me at the unholy hour of 6 a.m. next morning. It was my wake-up call. I grunted an acknowledgment into the phone and reached out a languid hand for the button that would summon my room steward. I was going to miss this kind of service when I got home and was wakened at about the same hour by Clara sitting on my face and Caesar licking any part of me he could reach. Neither of them would bring me coffee.
The response was slower than usual, and when I answered the tactful tap at the door it wasn’t Ali. This man was darker-skinned and older and not so pretty.
‘Madame wishes breakfast?’ he inquired.
‘Where’s Ali?’
The fellow’s eyes shifted. ‘I am here instead, madame. Mahmud is my name. What is it the lady wishes?’
I didn’t pursue the matter. Maybe it was Ali’s day off. I had just finished showering when Mahmud came back; slinging on my robe, I told him to take the tray onto the balcony.
The boat rocked gently at its moorings. We had reached El Till, as promised, and at seven-fifteen would disembark to visit the site of Amarna. My room faced west, so all I could see was the river and the opposite bank. It was a beautiful morning, as usual. I wouldn’t need a jacket today. Already the breeze felt warm.
When we assembled in the lobby, Feisal began shouting directions. He seemed a little on edge that morning and reminded us twice, rather sharply, that we were to stay with the group and not wander off alone.
‘That doesn’t apply to me, of course,’ said Perry, edging up to me. ‘If there’s anything particular you want to see – ’
‘It sounds to me as if the regular tour covers as much as I want to see.’
And that was the truth. It was going to be a long, hot, tiring day. We were to spend the morning visiting part of the ruins of the city and a few of the nobles’ tombs. We would then return to the boat for an early lunch, and the weaker vessels would stay on board while the enthusiasts returned for a visit to the royal tomb in its remote wadi and, if time permitted, a few more nobles’ tombs.
I had a feeling that by lunchtime I would be tempted to join the weaker vessels. I had read about Amarna, and Perry’s lecture the previous evening had brought my memories into sharper focus.
The site is a great empty plain shaped like a half-moon, with the river forming the straight side and the cliffs of the high desert forming the curve. Amarna had been the capital city of the heretic king Akhenaton. He was one of the most interesting and enigmatic of ancient rulers; I had seen dignified scholars turn purple in the face and threaten to punch one another out when they got to arguing about whether Akhenaton was a monotheist or a pacifist or an idealist or a crazy religious fanatic or a disgusting ‘pre-vert.’ The artistic conventions of the period intrigued me, but the best examples of the painting and sculpture were elsewhere – in museums and private collections – since the site had been thoroughly vandalized in ancient and modern times.
I was not looking forward to enjoying Perry’s company all day, especially when we visited the city ruins. I knew what it would be like, since I’ve seen a number of archaeological sites: boring mud-brick walls, some as low as foundations, some as high as my head, in a confusing maze. The guide would say things like, ‘And this was the great reception hall,’ and we’d all gape at a square of dirt bounded by more of the bare brick walls and then he’d go on for hours pointing out things that had once been there but weren’t there now.
Feisal interrupted my thoughts with a sharp, ‘Vicky, please don’t dawdle,’ and I trotted obediently after him. Perry trotted after me.
‘Has he got a hangover or what?’ I whispered.
‘He doesn’t drink,’ Perry said. ‘Muslims don’t – ’
‘I was joking. What is bugging him?’
‘We’re in Middle Egypt now,’ Perry said soberly. ‘This is the area where terrorist attacks have been most frequent. But every precaution has been taken.’
They sure had. The first thing I saw when I stepped out onto the gangplank was a truck full of soldiers. ‘An armed escort?’ I exclaimed.
‘If anything happened to a member of this group, there’d be hell to pay,’ Perry said. ‘Ignore them and be thankful they’re here.’
I tried to follow his advice. The view was rather wonderful, unless you were of the school that insists on things like trees and flowers and grass and babbling brooks. It was a beauty of line and subtle shadings of colour, shadows that deepened from violet to blue-black, rugged rock walls turning from golden pink to paler silver as the sunlight strengthened. I wasn’t awfully taken by our means of transport – a tractor pulling an open metal trailer with rows of benches – but I didn’t suggest walking. Not with those grim-faced guys in uniform watching me.
The trailer proved to be just as uncomfortable as I had expected. I held on to the edge of the bench as we bumped along over a track that was barely distinguishable from the surrounding desert. I had managed to escape Perry, but when Sweet offered me a seat next to him (and, I hardly need say, Bright), there was no way I could refuse without rudeness. John obligingly shifted over to give me plenty of room. He also gave me a smile that indicated he was well aware I would have preferred another place.
‘I haven’t seen much of you lately,’ I said, turning my back on him and favouring Sweet with my most seductive smile.
‘We were shy,’ said Sweet, giggling. ‘You are so popular, Vicky. With all the handsome young men following you we thought you wouldn’t want to associate with two old bores like us.’
Bright grinned and nodded. Could he talk? Maybe he had some painfully embarrassing speech defect, a bad stutter or a lisp.
We exchanged a few coy jokes – about their good looks and my irresistible appeal – and then I said, ‘I haven’t seen Larry this morning. Did he stay on board?’
‘My dear, he was first off the boat!’
‘He has a schoolboy crush on Nefertiti,’ said John.
I would have ignored this, but Sweet leaned forward, including John in the conversation. ‘I thought Tetisheri was his dream girl.’
‘And Nefertari and Ti and all the other beautiful romantic queens of Egypt. He has succumbed to the legends and the portraits, all of which, one may reasonably assume, bore only a distant resemblance to their subjects.’
Sweet nodded sympathetically. ‘It is not difficult to understand why a shy, sensitive man, a lover of beauty and of art, would prefer a dream to reality.’
‘Or why a man might prefer a woman who has been dead for four thousand years to certain of the living specimens,’ said John.
‘Why, John, how cynical!’ Sweet exclaimed.
Mary had heard; her lips tightened and colour darkened her cheeks.
The trailer stopped and we climbed out. A hot breeze whipped the ends of my scarf across my face.
We were at the foot of the cliffs. High above I could see the entrances to the tombs. Once visitors had had to scramble up the steep, dangerous slope at the base of the rocks, but the need for tourist dollars and pounds, marks and yen had prompted the building of easier paths and several flights of steps. Straight ahead the trek began with a flight of long shallow stairs. Some of our party had already started up.
Perched on one of the steps was a figure wearing a pair of enormous sunglasses and the biggest, snowiest pith helmet I had ever beheld. He was surrounded by a pride of mewing cats and he was feeding them scraps which he took from the innumerable pockets of his khaki jacket. His comments, addressed to the cats, came to my ears like the tolling of a funeral bell.
‘Do not push; it is rude. There is plenty for all. Ach, you are a bad Mutti; let the little ones eat first.’
Behind me a voice said hollowly, ‘I don’t deserve this. Admittedly I have not led a wholly exemplary life, but
My sentiments exactly. I couldn’t say so because my vocal cords were paralyzed. Please, God, I thought, let me be suffering from sunstroke or schizophrenia or something harmless like that.
Schmidt looked up. His bushy white moustache flapped and his cute little pink mouth opened in a broad grin.
‘Excuse me,’ John said, shoving me aside. He set off with that deceptively leisurely stride that could cover
