I
HAMID WAITED until we had assembled for lunch before making the announcement. There was the usual chorus of complaints from certain parties, but the sputtering and shouts of ‘Outrageous’ faded as Hamid went on to outline the alternatives. They were a good deal more generous than most companies would have offered.
That afternoon we would be transferred to the Winter Palace Hotel – all expenses paid of course. After the prearranged four days in the Theban area, passengers who wished to do so could board another cruise ship for Aswan, where they would spend several days before sailing back to Luxor. They might instead opt to return to Cairo by air for a two-week stay at Mena House or one of the four-star Cairo hotels.
‘What do you say, Vicky?’ Schmidt demanded. ‘What shall we do? Me, I vote for Cairo. Aswan is sehr interresant, but except for the nobles’ tombs – ’
‘We don’t have to make up our minds this minute.’
I couldn’t take my eyes off John. His face was as bland and uninformative as an oyster as he listened to Hamid. I had no doubt what his decision would be. He had known this would happen; he must have had a hand in arranging it. Mary was watching him too, her expression faintly troubled. She wouldn’t be consulted, but if I had been in her shoes (which God forbid), I’d have had my own reasons for preferring Cairo.
Shotgun wedding, I thought, savouring the ugly phrase. Mary’s daddy must be some guy. But he could never have cornered such an expert at elusion if John hadn’t had his own reasons for embracing matrimony. The ripe, juicy chunk of mango I was chewing tasted like sand as the inevitable calculations reeled off in my head. At least six weeks before she could be sure, maybe longer – a few more weeks making the arrangements for the wedding . . .
Months. It must have been going on for months. The same months during which he had . . . visited . . . me. While I sat there like some slack-jawed idiot in a country music ballad, bein’ true to my man.
I swallowed the loathsome morsel with a loud gulping sound. Schmidt looked at me in alarm. ‘Was ist’s? Are you going to be sick? You cannot be sick now, we have much – ’
‘I’m not sick, dammit! Stop fussing, Schmidt. Let’s go and pack.’
My elegantly appointed room and pretty little balcony had never looked more appealing. So much for that luxury tour I’d been promised; I’d never had the chance to enjoy it. Mother had always told me that if an offer seemed too good to be true it probably was.
The prospect of being Larry’s house guest offered some consolation. (It would certainly impress my mother.) I’d seen photographs of his Luxor establishment in some magazine; it wasn’t just a house, it was a whole estate, with beautiful gardens and a swimming pool and all the other odds and ends rich people consider necessary to happiness.
And I would be far far away from John and his pregnant bride.
I am not a neat packer, and my mood that day was not conducive to order and method; I tossed things at random into the bags and put them by the door. After a final check of closets and drawers to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, I opened the safe.
The reels of tape were gone.
I was squatting in front of the safe, fumbling in its interior in the hope of finding something – a gun, a message, a box of chocolates, anything to indicate interest – when the telephone rang. I snatched it up and yelled, ‘What do you want, Schmidt?’
‘I’m afraid it’s only me,’ an apologetic voice murmured.
‘Larry?’
‘Yes. You are going to accept my invitation, I hope. I intended to repeat it in person, but you left the dining room before I could speak to you.’
He had meant it, then. A little quiver ran through me, a mixture of pleasure, relief, and renewed alarm. The situation must be serious if he was anxious to get me to a safe place without delay. ‘It’s very kind of you. Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure it’s the best possible place for you.’
He didn’t have to spell it out. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Thank you. What about Schmidt?’
‘I’ve already spoken to him. He said he’d come if you did. So it’s settled. We’ll meet in the lobby in, say, half an hour?’
There was no point in hanging around my room, so I headed for the lounge. I expected to find Schmidt there, since Hamid had announced the bar would be open – a final farewell to the
‘So what’s going to happen to you guys?’ I asked.
‘All friends must part at last,’ said Feisal with a theatrical sigh. ‘We part sooner than I had hoped; but not for a few more days. I will remain with the tour here in Luxor.’
‘And after that?’
His smile was dazzling. ‘Something good, for me at least. I’m not at liberty to discuss it just yet. Are you coming with me to the Luxor Temple this afternoon?’
I shook my head. Feisal gave me one of those patronizing masculine looks. ‘Primping for the reception instead? I will see you later at the hotel, then.’
He glanced at his watch and stood up.
‘I won’t be at the hotel. Larry has asked me to stay with him.’
Alice gave me a startled look and then laughed. ‘Congratulations. You’re the first single woman to be so honoured in years.’
‘He’ll be adequately chaperoned,’ I said. ‘Schmidt is coming too.’
Feisal grinned. He was in a good mood, all right. ‘He is not the marrying kind, as you say. And he is too old for you. You haven’t forgotten you promised to let me show you the night life of Luxor?’
‘I’d like that. Thanks, Feisal.’
‘Till this evening, then.’ He went off, collecting Suzi as he passed her table. I heard her shrill voice raised in pretended protest as he led her out.
‘Are you really staying with Larry?’ Alice didn’t wait for me to answer. Thoughtfully she went on, ‘You’ll be all right, then. That compound of his could withstand a siege.’
‘How about you?’
‘I’m out of it.’ Alice made no effort to conceal her relief. ‘They’ve asked me to accompany the group that will be going on to Aswan.’
‘Then you’ve talked to – someone?’
The lounge was emptying, but I was wary of specific references.
‘Not yet. I’m supposed to meet – someone – at the Luxor Temple later this afternoon. But I can’t imagine that my services will be required any longer. The people who – the people concerned won’t be going to Aswan.’ She drained her glass and rose. ‘I was going to resign anyhow. I’m too old for this sort of thing. See you later.’
I let her go on before I followed. She was undoubtedly correct. The passengers who opted for the Aswan cruise had to be innocents. The Cairo-bound crowd was the one to be watched.
The last of the shore-tour group was leaving the lobby when I got there, to find my escort waiting – Schmidt, Larry, and the inevitable Ed. The open doors led, not to the gangplank but to the lobby of another cruise ship. We had to pass throngh it to reach the dock. Sometimes there were as many as five moored abreast, Larry said.
The car waiting for us looked as if it had been custom-built for a sheikh, and I felt sure the tinted glass was bulletproof. Ed rode up in front with the chauffeur, which left the three of us in splendid isolation in the back. There was room for the sheikh’s four legal wives and a couple of concubines.
The Shari el-Bahr el-Nil, familiarly known as the corniche, runs along the riverbank. It is a handsome boulevard with a tree-lined promenade on one side and on the other a fascinating melange of ancient temples and modern hotels and souvenir shops. We passed the Winter Palace, where our fellow passengers were to stay, and went on for another mile or so before turning into a narrow driveway. The walls ahead resembled those of a fort. They were topped with wicked-looking coils of barbed wire, and the closed gates appeared to be fashioned of steel. They swung slowly open as the car approached.
I pinched Schmidt. ‘You know, Schmidt, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.’
