A pair of booted feet came into view and I looked up to see Jean-Louis. I wasn’t sorry to have my train of thought interrupted.
‘Do you have a cigarette?’ Jean-Louis asked brusquely.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’ Then I remembered that I did. Reaching into my bag, I dredged out my cigarettes. The pack was almost full, but it was rather squashed. ‘Keep it,’ I added generously.
‘That is most kind.’
It wasn’t, but I didn’t say so. He must be a chain-smoker. The ground where he had been standing was littered with butts.
‘So, did you enjoy the paintings?’ he asked.
‘I’m still dazzled. You’ve done a magnificent job. Mes hommages.’
Between the mop of bushy hair and the beard I couldn’t see much of his face, but he didn’t respond to my smile. ‘It is only one small part of what needs to be done. That is what the work of the institute will be – preservation. A worthy cause, do you not think?’
‘Unquestionably. As I said – ’
‘A cause worthy of sacrifice.’
He appeared to be talking to himself rather than to me. I wondered if the guy was drunk. Surely not at this hour? His hands were shaking as he lit another cigarette from the butt of the first.
I could feel relays clicking into place. I don’t know how society conditions women into feeling that they are obliged to console, reassure, and flatter melancholy males. I’d fought the impulse ever since I was old enough to recognize it, but I hadn’t been entirely successful. I decided that Jean-Louis must be one of those unfortunate people who can’t see the doughnut for the hole. Apparently he was brooding on the magnitude of the task ahead and questioning his ability to carry it out. The job would never be finished, not in his lifetime at least; there was too much to be done. That’s true of a lot of things, though, including the achievement of social justice, universal peace, and a world in which there are no hungry children. It’s no excuse to stop working towards those ends.
I said as much, larding the pompous speech with compliments, and gradually his face, or at least his mouth, relaxed. ‘It is true,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And I am one of the few who can work effectively in this area.’
‘Uh – right,’ I said.
He went on to tell me how good he was at the restoration business and I went on to regret my womanly instincts. My wandering eye caught that of Larry, who had been watching us, and he responded to my unspoken plea for rescue.
‘Come now, Jean-Louis, you’re supposed to be mingling,’ he said.
‘Me too,’ I said, rising. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to our former shipmates.’
Larry accompanied me. ‘Moody fellow, isn’t he?’ I inquired, when we were out of earshot.
Larry frowned. ‘He hasn’t any reason to be moody right now. What did he say?’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention.’
‘He was talking a lot. Unusual for him, he’s not very sociable.’
‘He was fishing for compliments,’ I said. ‘Getting them too.’
Our shipmates greeted us with open arms. Sweet, who had apparently recovered from his bout of sickness, said slyly, ‘We were afraid you had deserted us, Vicky.’
‘I’d desert you too if I had the chance,’ Suzi said with a big grin. ‘How about wangling an invitation for me, Vicky?’
‘I was only asked . . . because of Schmidt,’ I said, fumbling for a reasonable explanation. ‘He and Larry are old pals.’
‘What about the Tregarths?’ Suzi demanded. ‘They aren’t old pals of Larry’s, are they?’
‘I’ve no idea what prompted that invitation,’ I said.
‘Tregarth is good at pushing in where he’s not wanted,’ said Perry, joining us.
‘I can’t get anyone an invitation,’ I said pointedly. ‘I wouldn’t be rude enough to try.’
‘So what are your plans?’ Sweet asked. ‘Will you be going on to Aswan with us day after tomorrow?’
I said I hadn’t made up my mind. Some of the others were still wavering, but the majority had opted for the Aswan cruise. Including Sweet and Bright. Obviously I’d been wrong about them. But I still couldn’t understand why Bright had lied about his origins.
‘At any rate we will enjoy one another’s company for a day or two longer,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘Are you coming to Karnak with us this afterooon, Vicky?’
The party was breaking up. Feisal began herding the group towards their bus and I returned to ‘my’ stretch limo, but not before I had agreed to join the others that afternoon. It was pure reverse snobbism; I didn’t want them to think I was too stuck up to mingle with non-billionaires.
There were five of us in the limo, not counting the chauffeur, but it wouldn’t have seemed crowded if John hadn’t been one of the five. At least I didn’t have to sit next to him. I climbed in after Schmidt, and Larry took the seat beside me. Leaning back with a sigh, he loosened his tie.
‘You must be glad it’s over,’ I said.
Larry glanced at me and smiled sheepishly. ‘I hate ceremony and long speeches. I am glad to be done with that part of it, but it will be hard to leave Egypt.’
I figured I’d done my duty as a sympathetic female, and I couldn’t feel too sorry for a man who owned – if I remembered the newspaper stories correctly – six other residences, including a chateau in the Loire Valley.
‘You can always build another house,’ I said.
‘I have too many damn houses already,’ Larry said, with an uncanny impression of having read my thoughts. ‘No, I won’t live in Egypt again.’
‘I’m sure they’ll always have a spare room for a guest,’ said John.
He was referring to Jane Austen, but none of the others caught the allusion, or its implications. Nasty old Aunt Norris in
Schmidt chuckled fatly. ‘For you, Larry, there will always be a spare room anywhere in Egypt. You have done the country a great service. When will you be departing, mein Freund? You must tell us when we are in the way. The ETAP hotel, I understand, is very fine; we can take ourselves there at any time.’
Larry assured us we were welcome to stay as long as we liked. ‘The packers are coming tomorrow. It will take a while, since some of the ceramics and furniture are old and fragile, so there’s no hurry. Have you decided on your future plans?’
He looked at John. John was looking at me. One eyebrow went up.
I remembered what Achmet had said. This seemed like an appropriate moment to indicate my complete disinterest in John Tregarth alias Smythe and all his works. ‘I’m going to Aswan,’ I said.
‘But Vicky,’ Schmidt began.
‘You don’t have to come along, Schmidt.’
‘I will go where you go,’ Schmidt said, as I had hoped he would. Otherwise I’d have had to kidnap him and drag him away by force.
So that afternoon we went to the temple of Karnak. John and Mary decided to join us. I hadn’t invited them. Schmidt had. Larry declined; he said he had work to do, and he’d seen the temple several dozen times.
We had to wait a few minutes for the rest of the group to arrive. Studying the crowds that filled the passage between the rows of ram-headed sphinxes, I said, ‘I can’t imagine what this place is like when tourism is at its peak. look at all those people.’
‘This is not an area where there have been attacks on tourists,’ Schmidt said, nodding encouragingly at Mary.
Mary’s devoted husband wasn’t so considerate of her feelings. Frowning slightly, he said, ‘Not precisely true, Schmidt. There was a bombing here a couple of years ago and another attempt earlier this season.’
‘Ah, but those attacks were in objection to what the fundamentalists consider the worship of the old heathen gods,’ Schmidt explained. ‘Some of these peoples’ – his pointing finger indicated a group of unkempt visitors in ponytails and cut-off jeans – ‘the New Agers, you call them, hold ceremonies in the temple. We, we don’t worship anything.’
‘We sure don’t,’ I agreed. John grinned at me. Avoiding his eyes, I went on, ‘You’re right about that bunch, Schmidt, they’re all wearing amulets and crystals and earrings and junk. Why do they have to look so scruffy?’
