underlying traces of his native tongue gave his velvety baritone a fascinating touch of the exotic.
‘I am your leader and your devoted servant, ladies and gentlemen. I will be with you on the boat and on shore, wherever you go. You will come to me with all your troubles, questions, and complaints, and I will pass them on to your crew, which I now have the honour to introduce.’
He presented the captain, the purser, the doctor, the chef, and a few others; I lost track of what he was saying as I studied the blonde at the next table. Her eyes were fixed in a glassy stare and she seemed to be having trouble breathing. It might have been her corset. She had to be wearing something formidable under the white, draped silk jersey; it moulded, not moving flesh, but a substance as rigid as concrete.
I caught a name and returned my attention to Feisal. ‘Dr Peregrine Foggington-Smythe, our expert on Pharaonic Egypt,’ he announced.
So there were parents cruel enough to saddle a kid with a name like Peregrine. If I had seen him from a distance I might have taken him for John – briefly. He was a stretched-out, washed-out version of the Great John Smythe – taller and skinnier, with ash-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He informed us with magnificent condescension that he would be lecturing on Sakkara, the site we would visit the following day, as soon as Feisal finished his introductions.
He stepped back and Feisal, whose face had frozen into a look of barely contained dislike, turned on the charm again as he presented Dr Alice Gordon, who would be delivering the lectures on Hellenistic Egypt. Dr Gordon rose and raised her hand but remained modestly in her place at a table near the back of the room. She was a plump little woman with a mop of unkempt greying brown hair and thick glasses
The boat was certainly overloaded with experts, or at least with Ph.D.s. When my name was announced I followed Dr Gordon’s example, rising and subsiding without comment but with a modest smile.
I was the last of the staff to be introduced. A babble of conversation broke out as several of the crewmen started setting up a slide projector and screen, and Sweet exclaimed, ‘So it’s Dr Bliss? We are honoured! I have always been fascinated by Islamic art. Tell me – ’
I got quickly to my feet ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’m going to sneak out for a smoke before the lecture starts. Don’t move, I’ll be right back.’
Several other sinners followed me. Smoking wasn’t allowed in the lounge during lectures, and it was only permitted in a small walled-off area at other times. I was rather proud of myself for having realized that this habit, which is approximately as socially acceptable as spitting in public, might come in handy if I needed to extricate myself from a sticky situation. Avoiding the other lepers, who were clustered defensively at the rail, I walked on till I found myself alone.
But not for long. ‘Permit me,’ said a too-familiar voice. A lighter materialized in front of me. The hand holding it was equally familiar, though it wasn’t as well-tended as usual. The knuckles were scraped and rough. He must have run into a pyramid or something. Or slammed his fist into something? Maybe I had shaken that cultivated cool of his, as he had shaken mine. I’d have loved to think so. Taking a firm grip on my temper, I inhaled, coughed, and turned.
‘Where’s Schmidt?’ he asked.
I had assumed he’d want to have a private word with me, and I had carefully composed sarcastic (but very cool) replies to the questions I thought he’d ask. Waste of time. I should have known he wouldn’t start out with anything as obvious as ‘What are you doing here?’ Caught off guard, I told the truth. ‘Uh – in Amsterdam. Some rich Dutchman is considering offering the museum his antique-jewellery collection.’
‘Oh, jolly good,’ John said, not so enigmatically. His eyes moved from my face to the V of my dress. Reflexively my hand closed over the locket.
John’s lip curled. It was one of his better sneers. ‘Don’t bother switching it on.’
‘I already did. How did you know?’
‘It’s a tasteless trinket, my dear. Not your style.’
I bit my lip to keep from swearing. He was fighting dirty, hitting below the belt where it hurt the most. Had he seen the thin gold chain under the heavier chain that held the locket? Almost certainly. But it had been a shot in the dark; he couldn’t possibly know I was wearing the little enamelled rose he had given me, because I had tucked it securely down under, out of sight. That trinket was not tasteless; it was an exquisite example of antique Persian goldsmith’s work. I wasn’t wearing it for sentimental reasons. I was wearing it because I didn’t want to leave it lying around where someone might see it.
John’s eyes shifted. ‘You’re on the wrong track, Vicky,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t know what imbecile impulse persuaded you to join this cruise, but I strongly suggest you accept my assurance that it is nothing more and nothing less than it appears to be.’
‘A romantic honeymoon?’ I inquired evenly.
‘With the girl who swept me off my feet,’ said John.
He had seen her coming and pitched his voice so she would hear the last sentence. Laughing, she slid her arm through his and leaned against him.
‘Isn’t he a dear? Sorry to disturb you, darling, but the lecture is about to start.’
John gave me a smile that went nowhere near his eyes. ‘That’s just an excuse. She doesn’t approve of my habits.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t approve of your smoking, no. It’s so dangerous.’
‘Not nearly so dangerous as certain other habits,’ said Mary’s husband.
I declined Mary’s invitation to join them, claiming I wanted another cigarette. The only drawback was that I had to let John light it for me and pretend not to notice his amusement when I tried to inhale without turning purple. After they had gone, I unclenched my left hand. My nails had left dents in the skin of my palm.
I missed the first few minutes of Foggington-Smythe’s lecture, which turned out to be a smart move. He was the most boring speaker I have ever heard. My interest in the development of the pyramid form is decidedly limited, but he could have made a lecture on pornography (with slides) dull.
When the lights went on, several people snorted and started and blinked. Not my new friend Jen; bright-eyed and full of vim, she headed straight for me. She was wearing a salmon-coloured silk frock that would have looked absurd on any female less superbly indifferent to the opinions of womankind; the uneven hem waved around her ankles.
‘I had no idea when we met that you were a distinguished scholar,’ she cried. ‘You don’t look like one, my dear, you are far too young and attractive.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, since that is just about the only way one can respond to a dubious compliment of that sort. I assumed it was meant as a compliment.
The others were drifting towards the doors, except for a few presumed archaeology buffs, who had gathered around the lecturer. ‘Won’t you join me for dinner?’ Jen asked. There is no assigned seating, you know; I do think that’s an excellent idea; it gives us a chance to make new friends and change about if we like. I’d love to have you tell me all about yourself.’
I rather doubted that. Nor did I feel I was quite up to munching my way through six courses in the company of the lovebirds.
‘I’d like to, but – ’ I indicated Bright and Sweet, who had punctiliously risen to acknowledge her arrival.
‘Yes, I know Mr Bright and Mr Sweet. That will be splendid; four of us will complete the table.’ She gave me a conspiratorial wink. ‘I don’t want my dear children to feel they are obliged to entertain me all the time.’
Relieved of that anxiety, I was pleased to agree. Not that I had much choice; Jen had taken my arm, in a grip as firm as that of a prison guard. I had realized early on that she was one of those women who will get her own way by one means or another, and I wondered whose idea it had been to make the honeymoon a menage a trois. Surely not John’s. Unless he was ruthless and unprincipled enough to use his own mother and his bride as a means of diverting suspicion?
We wended our way down the stairs to the lowest deck and the dining room. The decor reminded me that this wasn’t just any old cruise; there were fresh flowers on every table, and a row of wineglasses at every place. A waiter led us to a table for four and presented us with menus stiff with gilt print. The napkins had been folded into intricate shapes; I was reaching for mine when the waiter whipped it out of my grasp and spread it neatly across my knees. I tried to look as if I had expected it.
Sweet and Bright took forever deciding on an appetizer; I had already ordered so I had leisure to inspect the room. The murals covering the walls were copies of famous tomb reliefs – not scenes of death and judgement, but
