Robin Cook - Sphinx

It was only when they were drinking coffee that Yvon was willing to discuss the statue of Seti I or Abdul’s death.

“I brought these photos for you to look at,” he said, taking five pictures from his pocket and placing them in front of Erica. “I know you saw the men who killed Abdul Hamdi for only a second, but do you recognize any of these faces?”

Taking each in turn, Erica studied the pictures. “No,” she said at length. “But that doesn’t mean they weren’t there.”

“I understand,” said Yvon, picking up the photographs. “It was just a possibility. Tell me, Erica, have you had any problems since you’ve come to Upper Egypt?”

“No… except I’m quite sure I’m being followed.”

“Followed?” said Yvon.

“That’s the only explanation I can think of. Today in the Valley of the Kings I saw a man I believe I first saw in the Egyptian Museum. He’s an Arab with a large hooked nose, a sneering grin, and one front tooth that comes to a point.” Erica bared her lips and pointed to her right incisor. The gesture brought a smile to Yvon’s face, although he was not pleased that she had spotted Khalifa. “This is not funny,” continued Erica. “He scared me today, pretending to be a tourist but reading the wrong page in his guidebook. Yvon,” she said, changing the subject, “what about this plane of yours? Do you have it here in Luxor?”

Yvon shook his head, confused. “Yes, of course. The plane is here in Luxor. Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to go back to Cairo. I have some work that will take about half a day.”

“When?” asked Yvon.

“The sooner the better,” said Erica.

“What about tonight?” He wanted Erica back in the city.

Erica was surprised at the offer, but she trusted Yvon, especially now that she knew he was married. “Why not?” she said.

Although she had never been in a small jet before, she had imagined there would be a lot more room than there was. She was strapped into one of the four large leather seats. In the chair next to Erica was Raoul, trying to carry on a conversation with her, but Erica was more interested in what was happening and whether they were going to get off the ground. She didn’t believe in the principles of aerodynamics. In big planes it didn’t worry her because the concept of the huge hulk ever flying was so preposterous that she refused to think about it. The smaller the plane, the more the issue was unwelcomely thrust into her awareness.

Yvon employed a pilot, but since he had trained to fly himself, he usually preferred to be at the controls. There was no air traffic and they were cleared immediately. The knifelike little jet thundered down the runway and leaped into the air as Erica’s fingers blanched.

Once they were under way, Yvon relinquished the controls and came back to talk with Erica. Beginning to relax, she said, “You mentioned that your mother was from England. Do you think she might have known the Carnarvons?”

“Why, yes. I’ve met the present earl,” said Yvon. “Why do you ask?”

“Actually, I’m interested to know if Lord Carnarvon’s daughter is still alive. Her name is Evelyn, I believe.”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Yvon, “but I could find out. Why do you ask? Have you become interested in the ‘Curse of the Pharaohs’?” He grinned in the half-light of the cabin.

“Maybe,” answered Erica teasingly. “I have a theory about Tutankhamen’s tomb that I want to investigate. I’ll tell you about it when I get some more information. But if you could find out about Carnarvon’s daughter for me, I’d really appreciate it. Oh, one other thing. Have you ever heard the name Nenephta?”

“In what context?”

“In relation to Seti I.”

Yvon thought, then shook his head. “Never.”

They had to fly a complicated pattern over Cairo before they were allowed to land, but formalities were brief, since the plane had already been cleared. It was just after one A.M. when they arrived at the Meridien Hotel. The management was extremely cordial to Yvon, and although they were supposedly full, they somehow managed to find an extra room for Erica next to his penthouse suite. Yvon invited her over for a nightcap after she had settled herself.

Erica had brought only her canvas tote bag, packing a minimum of clothing, her makeup, and reading material. She’d left the guidebooks and flashlight in her room in Luxor. So there was little to do by way of “settling” herself, and she walked through the connecting door into the main room of Yvon’s suite.

He had removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves and was just opening a bottle of Dom Perignon when Erica entered. She took the glass of champagne, and for a moment their hands touched. Erica was suddenly conscious of his extraordinary good looks. She felt as if they had been moving toward this night since they first met. He was married, he obviously wasn’t serious, but then, neither was she. She decided to relax and let the evening take its own course. But an excited pulse began between her thighs, and to distract herself she felt impelled to talk. “What makes you so interested in archaeology?”

“It started when I was still a student in Paris. Some of my friends talked me into going to the École de Lange Oriental. I was fascinated and worked like crazy for the first time. I’d never been much of a student. I studied Arabic and Coptic. It was Egypt that interested me. I guess that’s more of an explanation than a reason. Would you like to see the view from the terrace?” He held out his hand to her.

“I’d love to,” said Erica, the pulse quickening. She wanted this. She didn’t care if he was using her, if he was simply compelled to take to bed any attractive woman he met. For the first time in her life she let herself be swept along by desire.

Yvon slid open the door, and Erica walked out under the trellis. She could smell the fragrant roses as she stared down at the whole city of Cairo spread out against the canopy of stars. The citadel with its bold minarets was still illuminated. Directly before them was the island of Gezira, surrounded by the dark Nile.

Erica could sense Yvon’s presence behind her. When she looked up at his angular face, he was studying her. Slowly he reached out and drew the tips of his fingers through her hair, then cupped the back of her head and pulled her to him. He kissed her tentatively, sensitive to her emotions, then more fully, and finally with true passion.

Erica was amazed at the intensity of her response. Yvon was the first man she had been with since knowing Richard, and she was not certain how her body would react. But now she opened her arms to Yvon, matching his excitement with her own.

Their clothes fell naturally as their bodies slowly sank to the Oriental carpet. And in the soft silent light of the Egyptian night they made love with intense abandon, the sprawling throbbing city serving as mute witness to their passion.

Erica awoke in her own bed. She dimly remembered Yvon saying that he preferred to sleep alone. Turning over, thinking of the evening, she was amazed to find she felt no guilt.

When she emerged from her room it was about nine. Yvon was sitting on the balcony dressed in a blue-and-white-striped robe, reading the El Ahram newspaper in Arabic. The rays of the morning sun were broken into pieces by the trellis, splattering the area with bits of bright color like an impressionist painting. Breakfast lay waiting under silver serving dishes.

He got up when he saw her and embraced her warmly.

“I’m very glad we came to Cairo,” he said, holding out her chair.

“So am I,” said Erica.