Barbara Erskine - Whispers in the Sand

‘Nut. Goddess of the sky.’ Hassan was standing beside her, holding the flare high and she found herself suddenly intensely aware of his closeness to her. She glanced sideways. He was gazing up at the figures, his face a silhouette in the soft light.

He turned and caught her staring at him. She blushed. ‘May I have the flare?’

‘Of course, Sitt Louisa.’ For half a second their hands touched as her fingers closed round the wooden shaft. Then abruptly she stepped away from him. ‘Tell me about the goddess of the sky.’

Anna woke with a start to find the light in her cabin still on, the diary lying open on her chest. Daylight poured through the slatted shutters, sending bright narrow wedges of light onto the floor and up the wall. Leaping out of bed she reached across to the window and slid the shutters back. Outside, the river was a brilliant blue. A Nile cruiser was making its way upstream, whilst across the broad stretch of water she could see the palm trees on the distant bank, a strip of brilliant green fields and beyond them in the distance a line of low hazy mountains, pink and ochre in the early morning sunlight.

Dressing quickly in a blue shift she made her way out between tables and chairs in the lounge onto the deserted deck and stared round in delight. It was already hot on the afterdeck, but under the awning it was shady. She walked to the rail and leant on it, staring at the palm trees on the far side of the river. The cruiser was out of sight now, and for a moment the river was empty. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to turn her back on the view and head for the dining room and breakfast. At the door she met Serena, Charley’s cabinmate, who the night before had been sitting at the next-door table. About forty-five, slim and attractive with short dark hair and huge green eyes she gave Anna a cheerful smile. ‘See you later,’ she said by way of hello and goodbye. She held the door open for Anna, then disappeared in the direction of the cabins. In the dining room only Charley was sitting at the table they had all shared the night before.

‘Good morning.’ Anna sat down near her. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Not a wink.’ Charley scowled. She was nursing a cup of black coffee. She sighed. ‘I hate flying and I hate boats.’

Anna hid an astonished smile. She resisted the temptation to ask why in that case Charley had come on such a holiday. ‘Can I get you something from the buffet?’ Behind them the serving table was laden with cereals and fruits, cheese, cold meat and eggs.

Charley shook her head. Her long hair was caught back in a ponytail this morning and she was wearing a tee-shirt and jeans ‘Just ignore me. I’ll improve when I’ve had a couple of these.’ She gestured at the coffee.

‘Have the others had breakfast?’ Anna eyed the empty places, already cleared by the waiters.

Charley nodded. ‘All early birds.’ She gave Anna a sideways glance. ‘Andy and I are an item, we’ve been together for several months.’

Anna watched while the waiter poured her coffee then she stood up ready to go to the buffet. ‘I thought perhaps you were.’ She smiled. Charley’s comment was a clear warning shot across the bows. Yet hadn’t Andy said he was unattached? Piling up fruit and cheese and a delicate crumbling croissant onto her plate she turned back to the table. Charley had gone.

Returning to her cabin to collect her sun hat, glasses and guidebook, Anna stood for a moment staring round. She had left the diary on the bedside table. Hesitating briefly she swung her suitcase down from the top of the locker where she had stowed it and put the diary inside. Locking it, she lifted it back into place. As she was collecting a hairbrush and some sun cream from the dressing table to toss into her bag her eye was caught by the scent bottle. Should she have locked that away as well? She hesitated, glancing at her watch. They had been told to meet in the boat’s reception area at six forty-five to leave at seven a.m. She did not want to miss the bus. The decision was simple. She would take it with her. Picking up the bottle she wrapped it in one of the fine silk scarves she used to knot back her hair and tucked the small scarlet bundle into her bag. Then, turning, she let herself out of the cabin.

A small coach collected them from the river bank and drove them to the ferry in Luxor. To her surprise as she sat down alone towards the back of the coach and waited, staring eagerly out of the window, Andy came and sat down beside her, wedging his broad frame into the narrow seats with a familiarity which, she had to admit, she did not find entirely unpleasant. ‘So. How are you this morning? Excited?’

In spite of herself she glanced round for Charley. Not seeing her she nodded. ‘I’m fine. Very excited. Yes.’ She recognised all the faces now. Near her were Sally Booth and Ben Forbes. And Serena, sitting next to an elderly lady in a cerise trouser suit. Then two more couples whose names she didn’t know. And at the back of the bus on his own she saw Toby Hayward.

‘Did you bring your precious diary?’ Andy was looking at the tote bag on her knee.

She shook her head. ‘It’s locked in my suitcase.’ She grinned at him. ‘I’m sure it’s all right, Andy. There wouldn’t be anyone around who would want it. Really.’

He was still staring at her bag and she glanced down to see what interested him so much. Her scarf had worked free and the little scent bottle was lying on top of her guidebook in full view.

‘Souvenirs already?’ He smiled at her. ‘Don’t let the peddlers badger you into buying anything you don’t really want. They’re awfully persuasive.’

She shook her head, feeling suddenly defensive. He had clearly not recognised it as antique. Wrapping the bottle up again she pushed it to the bottom of the bag. ‘I won’t. I’m good at saying “no”.’ She caught sight of his raised eyebrow out of the corner of her eye and chose to ignore it.

As the coach lurched up the track from the river and onto the narrow dusty road she stared out of the window at the squat, square mud-brick houses on either side. They seemed to rise to two or three storeys then they would stop, unexpectedly, as though only half finished, with yards of metal reinforcements projecting from the top, like clusters of TV aerials. Huddled together they gave the impression of shanty towns clustered around the outskirts of the city itself, all built in a uniform yellowy-grey colour but some brightly painted, with wild designs and patterns, a contrast to the sandy dust which was everywhere, and many further decorated with the rugs thrown across the sills to air. Some had nothing more than a few palms or straw mats strewn across the top, instead of roofs, and all over the place Anna saw rows of amphora-like clay pots lying on the rooftops or around the doors. She shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe I’m here, to be honest.’

He laughed. ‘You are here, believe me. So, did you read any more of the diary last night?’

Anna nodded. ‘A bit. I found the section where she went to the Valley of the Kings. There was a wonderful description of the valley. It was empty. Deserted. There was no one there with her except her dragoman, Hassan. They sat and picnicked on a Persian rug.’

Andy laughed. ‘I’m afraid it won’t be like that for us. It will be packed with tourists. I’ve heard a lot of people say there are so many crowds there that it spoils it. No atmosphere, or not much. And no dragomen!’

‘It’s such a lovely term. I should love my own dragoman!’ She clutched at the back of the seat in front of them as the bus hit a pothole and then turned sharply to the right, hooting furiously as it hurtled out onto the busy main road.