Elizabeth Peters - Night Train to Memphis

All the same . . .

I blundered up out of my seat, squeezing past the tray with its load of china and glasses. Bright and Sweet were a few rows ahead of me; I could see Bright’s thick, brown expensive hair over the top of the seat. They beamed a welcome, but I didn’t wait for an exchange of greetings.

‘It’s a shame about Mrs Tregarth, isn’t it?’

‘Very sad,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘But Feisal says she is on the road to recovery. It should be a lesson to us all, you know; the poor dear lady was constantly overeating. That is especially dangerous when one is unaccustomed to strange food and water.’

Bright nodded vigorously. He probably wouldn’t have spoken even if he had been able to, but in this case he wasn’t; he had just shoved an entire stuffed egg into his mouth.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I wonder how long they’ll stay in Cairo. Where the – ’ I managed to stop myself. Larry, in the seat across the aisle, was watching me with a bewildered smile.

‘Let us hope she will be able to join us again soon,’ Sweet said. ‘A pity to lose part of such a delightful trip.’

I tried again. ‘Especially when it’s also a honeymoon. I suppose her son will stay in Cairo with her?’

‘I suppose so.’ Sweet gave me a puzzled look.

I got a grip on myself and turned to go. ‘Well. See you later.’

‘We will meet in a pyramid,’ Sweet called after me.

I inserted myself into my seat and picked up a sandwich – nothing plebeian like cheese or chicken, but a masterpiece of shrimp and chopped egg yolk and some mysterious sauce. Sweet and Bright didn’t appear to be concerned; in fact they had both looked at me as if I were losing my feeble mind. Of course, I told myself; they were professionals. Like the others they had heard of Jen’s illness. They might not know John was the man they were after, but they’d be on the alert for anything unusual. They probably even knew the Cairo Museum was in Cairo.

I can’t say I enjoyed the remainder of the tour of Sakkara, even though Feisal was at his most eloquent and Alice stuck with me most of the afternoon. She was good company, knowledgeable and yet unassuming, with an unexpectedly wicked sense of humour. Watching Suzi, who had attached herself to Feisal, she said with a grin, ‘Looks as if she’s going to settle for youth and beauty instead of cash. Larry will be relieved, he looked like a cornered rabbit last night.’

‘He’s a very nice guy,’ I said. ‘Larry, I mean. Do you know him well?’

‘Nobody knows him well.’ Striding briskly, her hands in her pockets, Alice looked as fresh as a woman half her age. ‘I’d met him once or twice; he’s truly dedicated to archaeology and very well informed. But I was surprised to find him on this trip, he’s a very private person. Of course the highlight of the cruise is the reopening of Tetisheri’s tomb and that has been his major interest for over three years. He’s probably hoping to persuade the other filthy-rich types on board to support similar projects.’

She stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, and I said, trying not to pant, ‘He’s not with the group this afternoon. Trying to avoid predatory females?’

She caught my meaning. ‘Not you. You made quite a hit. In fact he sidled up to me and asked me if I thought you’d like to accompany him this afternoon – he’s gone off to see the Eighteenth-Dynasty nobles’ tombs, which aren’t open to the public’

‘And you told him I wouldn’t? Hell’s bells, Alice, how am I going to catch myself a millionaire if you interfere?’

Alice laughed. ‘Don’t blame me. He talked himself out of it before I could reply. Honest to God, I felt like a high school student counsellor trying to convince some bashful kid it was okay to ask the cheerleader to a dance. But,’ she added, with a shrewd glance at me, ‘don’t get your hopes up. He likes you because you treated him like a human being but I don’t think he’s interested in matrimony.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘Sensible woman.’

‘Why didn’t you go with him? This tourist stuff must be boring for you.’

‘My dear, I’m on duty. Anyhow, I never tire of the tourist stuff. I haven’t been inside the Teti Pyramid for years.’

‘Is that the next stop? I’m getting confused,’ I admitted.

‘No wonder. We’re cramming an awful lot into one day. The brain overloads. You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.’

‘I think I won’t. Go ahead, I’ll sit here and admire the view.’

All but the most energetic were beginning to flag, after a long morning and a large lunch. Some had stayed on the bus, others wandered off in search of souvenirs, of which there was no dearth. Only a dozen people expressed an interest in the interior of the pyramid. Among them were Bright and Sweet and the large square woman who had been pointed out to me as a famous novelist. No one could have accused her of treading on Egyptian sensibilities; she was draped from shoulders to shins in flowing robes, with a scarf wound wimple-style around her large square face. Her features were vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I’d seen them, and I thought I would have remembered that face. Not many famous lady novelists have perceptible moustaches.

‘What’s her name?’ I whispered to Alice.

‘Louisa Ferncliffe. But she writes under the name of Valerie Vandine. Ever heard of her?’

I had. I had even, for my sins, read a couple of her novels. She was one of Schmidt’s favourite authors. Schmidt only reads two types of fiction: hard-boiled mysteries featuring lean tough detectives, and torrid historical romances featuring helpless voluptuous heroines. Violence and sex, in other words. I studied the massive form ahead of me with disbelief. The woman must have an incredibly vivid imagination. The sexual gymnastics she described in such interesting detail would have been physically impossible for someone built like that.

So that was why she looked familiar. The photographs on the backs of her books had omitted the moustache and the lines scoring her forehead. A couple of chins had been airbrushed out too.

‘Her heroines are all tall and slim and blond,’ I muttered. Alice chuckled. ‘It will be interesting to see how she gets a tall slim blond into a novel about ancient Egypt. She’s gathering material for one, I understand.’

Louisa tilted her head back and inspected the crumbling side of the structure. ‘Where are the Pyramid Texts?’ she demanded.

Feisal had almost certainly heard dumber questions; he said patiently, ‘Inside the pyramid, Miss Vandine. Are you coming?’

Instead of answering she turned her back on him and addressed Alice. ‘Are you?’

‘I had intended to, yes.’

‘In that case I will accompany you. I want to have some of the texts translated; to hear echo, in the air of the tomb chamber, the magical words of protection.’ Throwing her arms up, she intoned, ‘O gods of the underworld, greet this pharaoh in peace! O heavenly guides, bring down the wrath of Anubis on all who would violate this tomb!’

That was too much for Feisal. ‘I’m afraid there is no such text, Miss Vandine.’

She looked him up and down and back up again. ‘How would you know? Dr Gordon is an expert – ’

‘Not on the Pyramid Texts,’ Alice said. Her face was flushed, though not as darkly as Feisal’s. She went on, very quietly, ‘Feisal’s doctoral dissertation involved a comparison of Pyramid and coffin Texts. He is a graduate of Oxford and the University of Chicago. I believe I won’t accompany you after all. The air is rather . . . close inside.’

After the group had gone in I said, ‘Well done, Alice. Firm but ladylike.’

‘Too ladylike.’ Alice took off her hat and fanned her hot face. ‘She didn’t get it. There are always a few like that in every group. I don’t know why I bother; bigotry and rudeness are unconquerable.’