Flora's War (13 page)

Chapter 10

Early the next morning, Easter Saturday, a message came from Lady Bellamy saying that she had been advised against opening the rest and recreation centre until things in the city had settled. I could read her impatience in every line. ‘But we shall certainly open on Easter Sunday,’ the note ended. ‘I trust I shall see all my volunteers there.’

Gwen and I both arrived early on Easter Sunday, eager to hear all about the goings-on in the Wozzer. But we were disappointed, the soldiers weren’t talking about it – not to us, anyway.

‘They probably think we don’t know what the Wozzer is,’ I said to Gwen.

‘It’s probably best we don’t embarrass them by telling them we do know,’ Gwen replied.

Late in the afternoon, Matthew Grier called in. ‘As I predicted there’s been a formal inquiry,’ he told us. ‘They lined up about fifty witnesses, but wouldn’t you know, no one really saw anything. The New Zealand army officers claimed their men weren’t there,’ Matthew said. ‘They were, I saw them. The Australian officers claimed that there’d been more New Zealanders than anyone else. That wasn’t true either, not from what I saw.’

‘So what happened?’ I asked.

‘There could have been some very unpleasant consequences, but in the end it was glossed over,’ said Matthew. ‘The officers decided to split the bill for the damages, and left it at that. It seemed fair.’

‘And were any of your men in trouble?’ Gwen asked.

‘None of
my
men were involved. I didn’t see a one of them there.’ He winked at us.

I thought about that. If it was only people in the Wozzer who’d lost goods and possessions, and they’d been cheating our boys, I thought it served them right. They were going to be recompensed, after all. I knew enough not to get cheated in the bazaar, myself, but lots of our boys didn’t.

‘Were other shops looted?’ I asked Matthew. ‘Anyone hurt?’ I knew at least one innocent person had been – Mr Hussein.

‘That’s being investigated,’ Matthew said. ‘If so, they’ll be looked after.’ I had to be satisfied with that.

There was a queer, unsettled atmosphere in the centre that day. The men seemed on edge. More of them approached Gwen and me, asking if we’d write to them when they moved out. Again, our overall pockets bulged with slips of paper of names and addresses.

‘They know they’re going into action soon,’ I said.

Gwen nodded. ‘I keep telling them to take care, to stay safe,’ she said. ‘And they just look at me. I could just – I don’t know – hug every one of them.’

‘Better not,’ I said. ‘That’d get you a reputation with Lady Bellamy in no time.’ But I knew how she felt.

…

A few days later as I drove Fa to the excavation, we saw the large Australian camp by the pyramids packing up.

‘They’re moving out,’ I said. ‘It’s happening.’ More than half the tents were down. Men were stacking equipment, rolling up canvas, burning rubbish in large bonfires.

Fa blinked and looked at the dismantled camp. ‘So they are,’ he said. ‘Where are they going, do you know?’

I shook my head. If the men knew, they weren’t telling. Lydia’s Matthew would probably know, but he was tight-lipped. Even Lydia was keeping something to herself. She’d invited Gwen and me to a moonlight picnic at the Sphinx. ‘Rather a special one,’ she’d said. ‘I’ll be going away for a while, so it’s a sort of farewell.’

‘Going away?’ I’d said. ‘Not to France?’

Lydia had just shaken her head.

It was a very big day at the excavation. The workmen cleared the last of the rubble from the shaft and passage. Fa came to the tent where I was sketching an almost intact pottery jar.

‘Come on! You’ve got to be there,’ he said, as excited as I’d ever seen him. ‘The men will be breaking into the burial chamber any moment.’

I dropped my pencils and followed him into the tomb. We climbed down the vertical shaft by rope ladder and entered the passage. Workmen were clustered along the walls, all waiting eagerly to see what was inside. The air was vibrating with excitement. Mr Khalid, despite his bulk, had managed to make his way along the passage and was waiting beside the blocked entrance to the burial chamber.

‘Right. Now.’ Fa signalled a workman to attack the sealed entrance.

In minutes there was a sizeable hole. I didn’t think Fa was even breathing. In another few minutes there was room to step inside. Mr Khalid gestured for Fa to move forward.

The workman who had broken into the entrance had a huge smile on his face. I knew it had to be good news.

Fa bent his head, stepped through the hole, and disappeared. Mr Khalid waited for me to follow. I stepped through – and stared. There he was. Khnumhotep. I gazed, mesmerised, at the painted face of Khnumhotep on his elaborately decorated sarcophagus, inscribed all over with the spells and instructions of the Book of the Dead.

Fa walked around the room, taking a visual inventory of the pieces of furniture, weapons, jars of food and mummified haunches of meat – all that Khnumhotep would need to sustain him in his new life. To me, most touching items of all were the wreaths of flowers; dried and brown and shrivelled, all falling into dust, but still flowers. Who had lovingly placed flowers on Khnumhotep’s sarcophagus so long ago, then turned and walked away and left him forever? I would never know, but I was pleased for Khnumhotep that someone had loved him.

Fa and Mr Khalid were jubilant. This was a great discovery, and a valuable one. They shook hands heartily. The workmen were delighted too. This would mean a bonus for them. When we climbed up the rope ladder and came out of the tomb, we all felt sky high.

Fa spoke to Mr Khalid, arranging an immediate payment for the workmen, so that they could celebrate that night. He also arranged for extra guards to be on site.

‘It will be done,’ Mr Khalid promised. No one, I knew, would dare to rob any tomb that Mr Khalid was involved with.

In the tent, Fa and I sat down and looked at each other.

‘I’m amazed! Just amazed!’ Fa breathed.

There was something I had to ask. ‘It’s so near the end of the season,’ I said. ‘Will you seal the tomb up and work in the burial chamber next season? Or …’ I held my breath. The excavation season always ended in March or April. After April it was considered too hot to work in Egypt. It was well into April and in other years we’d have been on our way home by now.

Fa looked at me, almost tentatively. ‘What would you think,’ he said, ‘if we stayed on? I don’t want to leave the work unfinished. Yes, I know,’ he went on quickly, as if I’d raised an objection, ‘I know it’ll be hot, but I’m sure we can cope. And we’re so settled, so comfortable, in the House of the Butcher and Blacksmith. Perhaps a little later, when it’s really hot, we might think of a trip to England. There is some research I’d like to do at the British Museum. But do you want to go home, Flora? What do you think?’

‘Go home?’ I said. I was nearly crying I was so relieved and happy. ‘I think I
am
home!’

And we smiled broadly at each other and, most unusually for us, hugged.

…

There was even less of the Australian camp by the pyramids when we drove back into town through the late afternoon. I wondered what the hospital at the Nile Palace would be used for, now that the men were going. Lydia had said the nurses hadn’t been busy. They’d be even less busy now, I thought. That was probably why Lydia was being sent away.

When we got home I snuck into the storeroom and checked every one of the bundles on the shelves for anything from Fa’s excavation. There was nothing from our finds, only small, valuable items I didn’t recognise. I breathed a sigh of relief.

We had dinner at Shepheard’s that night, so that Fa could tell his archaeologist friends, and especially Professor Travers, about Khnumhotep’s burial chamber. He was toasted again and again with Shepheard’s best champagne. I had a glass or two myself. I danced with Frank once or twice, but he seemed more occupied with other girls that evening. So I had another glass of champagne. Towards the end of the evening, Fa and a young officer came up to me on the terrace where I was dancing with Matthew.

‘Flora, this is James Hunter,’ Fa said as I whirled past. ‘The young man who’s been so helpful with the excavation. He’s coming to see the burial chamber tomorrow.’

‘Oh yes, James Hunter, of course.’ Matthew and I stopped for a moment, but the terrace was dimly lit and my head, to tell the truth, was spinning. I had a vague impression of brown hair, probably brown eyes, a shy smile. ‘How do you do? Fa has been so pleased with your help.’

‘Will you be at the excavation tomorrow, Miss Wentworth?’

Would I? What day was tomorrow? What day, actually, was today?

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps.’ I gave him what I hoped was a friendly smile and Matthew spun me away.

The next day I discovered that several glasses of champagne – even the very best champagne – could have an unfortunate effect. I told Fa that I’d promised to go to the rest and recreation centre, but I spent the morning in bed, vowing to never touch champagne in quantity again. In the afternoon, when I felt rather better, I went to the centre to keep my conscience clear.

The pavilion was not busy. Many of the soldiers must have been moved out already, I thought. Where to? I served tea and lemonade to the few who were there, and hoped all those that had left would be safe.

…

A few days later I attended Lydia’s farewell night picnic at the Sphinx.

‘Matthew and I met here,’ Lydia said. The Sphinx was a very popular spot for officers and nurses to take walks in the moonlight. She smiled softly to herself as we set up the picnic.

‘Is there a special reason for having your farewell party in this particular spot?’ I asked.

‘There might be.’ Lydia’s eyes were sparkling.

The officers and nurses ate, drank, talked and laughed. It was a perfect night. The moon was full, its bright light threw deep, inky shadows under and around the huge statue. Black and white, I thought – white moonlight and black shadows. It was eerie light, clear enough to see by yet hard to distinguish detail.

We finished eating and Matthew rose to his feet and held up a hand to gain attention.

‘Here it comes,’ I whispered to Gwen.

‘What? What’s coming?’

‘I’ll bet you Lydia and Matthew are getting engaged.’

‘Oh, I’m taking no bets on that,’ said Gwen. ‘I could see that coming a mile off.’

‘I have an announcement,’ Matthew said loudly. ‘A very happy announcement.’

There was a cheer from the group. It seemed other people had guessed as well.

‘In the last few weeks I have become very good friends with a lovely young lady,’ said Matthew. He held out his hand to Lydia and helped her to her feet. ‘Lydia and I have become such good friends that we have decided to become …’ he paused for effect, ‘… to become engaged. So I ask you all to drink to our happiness, our future, and my lovely fiancée.’

Lydia was half smiling, half crying. Everyone cheered again and we all toasted Lydia and Matthew’s engagement, even as I thought soberly about Matthew’s words.

The females crowded around Lydia to admire her ring. ‘The very best of luck!’ I said, hugging her. ‘I knew this was going to happen!’

‘Did you?’ Lydia’s face was shining. ‘I didn’t! It’s the worst time to get engaged, I know, with both of us going away. But we thought, let’s do it now!’

Or perhaps never, was in both our minds. But neither of us said so.

The young officer I’d raced to the top of the pyramid, Lewis Canning, was on his feet, holding up his hand for silence. ‘We don’t know when the wedding can take place,’ he said. ‘But all of us certainly plan to be there when it does.’ He swayed on his feet a little. Lewis, I thought, had been celebrating rather too well. ‘It’s an uncertain time,’ he went on. ‘But getting engaged is a splendid idea. Such a splendid idea that I think we should
all
get engaged!’ He paused, overcome with the brilliance of this notion. ‘Why
don’t
we all get engaged?’

One of his friends tugged at his arm, trying to get him to sit down, but Lewis wasn’t having that. He was in full flight. ‘Now let me see, who should get engaged to who?’ He looked around. ‘Well, there are some people here who should clearly get engaged at once.’ He pointed out several couples. ‘Emily and Joe, you should get engaged. Jean and Bill, you certainly must.’ The couples he’d pointed out laughed and disclaimed and told him to sit down.

Lewis filled his glass and continued, undeterred. ‘Now, some are harder to match. Let me see, Florence and Everett, definitely Florence and Everett go together.’ Florence was a tiny girl, only about five feet tall, and Everett stood six-feet-four in his socks, so this was a great success, I thought. Encouraged, Lewis went on. ‘Gwen, let me see, who for Gwen? I think, oh I think … William.’

Gwen’s eyes went wide with surprise. William was the officer with the prickly moustache Gwen had kissed on the night of my birthday party. Clearly the incident hadn’t gone unnoticed, as Gwen had hoped.

Lewis laughed wickedly at Gwen. Even in the moonlight we could see her blush.

‘And Flora.
Dear
Flora.’ He found me in the group and grinned at me. ‘Oh, there’s no question there! Jim, of course! Where’s Jim? You’re so interested in Egyptian history that you and Flora will get along splendidly. You can drone on about mummies and tombs and pyramids to each other for hours. That is, of course, if Jim is as interested in real girls as he is in ones that have been dead and pickled for thousands of years.’

It wasn’t quite so funny when I was the object of the teasing.

‘It was a good joke, Lewis, but that’s enough,’ Everett said firmly. ‘Sit down, old man, and have something to eat.’

Gwen and I looked at each other. ‘That was … unexpected,’ Gwen said. ‘I didn’t think –’ She looked upset. I felt a little upset myself.

‘That anyone had seen?’ I said. ‘I’m sure William would never have said anything.’ I looked around. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit with Lydia for a bit.’

We got to our feet and as Gwen moved off I stooped to pick up the cushions we’d been sitting on. The moon slid behind a cloud and everyone looked up. It was a small cloud but more were coming fast. The tendrils were thin and wispy but enough to shadow the brilliance of the moonlight we’d been enjoying. It was suddenly hard to see.