Night Train to Memphis (19 page)

Most of the other men had been unable to resist the chance to dress up. Only Ed Whitbread and the urologist-birder wore ordinary dinner jackets. Sweet and Bright sported enormous matching
turbans, Herr Hamburger had a red fez set at a rakish angle, and Larry wore long robes of subdued brown. The women looked like a flock of bright birds. Suzi had crammed herself into the gold
sequins, Louisa into one of the gaudy embroidered gowns. That would have been bad enough, since the seams were visibly straining, but she had topped it with a construction she must have made
herself – a copy of the tall crown Nefertiti wears in most of her portraits. It looks great on Nefertiti. She has a long slim neck and no moustache.

We all milled around, admiring one another’s outfits and exchanging compliments, and had a few drinks, and then were summoned to the banquet. I was getting sick and tired of the newlyweds
and I didn’t feel up to watching Schmidt eat, so I approached Sweet and Bright and asked if I could join them.

My other reason for wanting to join them was foiled by Suzi, who decided to make the fourth at our table. Apparently she had set her cap for Bright; I decided he must be richer than he (or
Sweet, rather) had implied. She didn’t succeed in getting him to talk, but he grinned and nodded a lot, and kept trying to tear his eyes from her décolletage. It was, I had to admit, a
remarkable sight.

I tried once to introduce an interesting subject, but when I mentioned Ali, Sweet frowned and shook his head. ‘Yes, I had heard. It is very sad. Too sad to think about on such an evening.
Have you tried the couscous, Vicky? Delicious!’

I tried the couscous. I don’t remember what else I ate; it was all delicious, but I couldn’t remember the names even if I had been paying attention. As I wandered to and from the
groaning board I caught glimpses of Schmidt, enjoying himself as only Schmidt can.

After dinner we retired to the lounge for coffee and entertainment. Almost everyone was a little tight by that time, and they entered into the contest for best costume with childish delight.
Suzi tried to belly dance and Louisa struck a pose, arms raised and bent, à la Steve Martin imitating King Tut. The prize for best men’s costume went to, of all people, Larry’s
secretary, who had apparently been persuaded to take the evening off. He looked very authentic in Arab costume, with dark glasses and an Ibn Saud moustache under his checked headcloth.

Our little musical ensemble had traded in their Western instruments for drums and pipes. They gave us a brief concert, and then Hamid, the master of ceremonies, made an announcement. We were in
for a treat, it appeared. He would say no more, except that the dancer we were about to see ordinarily did not perform in public. This was a gracious gesture, a tribute to a particularly
distinguished group of visitors.

Feisal walked out onto the floor.

I had never seen him in other than Western clothing. His robe was plain, light grey in colour. He looked gorgeous just standing still. Then the band struck up, if that is an appropriate phrase,
and he started to dance.

I knew belly dancing was a bastard form, and that the classic form of the art is performed only by men. If you think a man dancing alone looks effeminate, you haven’t seen Baryshnikov or
any of the other great premiers danseurs. In a completely different way, and in a completely different idiom, Feisal had the same power. I can’t describe what he did. It involved movements of
arms and body and head, sometimes graceful and gliding, sometimes forceful, almost abrupt. By the time he finished, every woman in the room was dry-mouthed and I was thinking things I would call
sexist if a man had been thinking them about me.

Feisal stood still for a moment, acknowledging the applause with a slight inclination of his head. Then he held out his hands and gave us a brilliant smile. ‘Come, who will join
me?’

Suzi was the first onto the floor. They glided around for a while; at least Feisal glided, holding her out at arm’s length, only their hands touching. Graceful she was not, but she enjoyed
herself hugely, flashing teeth almost as white as Feisal’s, emitting peals of laughter when she tripped over her own feet. Sweet and Bright were the next to try it; they circled solemnly,
waving their arms. The effect was not at all the same.

I decided I needed a cup of coffee. As I approached the dance floor, Feisal passed Suzi neatly off to Bright and caught my hand.

‘All the ladies in turn,’ he called, towing me onto the floor.

There wasn’t much I could do; he had a grip like a steel trap. I tried to be like a good sport, but I could feel my face turning red. I’ve always been self-conscious about my height.
Even when they are clumsy, little women manage to look cute. Tall women just look clumsy, period.

‘You are very graceful,’ Feisal murmured, steadying me as I stumbled.

‘And you are very much a liar. I’ll get you for this, Feisal.’ He laughed, throwing his head back. His throat was smooth and brown, corded with muscle. ‘Have you been
avoiding me? I have seen nothing of you.’

‘You’ve been busy. Oops. Sorry.’

‘Relax, don’t fight me. You would do well if you were not so afraid.’

As double entendres go it wasn’t awfully subtle, especially when it was accompanied by a languishing look from those thick-lashed dark eyes. I laughed, and stumbled again. Feisal smiled.
‘Sorry. One gets into the habit. I have been busy, and social encounters on board ship present certain difficulties. We’ll have some free time in Luxor; may I show you something of the
city?’

‘This is a hell of a time to ask for a date,’ I said, trying not to trip over my own feet.

‘Think about it.’

‘I will. Now can I sit down?’

‘Yes, certainly. It’s time I gave Nefertiti a whirl. Doesn’t she look frightful?’

I shouldn’t have been out of breath, but I was. I decided what I needed was fresh air and time to regain my composure. As I headed for the open doors and the deck, I beheld an amusing
little pantomime. Mary was on her feet, gesturing animatedly. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, the music was too loud, but it was obvious she was trying to persuade John to dance with
her. He kept shaking his head. She caught his hand and tugged at him, her face bright with laughter. He smiled and went on shaking his head. Schmidt had also been watching them. Ladies’ man
that he was, he sashayed up to Mary and offered his hand. They were heading for the dance floor when I went out.

There were no dark corners on that deck, but I found a spot between two lamps that was relatively shadowy and leaned against the rail. It was a glorious night; the breeze cooled my flushed
cheeks, and the moon, three quarters full, cast a silvery path across the water. Lights from a village on the west bank sparkled through the trees and more stars than I could ever recall seeing
brightened the sky. Romantic as all hell, that’s what it was, and there I stood, alone in the moonlight, wondering which of the handsome men on board was planning to cut my throat, and
when.

Feisal might be genuinely interested in my wonderful self. Tall blondes are popular in Italy and points east. He might also be an agent of the Egyptian security police. I’d have been quite
happy to believe either and even happier to believe both.

He’d kept his distance until this evening. Had that been deliberate – a precaution, to prevent others from suspecting his real role? Proposing a rendezvous in Luxor might have been a
way of reassuring me. It was all quite logical and completely unproven.

He walked like the fog, on little cat feet, so lightly I didn’t hear him till he was right behind me. When I turned it was too late to get away. My back was against the
rail and his arms, raised and ready, told me I wouldn’t get far if I tried to run. The moon was behind him; it glimmered in his hair but his face was in shadow.

His hands gripped my upper arms and pulled me towards him. He was so quick, and it was such an unexpected, damn-fool gesture, I didn’t react in time. I tried to raise my knee, but his body
pressed mine against the rail, and my fists never made it as far as his face, they were caught between my breast and his as his arm went around my shoulders and pulled me close.

‘If you’re thinking of screaming, I’d strongly advise against it,’ he murmured.

‘Damn you,’ I whispered. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing? Someone will see – ’

He said something, in a voice so low and uneven I couldn’t make out the words, as his free hand slid into the open neck of my robe. Screaming was no longer an option. There wasn’t
enough air in my lungs. The last of my breath mingled with his as his lips forced mine apart. I couldn’t free them; his fingers had moved from my breast to twist through my hair, and the
pressure of his mouth held my head in the hard cradle of his hand. I knew – I had thought I knew – the strength of his hands and arms and lean body, but never before had he used it like
this, uncontrolled and mindlessly demanding. Not against me . . .

He let me go so abruptly that only the rail behind me kept me from falling, and stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. I felt like a swimmer who has been underwater too long –
ears ringing, legs straining, muscles limp. Gasping and shaking, I hung on to the rail until I got my breath back. I can swear in several languages, but I couldn’t think of any word in any of
them that would be bad enough. ‘How long have you been married – two weeks?’

He turned slightly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug, but when he replied his voice was harsh and unsteady. ‘Monogamy is so dull. Why should I confine myself to one woman?’

‘She’s young and pretty and madly in love – ’

‘And wealthy,’ John said. ‘You don’t suppose I paid for those vulgar diamonds, do you?’

Every negative emotion I had ever felt for him – anger, contempt, hatred, loathing – boiled up in a sudden flood. My Scandinavian ancestors were prone to berserker rages, but this
was the first time I’d ever experienced one. I hauled my arm back and let fly.

It wasn’t often I could catch John off guard, but I succeeded this time. The flat of my hand connected with a sound like that of a large dry branch snapping. The impact sent pain darting
clear up my arm to my shoulder.

It felt wonderful.

As the roaring in my ears subsided I heard voices and laughter. The dancing must be over. People were coming out of the lounge. I didn’t know whether any of them had seen us. I
didn’t care.

My evening bag had fallen to the deck. I picked it up, took out my handkerchief, and scrubbed my mouth. John had retreated into the shadow, his hand on his cheek. I threw the handkerchief down
and walked away.

I didn’t want to go through the lounge. I knew I looked like a Gorgon, my hair straggling, my lip dripping blood and my face set in a snarl. After blundering up a stairway marked
‘Crew Only’ I reached the upper deck and made it to my room unobserved. I closed the curtains, then stripped and examined the damage. I ached in so many places it was hard to tell which
hurt most. The reddened spots on my arms would be purple and black by morning. Nice, I thought. Mary and I could compare bruises.

I made it to the bathroom just in time. Kneeling by the commode, in the ultimate posture of humiliation, I faced the ugly truth. After the first split second that kiss had not been one-sided. If
he hadn’t held my arms pinned, they would have been around him.

And he’d found the rose pendant. It had been outside my dress when I reached my room. The movements of those long deft fingers, tracing the length of the chain to where the rose rested
between my breasts, had been prompted by curiosity and amused malice. What a boost to his ego that must have been, to find another infatuated woman wearing his trinket.

One hard tug snapped the chain. I threw the ornament across the room, stepped into the shower, and turned it on full blast.

I didn’t hear the pounding at the door till I turned off the water. It had to be Schmidt; nobody else would make such a racket. I might have expected he’d notice my
absence and come looking for me. I swathed my dripping body and my bruises in a terry-cloth robe and went to open the door. He’d continue beating on it until I did.

He must have used shoe polish or some other water-soluble substance on his moustache. It had run, leaving long black streaks down his cheeks. He looked like Fu Manchu.

‘Ah,’ he exclaimed, looking me over critically. ‘You have been sick.’

‘How did you know?’

‘I know the look,’ said Schmidt. ‘Let me in. I will take care of you.’

I sighed and stepped back. ‘I don’t need you to take care of me, Schmidt, I just need to go to bed.’

‘Yes, that is true. We must be up at dawn, for the visit to Abydos. I will put you to bed.’

I laughed and started to protest. The laugh was a mistake. It stretched my lower lip and the cut opened up again. Schmidt’s face softened, and he said, in a voice he seldom used even to
me, his favourite flunky, ‘You have done it for me, Vicky, when I was sick or hurting. Let me do something now for you.’

I bent my head to keep him from seeing the tears that stung my eyes. ‘Okay,’ I muttered. ‘Thanks, Schmidt. Just don’t suggest a glass of beer to settle my
stomach.’

‘It is very good for a weak stomach,’ Schmidt said seriously. ‘However, I have something better. I will get it while you put on your nightgown. Unless you would like me to help
you?’

He gave me a giggle and a leer and trotted out without waiting for an answer. I had time to change and hide the reddening bruises before he got back. He was so sweet and solicitous I swallowed
the ghastly stuff he gave me without a whimper, and accepted a sleeping pill as well. After he had tucked me in he stood by the bed looking down at me.

‘Do you want to tell me what is wrong?’

I turned my head away. ‘Nothing’s wrong, Schmidt. I over-indulged, that’s all.’

‘Hmph,’ said Schmidt.

‘Good night, Schmidt. And thanks.’

‘Schlaf’ wohl, Vicky. And do not worry. Farther along we will know all about whatever it may be.’

He had deliberately garbled the quote to make me smile, so I smiled; he patted me clumsily on the shoulder and trotted out, leaving the bedside lamp burning. After he had gone I reached to turn
it off. The rose pendant lay on the table, with the broken chain coiled around it like a tiny golden snake.