Night Train to Memphis (9 page)

They were all crowded, at least to the eyes of someone like me, whose definition of too many people is three, but Larry said, ‘Never seen so few people here at this time of year. Tourism
is down, people are afraid of terrorists. Nice for us, but unfortunate for the Egyptian economy.’

I got to see my baby hippopotamus, who was ambling along through the river reeds apparently unaware of the huge crocodile right on his heels (if hippos have heels). He had no cause for alarm;
his devoted mum had grabbed the predator and was in the process of biting it in two.

The photographs I’d seen hadn’t done the carving justice. To an eye accustomed to Western sculpture the reliefs had a simplicity that verged on naivety, but the more I studied them
the more I realized that that impression was deceptive. The technique was sure and skilled and highly sophisticated; only an ignoramus or an observer who was unable to put aside his unconscious
prejudices would have undervalued them.

Larry absolutely agreed with me and told me how clever I was to have reached that conclusion. We were having a lovely time when I heard shuffling footsteps and a familiar voice.
‘That’s Feisal, surely,’ I said.

Larry looked at his watch. ‘He is right on schedule. It’s later than I thought. The time has gone very quickly.’

He gave me a meaningful look. I probably simpered.

The first to enter the room was the tall raw-boned man who had been at Larry’s table the night before. He had been following us at a discreet distance all morning, and he continued to be
tactful, staring off into space until Larry murmured, ‘I don’t believe you two have met. Dr Victoria Bliss – Ed Whitbread.’

‘’Morning, ma’am.’ Ed whipped off his hat – a broad-brimmed white Stetson – and bowed.

Despite the stifling heat he was wearing a jacket. I thought I knew why. He was a good three inches taller than Larry, which made him almost six-five. I sincerely hoped that Larry had convinced
him I was a friend. I wouldn’t have wanted him to think of me as an enemy.

Led by Feisal, the others crowded into the room. Larry faded discreetly away as Suzi headed towards me, shoving bodies out of her way with good-natured impetuosity. ‘I wondered where
you’d got to,’ she said, ‘How’d you do that?’

‘Do what?’

‘You know.’ She gave me a grin and an elbow in the ribs. It was a surprisingly sharp elbow to belong to a woman so well padded elsewhere. ‘It sure didn’t work when I
tried it. You’ll have to tell me how you – ’

‘Quiet, please.’ Feisal clapped his hands like a teacher calling a class to order. ‘We have only fifteen minutes, there is another group waiting. The reliefs in this chamber .
. .’

He was a good lecturer, crisp and witty and, so far as I could tell, absolutely accurate. I had a hard time concentrating, since Suzi kept whispering and nudging me. After a while Feisal broke
off and fixed a stern eye on her. ‘Suzi, you are a bad girl, you do not pay attention. Come here and stand by me.’

Giggling happily, Suzi obeyed. Feisal caught my eye and lowered one eyelid in a discreet wink.

The sun was high and hot when we left the tomb and set out across the uneven surface of the plateau. Sunlight bleached the sand and rock to a pale buff; though the distance wasn’t great,
several of my companions were puffing and complaining by the time we reached our destination.

The bus was waiting. I collapsed into a seat with a sigh of relief and accepted a glass of water, tinkling with ice, from a smiling waiter. Not for us the crowded rest house where ordinary
tourists ate and drank, risking not only discomfort but the pharaoh’s curse; the seats had attached trays, like those on planes, and we were served chilled wine and food on fine porcelain.
Even as I thought how easy it was to accustom oneself to such luxuries, my scholar’s conscience reminded me that the exhaust was pouring out pollution that gnawed away the very stones of the
pyramids.

As soon as everyone was settled, Feisal addressed us. ‘Some of you know that one of our friends was taken ill this morning. You will be glad to hear that Mrs Tregarth is now comfortably
resting in a Cairo hospital . . .’

I didn’t hear the rest. One word had forced its way through the layers of stupidity that enrobed my brain.

Cairo. The Cairo Museum was in Cairo. Take it slow, Vicky, slow and easy; you obviously aren’t up to complex reasoning. Right. No question about it. The museum
was
in Cairo. And now
John was too.

Not only was he in Cairo (where the museum was) but his departure had been sudden, unexpected, off schedule. I had told myself I had three more weeks. I should have known – damn it, damn
it, I should have known! – that John never stuck to schedules and that the unexpected was his stock-in-trade. The mere sight of me would have warned him that someone had got wind of his
scheme. He wouldn’t abandon it, not John, not until he had to; he’d change his plans, catch me off guard, find an excuse to get to the scene of the crime ahead of schedule, a nice valid
excuse like . . .

Poisoning his own mother?

It seemed a trifle extreme, even for John.

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.’

‘With his qualifications, why is he working as a guide?’

Alice shrugged. ‘Jobs are hard to find. I shouldn’t have to tell
you
that.’

‘You’re right.’ The memory of how I had wangled my own job made me squirm uncomfortably. Blackmail would be too harsh a word, but . . .

‘His father is a low-level bureaucrat;” Alice went on. ‘Hardly more than a glorified clerk. He has sacrificed all his life so that his son – the only son – could
have a professioual career. The pressures on Feisal have been enormous, as you can imagine.’

‘Yeah. People are pretty much the same everywhere, I guess.’

‘In some ways.’ Alice grinned at me. ‘And very different in other ways. Let’s have a look at a few of the other mastabas, shall we? If you like reliefs, some are quite
lovely. Or would you rather visit the Serapeum? It’s a little distance, but – ’

‘I’m not really all that keen on deep dark places.’

I spoke without thinking, and after I had done so I was sorry I had let down my guard, even with someone as friendly as Alice. She didn’t pursue the matter, just nodded.

By the time Alice had finished showing me around I had begun to think more kindly of dark sunless places. I wasn’t the only one who was weary, sweat-stained, and red-faced when we
assembled at the bus. The group that had been inside the pyramid looked as bad as I felt. Apparently they had enjoyed themselves, though. Sweet rhapsodized about Feisal’s lecture, and Bright
kept nodding and grinning. I was happy to observe that Louisa’s veils were in tatters. Somebody must have stepped on her hem.