The Master's Wife (18 page)

One of the servants came over with a water jar and a small bowl. Caseley watched Sabra rinse her dusty hands, press them to her face and the back of her neck, then use the edge of her scarf to dry her fingers. When he came to her she did the same.

Sitting cross-legged and leaning in to take food from the large platter in the middle, she glanced across and saw Jago watching her. He raised an eyebrow. Touched by his concern she nodded to reassure him.

Unlike Antonia she did not mind separation from the men. With so much still unresolved between her and Jago, sitting apart eased her turmoil. Yet she found his presence reassuring.

The lavender sky deepened to purple. Dusk was brief and darkness sudden. Beyond the dancing firelight the blackness was dense. The moon rose, almost full, and in its cold, pale light the gritty dust glistened like powdered diamonds.

The temperature had dropped sharply and she shivered.

‘You are cold,’ Sabra said.

‘You did warn us,’ Caseley smiled. ‘I just didn’t expect the change to be so sudden.’

One of the servants came over with the three cloaks and laid them respectfully between Sabra and Caseley.

‘
Shukran
,’ Caseley said, smiling her thanks as she reached for hers. Startled, the man nodded and melted into the darkness.

‘I didn’t know you spoke Arabic,’ Sabra said, sounding surprised.

Caseley stood, shook out the folds and wrapped the cloak around her before sitting down again. ‘I don’t. Well, only a little. Hardly anything. After we picked up Mr Pawlyn at Gibraltar I asked him to teach me a few words.’

‘Why?’ Antonia demanded. ‘You’ll only be in Egypt a few weeks.’

‘I know. But it seemed only polite to be able to say please and thank you. I didn’t know then that I would have the privilege of attending a Bedouin wedding. So I’m even more glad I made the effort.’

Caseley was offered mint tea or coffee. Knowing the coffee would be thick, strong and gritty, she chose tea. After the heat and dust of the day’s riding she would have loved a bath. At home she took such comforts for granted. Here water was precious and never wasted. She could not even unpin her hair. That reminded her of Jago wielding the comb with slow, soothing sweeps.
I’m glad you’re here.

The meal finished, they settled down for the night using the camel saddle blankets as pillows. Two guards moved away to take the first watch.

The ground was hard but that wasn’t what kept Caseley awake. Wrapped in her cloak she lay on her back, gazing up at a black velvet sky strewn with countless stars.

Reliving the day’s journey through bare rocks, stony paths, dry river beds and desert heat, she thought of small fields of long grass or golden wheat bounded by stone hedges; moors of yellow gorse and purple heather; wooded valleys, soft breezes and the sparkling waters of the Carrick Roads.

In the early years of their marriage she had sailed with Jago to other countries. But pressure of schedules meant there had never been time to venture beyond the ports. This journey was different. Not only because of all she was seeing and experiencing, but because here, away from all the reminders, the pain was not so raw.

For months grief had ripped at her with sharp, jagged teeth. Tonight it was a dull ache, a deep bruise. But with relief came guilt. It was too strong to fight. All she could do was wait. A constant background presence, it surged and ebbed like a tide. While her attention was engaged it would build unnoticed then suddenly break over her, leaving her abandoned, devastated, castaway.

With a lifetime’s practice of hiding tumultuous emotions behind a calm façade, she did her weeping in the privacy of her bed. There was no privacy tonight. Her eyes burned and her throat ached. But she could not, must not, weep tonight.

Jago had asked for her help and she had promised it without reservation. But Robert Pawlyn’s language skills far surpassed hers. The Bedouin women would speak Arabic, not French, so she would have no idea what they were saying.

I’m glad you’re here.

Working together when they were first married they had learned much about each other. Life had changed after the boys were born. New joys gained had been countered by a loss of closeness, due to frequent separations and the demands of their busy lives. She yearned for the man she married, but not at any price.

It was tempting to regard any intimate connections he formed outside their home as not her concern. Plenty of women took that view. But she couldn’t. If she did, she would lose part of herself.

Eventually, exhausted, she slept.

The next day followed a similar pattern. Using her stick, she guided her camel away when it crowded Sabra’s and was warmed by the nod of approval. When they stopped for the midday meal Jago came over.

‘Have you noticed how quiet it is?’ she asked.

‘You mean apart from the camels growling and Antonia’s prattle?’

Caseley’s giggle surprised them both. ‘Yes, apart from that. The camels’ feet make no noise, not like horses’. The saddles creak a bit. But mostly there’s just the sound of the wind.’

‘Quite a contrast to Cairo and Alexandria.’

‘It reminds me of
Cygnet
at night. The wind in the rigging, the hiss of water against the hull.’

‘Why at night?’

‘Because during the day Martin is crashing pans in the galley shack, you or Nathan are calling sail changes, and Hammer and Jimbo bicker like a couple of old women.’

Jago’s eyes gleamed as he laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m so used to it I don’t notice.’

When they set off again, Sabra moved her camel to ride beside Sheikh Imad. Antonia would have joined them but one of the bodyguards positioned himself between her and them. With Jago and Pawlyn already deep in conversation, Caseley urged her camel up to Antonia’s by tapping its rump gently with her stick.

‘Have you ever visited a Bedouin camp before?’

‘No. Why would I? Sheikh Imad’s life is not in the desert, it is in Cairo and Alexandria.’

‘Surely he will make visits to his people if only to take them news of political developments?’

Antonia shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I doubt he would stay long.’ After a few beats of silence she turned to Caseley with barely-suppressed excitement. ‘I am hoping to be introduced to some of his relatives.’

‘It is a great honour to be –’ About to say
invited,
Caseley remembered that their journey was being made at Jago’s request. ‘Allowed to attend such an important family occasion.’

‘This is my chance to show Sheikh Imad how well I would fit into his life.’

‘Might you not find it difficult to adjust to constant travel without the conveniences you take for granted in the city?’

‘Surely you cannot imagine he lives as a nomad?’ Antonia’s expression reflected her astonishment. ‘Of course he doesn’t. But even if he did have to spend some time in the desert, he would have a luxurious tent and scores of servants to take care of domestic details. I was my father’s hostess for years, until Maud Williamson got her claws into him. I am perfectly aware of the demands of protocol.’

‘I don’t doubt that for a moment. You could probably host a dinner party of English diplomats and their wives with one hand tied behind your back. But didn’t the Sheikha tell us that in Bedouin society the lives of men and woman are more separate?’

Antonia didn’t try to hide her impatience. ‘Sheikh Imad is highly educated. He speaks several languages and moves in government circles. Naturally, he will attend family weddings and such. That he takes time to do so reflects well on him. But he will be more comfortable in the city than the desert. You must take my word for this, Caseley. I have a great deal more experience than you, who knows nothing of Egypt.’

Caseley realised further discussion was pointless and might cause a quarrel. She would not risk embarrassing Sabra or Sheikh Imad.

‘You’re right. I know very little. I am learning more each day, but there is such a lot to take in. If I offended you, I am truly sorry.’

Her irritation dissolving like morning mist in sunshine, Antonia smiled. ‘Perhaps I spoke hastily. I confess I am a little nervous. Sheikh Imad has been very different since we set off, not himself at all.’

‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Caseley said gently, anxious not to provoke. ‘Until he has spoken to the elders he won’t know if they will accept the British Government’s proposal, or what demands they might make if they do.’

Antonia thought this over. ‘You could be right. May I ask how long have you been married?’

‘It will be eight years in December.’ During those years she had changed from a girl into a woman; been blessed with countless joys and suffered devastating loss. She and Jago had shared thoughts, concerns and secrets in total trust. His betrayal had rocked her world.

Antonia nodded. ‘That’s a long time. So you may have forgotten what it feels like to be in love.’ The sympathy on her face told Caseley she was serious.

Torn between laughter and tears, tempted to retort that she had known love Antonia could not even begin to imagine, Caseley lowered her gaze. ‘Oh, I think I can remember.’

––––––––

L
ate that afternoon they reached a small oasis with date palms, scrubby bushes and a well protected by a rough wall.

The riding camels were quickly unsaddled. Using a leather bucket on a rope, one of the servants drew enough water to fill a shallow basin in the rocks. The camels crowded round and the basin was refilled several times.

When they had drunk their fill they were led away and their halters tied to a rope between two of the trees, where a mix of scrub and fodder had been tossed down.

Two guards remained on watch. The other two watered the pack animals. Robert Pawlyn carried Antonia’s camera boxes to a flat space away from the well and the animals. She set up the tripod.

A fire had been lit and Caseley breathed in the scent of wood smoke.

A servant brought over a full water pot. Watching Sabra rinse her hands, face and feet before replacing her sandals, Caseley did the same. Though the palm trees and well indicated a permanent source of water, it was still used sparingly.

She had just replaced her sandals when she saw Sheikh Imad and two of his bodyguards disappearing around a bend in the wadi, all three carrying rifles.

‘Where are they going?’ she asked Jago as he joined her.

‘Hunting. How are you?’

‘Hot, tired and I would love a bath. But I am comfortable on my camel now.’

‘I’m going to see if I can find some wood. I need to find my land legs. Would you like to come?’ As she nodded, Jago continued, ‘Miss Collingwood wants to take photographs and requires Pawlyn to carry her tripod.’

‘I don’t think he minds.’ Caseley bent to pick up a lumpy, desiccated chunk.

‘Here, let me.’

She passed it to him, then found another piece among the rocks. ‘Sabra told us that when there is heavy rain it carries a lot of debris. But –’ She looked back down the wadi.

‘What?’

‘She also said water is scarce here in the Eastern Desert. There aren’t many wells. So those that there are will be visited regularly, by Bedouin passing along on their way to wherever they are going.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So they will do what we are doing, gather fuel for their cooking fire to make what they are carrying last longer.’

‘What is worrying you, Caseley?’

‘We have just gathered an armful. It can’t have been here long or other people would already have picked it up.’

Realisation softened his expression. ‘You believe there may have been a recent flood?’

She nodded.

‘If that is so, then surely the chance of another one occurring any time soon must be very small?’

Caseley smiled, shaking her head as she relaxed. ‘You’re right. I should have thought of that. It’s just –’ Suddenly her throat closed on a choking lump. She dare not speak; afraid her voice might betray her. She lifted one shoulder and turned away, pretending to look for more wood.

‘Everything is so different?’

She nodded. It was easier to agree. It was also true. But wearing strange clothes, riding a camel, eating with her fingers and sleeping on the ground were nothing compared to the upheaval inside her when she was with him.

A shot rang out, making her jump as it echoed off the rocky heights. She whirled to meet his sombre gaze.

He smiled, but she could see it cost him effort.

‘That’s probably Sheikh Imad with dinner. We had better go back.’

A few minutes after they arrived and Jago dropped the wood beside the fire, the Sheikh returned, with one of his guards carrying the carcass of a small gazelle over his shoulder.

While the servants skinned, gutted and butchered the carcass, stones were heated in the fire. The joints were wrapped in date palm leaves, then placed on the stones and covered with hot embers. Soon the smell of roasting meat drifted over their camp and Caseley felt her stomach cramp.

For months she had eaten at Rosina’s insistence. On the boat she ate because after her collapse she needed to regain her strength and, after their arrival in Alexandria, to maintain it. Hunger felt strange.

She sat on her saddle blanket beside Sabra. ‘Sheikha, how should I greet the women in whose tent we’ll be staying? Mr Pawlyn taught me to say
as-salaamu-aleikoum
, and to respond to anyone who greets me with
wa-aleikum as-salaam
. I know please is
min fadlak
, and thank you is
shukran
.’

Sabra patted her hand. ‘That will do very well. Few English take the trouble to learn. Miss Collingwood and Mr Pawlyn are unusual.’

Antonia beamed at the compliment and sent Caseley a triumphant look that said
I told you so.

The meat was tender and delicious. They ended the meal with mint tea and dates.

‘I do like these,’ Caseley said, taking another.

‘The date palm is a truly miraculous tree,’ Sabra said. ‘As well as being tasty and nutritious, dates can be used as medicine.’

‘How?’ Caseley asked.

‘Dates, figs, raisins and hibiscus are boiled in water. When the liquid is strained and cooled it is drunk as a remedy for congestion in the chest. Empty fruit bunches are dried and used as brooms. The leaves can be used as fences or woven into baskets, and the beaten stalks are turned into rope.’