Whispers in the Sand (62 page)

One of the officers sat down next to them. “This gentleman had been drinking alcohol?”

Both women nodded.

“He was very drunk?” The taller, obviously senior man’s English was heavily accented but fluent.

Anna looked up. “Yes, he was very drunk. He had brought a bottle of vodka with him for some reason. He stood up, and,” she paused, feeling the tears returning, “he went in head first.”

“The water is very cold.” The man shook his head. He stared gloomily over the side. “Could he swim?”

“Yes.” Ben had joined them. “He swam well.”

“Then it is not good news. He should have come up and shouted.” The officer shrugged. “
Yallah!
” He turned to his companion, and after a quick exchange in fast, eloquent undertones, the two men made their way back to the captain, who was standing at the wheel of the boat, shaking his head, wiping his hands again and again on an oily rag.

One by one the swimmers were hauling themselves back onto their boats. Anna saw Toby treading water again, looking up at one of the men in the police launch. He shook his head, but the man leant over and proffered an arm, and she saw Toby hauled out of the water. A few minutes later he was delivered back to their own boat, wrapped in a rug. He was shaking with cold as he made his way towards her.

“He just disappeared. The water is like ink in the darkness. You can see the lights if you look up, but nothing below you. Nothing!”

“It was very brave to go after him.” Anna leant forward to touch his hand. It was like ice.

He shook his head. “I didn’t stop to think. I should have waited. Seen where he came up.”

“He didn’t come up, Toby.” Serena had tears streaming down her face. “We were all watching.”

It was a long time later that the passengers rejoined their ship. The crew met them, solemn-faced, and they were urged to go at once to the dining room. While Toby was whisked away by Omar to be seen by a doctor after his long cold immersion in the Nile, the others trooped obediently to the dining room and sat down. No one had much appetite, and it wasn’t long before, in twos and threes, they began to make their way to their own cabins. Serena followed Anna to hers, and they sat side by side on the bed.

“It was a stupid accident, Anna.” Serena put her arms round her companion. “He was drunk.”

“It was our fault. We both wound him up. If I hadn’t thrown away the bottle, it wouldn’t have happened.” Anna was squinting at the wall. There was something wrong with her eyes. She could see the sun again; the sand, the endlessly moving fronds of a tall palm tree.

“No. It could have happened at any second. It could have happened here, off this boat! Andy was like that!” Serena shrugged. “He was a fool. A great big, stupid, malicious, lying fool…” Suddenly she was sobbing violently.

Anna stood up. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. “I’ll get us something from the bar.” She hesitated, then she went to the door and out into the deserted corridor.

Ibrahim was behind the bar. There were several people in the lounge talking in subdued voices in groups on the sofas around the edge of the room. He looked up as Anna came in and frowned. “You wore the amulet?”

She nodded.

Ibrahim shrugged. “The gods are still powerful,
mademoiselle
. I am sorry for Monsieur Andrew but these things happen.
Inshallah
!”

“He didn’t deserve to die, Ibrahim.” She climbed onto a stool and leant wearily on her elbows.

“That is not for us to decide,
mademoiselle
.”

“Could I have saved him?” She looked up and met his eyes.

He returned her gaze steadily. “Not if it was written that this was his fate.”

“I keep thinking we’ll hear his voice; that he swam under water and crawled up on the rocks somewhere. That they’ll find him alive.”

Ibrahim inclined his head slightly. “All things are possible.”

“But not likely.”

He shrugged. “It is the will of Allah,
mademoiselle
.”

“What will happen? Will they cancel the cruise?”

Again he shrugged. “The police will come tomorrow. And the tour company representative. Omar will meet them. I expect they will ask for you. This is a very small boat. Everybody knew Monsieur Andrew. Everybody is sad.”

She nodded slowly. “I just want to curl up and go to sleep.”

“You want to take a drink to bed?”

“Yes please. And one for Serena.”

He nodded. “I bring them to your cabin. You go.” He turned to the shelf behind him, then he glanced quickly back at her. “
Mademoiselle
, do not take off your amulet. Not even for one second. There is still danger near you.”

She frowned. Her hand went automatically to her throat. She wanted to ask why he had said that. But he was busy with his back to her, and she realised suddenly that she did not want to know. Not now. She couldn’t cope with any more.

Serena was lying on her bed with Louisa’s diary in her hands.

“I hope you don’t mind. You’d left your bag lying open on the side table, and I wanted to read the last few pages. I thought it would help to take my mind off things.”

Anna sat down beside her. “Good idea.” She sighed. “Ibrahim is bringing us a drink to the cabin. I suspect he is going to mix a knockout concoction.” She smiled wearily. “So, what happened to Louisa?”

Serena sat up and swung her legs to the floor. “I think you should read it yourself.” She cocked her head at the sound of a gentle knock and, opening the door, took a tray from Ibrahim.

“There you are. Your knock-out drink.” She put a glass on the table next to the bed for Anna and sniffed cautiously at her own. “For a Muslim and a teetotaller, he mixes a fairly hefty cocktail. Years of catering to the habits of the infidel, no doubt.” She paused with a wistful smile. “Don’t dwell on things, Anna. It is absolutely not your fault. It was his for getting stupidly drunk.”

Anna nodded. She could feel the tears very close.

“I’ll leave you to read.” Serena whispered. “We’ll talk again in the morning.”

Anna sat without moving for several minutes after she had gone, then she reached for the glass. Kicking off her shoes, she lay back against the pillows and picked up the diary. Serena was right. There were only a few pages of the close-packed writing left, and it would serve to take her mind off the present through what would inevitably be a sleepless night.

The three boats remained at their moorings for several days after Katherine’s lying in. Then, when she was sufficiently strong to transfer back to the
Lotus
, the Fieldings and the Forresters set off once more in convoy on the long journey north, leaving the
Scarab
behind. There had been no sign of Lord Carstairs since Louisa had left his boat before dawn on the day of the birth. Sir John’s questioning of the
reis
on the boat had produced no more than a shrug and an eloquent glance towards the heavens. A search had produced no signs of a snake of any size at all.

It was at Luxor that Louisa made her decision.

“I shall take the steamer back to Cairo,” she told the Forresters after dinner on the night they took up their moorings. “You have been so kind and so hospitable, but I want to see my little boys again.”

In her cabin, she began to pack away her painting things. Treece would deal with her clothes, but these were special. They had been packed and unpacked by Hassan. She opened one of her sketchbooks and stared for a long time at his face, the dark loving eyes, the gentle mouth, the hands which were so strong and yet so sensitive.

It was very hot in the cabin, and she had pushed back the shutters. On the far side of the river a line of
dahabeeyah
s were moored against the palm-fringed shore. Most were pointing north. The season had turned for most Europeans, and the time had come to make their way down the Nile towards Cairo and on to Alexandria and the Mediterranean coast and the routes back to Europe.

She put down the sketchbook and went to stand looking out at the dusk. The sun hung, a crimson ball, low over the Theben hills, throwing a wash of red across the water.

There was a sound in the cabin behind her, a feeling, no more, that she was not alone. Without turning, she knew what it was. “I have tried to return the bottle to your gods,” she said quietly. “Each time it comes back to me. What would you have me do?” She wasn’t afraid. She went on staring out across the water. Somewhere out there where the mountains turned the colour of blood before they cloaked themselves in darkness lay the temple where these priests had worshipped the gods to whom they had dedicated their eternal souls.

The bottle, still wrapped in its water-stained silk, was lying somewhere amongst the paints and brushes on the table top behind her. The cabin was growing dark as the sun slipped behind the hills and the first breath of night air whispered across the water. She closed her eyes.

Take it. Please take it.

The words had echoed so strongly in her head she thought she had shouted them out loud.

Across the river, lamps were being lit on the boats strung out along the shore; the mountains had vanished, and one by one the stars were beginning to appear.

Behind her there was a loud knock on the door, and Treece came in with a branch of candles. She banged it down on the table. “Shall I help you dress, Mrs. Shelley?” The woman’s face was sour. Angry. Within seconds, Louisa knew why.

“Sir John says the steamer is fully booked. There are no cabins available until next week, so you’ll have to stay with us that bit longer.” She sniffed her disapproval and turned to fetch a ewer of water.

Louisa stood staring after her in dismay. She wanted to leave Egypt. She wanted to close this chapter of her life, where every breath of desert air made her think of the man whom she had loved and who had died because of her.

Her gaze fell on the table. For a second her heart missed a beat. She thought the bottle had gone. Then she saw it, small, scruffy in its wrappings, half hidden by a box of charcoal. As Treece had banged the candles down, a shower of wax had fallen across the table. A small lump hung from the dirty silk like a miniature stalactite, looking already as ancient as the glass beneath its wrapping.

As she stared at it, she knew what she had to do. The next day she would get Mohammed to take her back to the Valley of the Tombs, and she would bury the bottle there in the sand, beneath an image of the goddess, and she it was who must decide on its fate.

Anna’s eyelids drooped. She took another sip from the glass. Ibrahim had put brandy in the drink, but also other things. Strange, bitter things she could not identify. The diary was suddenly heavy in her hands, and she let it fall onto the covers, staring sleepily towards the window of her cabin. Even with the lamp beside her bed switched on, she could see the stars above the skyline. With a sigh she reached out and turned off the light. Just for a moment she would rest her eyes before she climbed into the shower to soak away the stiffness and pain of the night.

As she sank further into sleep, the shadows grew closer and the whispers in the sand grew louder.

She was woken by the sun. Hot. Red. Fiery behind her eyelids. She could feel the abrasive heat on her face, the raw bite of every breath in her lungs, the rasp of sand in her sandals. Slowly she walked towards the entrance of the temple, shaking her head against the haze which seemed to surround her, now crawling across the sand on her belly like a snake, now drifting on the air with the falcon and the circling, ever-watchful vulture.