Whispers in the Sand (66 page)

“Anhotep and Hatsek.” Phyllis repeated the two names softly.

Anna wondered for a moment if she had heard correctly. Her eyes widened. “Then you have read the diary?” she accused.

“No.” Phyllis shook her head slowly. There is a painting of them, here, in this house. Their names are written on the back.”

Anna stared at her. She had gone completely cold all over.

“Where is it?”

“I never liked the painting, but I knew it must be valuable. It’s probably worth a fortune at today’s prices, so I kept it, but I put it in the back store room.” She turned as Toby reappeared with an old school tuck box in his arms. “Put it down there. Thank you, my dear.” She frowned as Anna made for the door. “Darling, wait. Be careful! Toby, go with her.”

“Where? Where are we going?” Toby hurried down the long passage after her, leaving Phyllis sitting by the fire, her face buried in the cat’s fur.

“She’s got a picture of them! In the freezer room. I don’t believe it! She’s got a painting of the priests!” Anna pushed open the door of the kitchen and led the way inside. It was a large kitchen, warmed by an old, cream-coloured Aga, the scrubbed oak table littered with books and papers, the dresser hung in equal number with colourful mugs and ancient cracked tea cups. For a moment she stood still, staring at the door between the dresser and the sink. “It’s in there.” She swallowed. Her hand went to the amulet at her throat. “Toby, it’s in there!”

“There’s no need to look at it.”

“There is. I’ve got to see it. Don’t you see, I’ve got to see if they looked the same to Louisa!” She stared round the room, focusing on the vase of winter jasmine on the dresser. She found she had reached for Toby’s hand, trying to steady the beating pulse in her ears.

“You’re safe, Anna. The bottle is at the bottom of the Nile.” Toby put an arm round her shoulders. “It’s just a picture. We can ignore it. Go back to the fire and look at the letters. Put the kettle on again and top up the teapot. Go home.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got to see it.” Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the door, and opening it, she reached for the light switch. The room was small, lined with shelves of tins and jars and boxes on three walls and almost filled by a large chest freezer on the fourth. Above that there were hooks, carrying string bags, onions, garlic, old saucepans and baskets. She stared round, and for a moment she didn’t see the picture. Then she spotted it, half shrouded by a net of potatoes. The frame measured about two feet high by about eighteen inches across. It showed two tall, dark-skinned men standing in the desert against a sky the colour of sapphires and framed by a huge acacia tree. One was dressed in white linen robes, the other wore an animal skin draped over his shoulder and round his waist. Both wore strange head-dresses and carried tall staffs and were staring out of the picture towards the viewer with an expression of intense concentration. Toby turned from studying the picture to look at Anna. She had gone as white as a sheet.

“That’s them,” she whispered, “just as I saw them.”

“OK. That’s enough.” Toby pulled her away. “Come on. Back to the fire.” He switched off the light and shut the door behind them.

“Why haven’t I seen it before?” She shook her head. “I’ve been in that room a hundred times. Opened the freezer, fetched things from the shelves. Since I was a child!”

“Perhaps it wasn’t there before. Or as it was half hidden, perhaps you just didn’t notice it. After all, it meant nothing to you then.” He followed her back along the passage to the sitting room.

Phyllis was sitting on a cushion on the hearth rug in front of the fire, the open box beside her. The cat had taken over full custody of her chair. She glanced up as they came in. “Did you see it?”

“How long has it been hanging there?” Anna threw herself down on her knees beside her great-aunt.

“Oh, my dear, I don’t know. Thirty years? I can’t remember when we put it there. It used to give me the creeps, so one day I went and hung it in there out of sight!”

“Then why haven’t I seen it before?”

“You have. You just never noticed it.”

“But don’t you see? If I’d seen it, I would have recognised them. I’d have known who they were.” She slumped back on her heels, her hands to her head.

Toby sat down beside her. “Anna, an awful lot of people can see something every day of their lives and not look at it,” he said gently. “Especially if you didn’t find it interesting. After all, you had no reason to notice it, did you? It meant nothing to you until you actually went to Egypt.”

“Unless I noticed it, and stored it away in my memory like some hidden nightmare to bring back later. Going to Egypt reminded me in some strange subliminal way. What do they call it? Hidden memories? Perhaps I made it all up. Cryptomnesia? Created the whole thing out of my imagination.” She stared at them both hopefully.

Phyllis shrugged. “I’ve found the early letters,” she put in quietly. She held out some envelopes fastened together with white tape. “See if there is anything interesting.”

With shaking hands, Anna drew the first out of its envelope. She read it quietly and passed it to Phyllis with a smile. “They are very early. Your grandfather is still at school in this one.”

She opened another, then another, slowly relaxing as she became immersed in the gentle day to day activities of a Victorian family. It was ten minutes later that she let out a little cry of surprise. “No! Oh God, listen! This letter is dated 1873. It’s from John. That’s Louisa’s younger son. ‘Dear David. Mother is not well again. I called the doctor, but he has no clue what is wrong. He orders her to bed and commands us to keep her still and warm. On her orders I went to the studio to fetch her a sketchbook, hoping to keep her in bed drawing. Imagine my astonishment when I was confronted by a large snake! I had no notion what to do! I slammed the door and called Norton.’” She looked up. “Who was Norton? ‘We went in very cautiously and found nothing. It must have made its way through the window which was open and out into the street! It must have escaped from the Zoological Gardens.’” Putting down the letter, she stared into the fire. “The snake came to England,” she said bleakly. “It followed the bottle.”

“Does he say anything else?” Toby was frowning. She shook her head. “We did not tell Mother in case it alarmed her.” She gave a short laugh. “How wise!” She leafed through some more letters. “No, nothing else. These are from Cambridge. Then the army. There is no mention of home. No, wait.” She held up another letter in excitement. “This is Louisa’s writing.” She opened the folded sheets reverently and was surprised to find there was a lump in her throat. It was like rediscovering an old friend.

There was a long silence as she scanned its pages. When she looked up her face was pinched and drawn. “Read it.” She handed it to Toby. “Read it out loud.”

“‘I have painted a picture of my persecutors in the hope of getting them out of my head. They haunt my dreams even now, so many years after my visit to Egypt.’ Who is she writing this letter to?” He looked up.

“It is addressed to Augusta. The Forresters were living in Hampshire. Perhaps that’s why she moved there.” She shivered. Hugging her knees, she stared into the fire. “Go on.”

“‘Last night I dreamt about Hassan. How I miss him still. Not a day goes by without him appearing at some point in my memories. But I dread his two companions in my thoughts. Will they give me no rest? They beg me to take the phial back to Egypt. If I were strong, perhaps I would do so. Perhaps one day one of my sons or grandsons will take it for me.’” Toby broke off, staring at Anna. “That’s you. Her great-great-granddaughter. You took it back.”

She nodded. “But something went wrong. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. I didn’t do it right.”

“You left the bottle in Egypt.” Phyllis untied another bundle of letters. “That was the important thing.”

“And sacrificed a man’s life.”

“No, Anna. The fact that Andy died as the bottle went into the Nile was pure accident. He was blind drunk.” Toby folded up the letter and put it back in its envelope. “In fact, although it is probably no consolation, I have read since that it was considered very good fortune to die in the Nile, as one was taken directly by the gods. But remember, there were no priests and no snakes in that launch.”

“No?” Anna smiled quietly. “The priest of Sekhmet was in my head, Toby.”

Phyllis frowned. “We haven’t talked about you, Toby.” She changed the subject adroitly. “Come on. Let’s have all the details. What do you do for a living?”

Toby smiled. Sitting up straight he gave a mock salute. “I’m afraid I paint, too.” He shrugged helplessly. “Not as famous as Louisa, but I have had several exhibitions, and I can earn my living at it. I am also lucky enough to have inherited a bit of money when my father died, so I’ve been very spoilt. I’m a widower.” He hesitated, glancing at Anna. Then he shook his head and went on. “I have a mother, no brothers or sisters, alas, but an uncle who is at the consulate in Cairo, hence my contacts over there. I do not work for the CIA or the Mafia. I am not wanted by the police as our poor late friend Andy seemed to think. I have a house in the Scottish borders and another in London, which is where my mother lives. My passion, at least until recently, has been travelling and painting. Mostly I go on my own, but sometimes I’ve been known to do daft things like travel on the Orient Express just for the hell of it, or go for a cruise on the Nile. I’ve supplemented my income by writing two travel books, both quite well received.” He grinned. “If I write about our last cruise it will, I fear, have to be fiction, and I shall launch myself as a thriller writer, or no one will believe it!” He shrugged. “That’s it, really, except to apologise for abandoning Anna at Abu Simbel. I never got the chance to explain what happened and why I wasn’t there when she needed me.” He shook his head. “I met a friend of my mother’s who was on a different cruise. She was on her own, and just after I had spoken to her, she was taken ill. That was why the tourist police were looking for me. It was at her request. By the time I’d sorted her out, Anna had got on the bus and gone.”

Anna smiled. “Being kind to ladies in distress again. It’s a good excuse. You’re forgiven.”

“Good.” Phyllis climbed to her feet with a groan. “Well, dears. I think it’s time for a stiff drink. You take these letters away if you want them. And the picture.” She paused. “No? All right. I’ll keep your priests on ice, as before.” She laughed. At the door, she paused and looked back. “Did I tell you, Toby? You’ve passed muster. I think you’ll do.”

Anna grinned. “She hated my ex,” she said quietly. “And most of my old boyfriends, so you are honoured.”

“I’m glad.” He moved forward and leant down to kiss the top of her head. “But this is going a bit fast, Anna. I’m not offering marriage. At least, not yet—”

“And I’m not looking for marriage. Not ever!” she retorted sharply. “I’m an independent lady, looking for a career in photography. Remember?”

He nodded.

“But don’t tell Phyllis. Not yet. Don’t spoil her fun.” She glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow. “OK?”

“OK.” He nodded. “Sounds fine by me.”

They arrived back in London very late, but lights were still burning in the basement of the house as they let themselves in. Frances was sitting at the kitchen table, reading. She glanced up at them. “Have you had a good day? I’m dying to hear all about it. But first—” She stopped for a moment, and they both saw a frown hover between her eyes. Then she went on. “I’ve been riveted by your diary, Anna. I’ve hardly moved all day.” She stretched wearily. “And I’ve got something very odd to tell you. I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”

She watched as Toby carried the tuck box in and set it on the floor. “Sit down, both of you.” She closed the diary and sat staring at the old worn cover on the table before her for several seconds. They sat down, one on each side of her, glancing at each other in concern, then they both looked at her expectantly. Anna felt a sudden worm of unease deep inside her. Frances’s attractive face, usually so tranquil, was etched with worry.

“The villain of the tale. Roger Carstairs. Do you know what happened to him?”

Anna shrugged. “He’s never mentioned again in the diary after the Fieldings’ baby is born. I gather he was quite famous in his day. Serena knew a bit about him. And even Toby had heard of him.”

Frances glanced at her son and nodded. “He was famous. He left Egypt in 1869 and travelled to India and the Far East. He was away for about five years, then he surfaced again in Paris. He lived near the Bois de Boulogne in a rambling old house which had once belonged to a French duke.”

Toby frowned. “How on earth do you know that?”

Frances held up her hand. “He married a French woman, Claudette de Bonville, and had two daughters. One of them was my mother’s grandmother.”

There was a stunned silence as Toby and Anna stared at her. “You are descended from Roger Carstairs!” Anna said incredulously.

“I’m afraid so.” Frances shrugged. “He had two other children by his first marriage, of course. They stayed in Scotland. The elder, James, inherited the earldom, but it died out as neither he nor his brother had any children.”