Iris and Ruby: A gripping, exotic historical novel

‘Yes, I am. You are Granny Iris, my mother’s mother, Cairo Granny. Last time I saw you I was ten. You came for a holiday.’

I am tired. The effort of recall is too much. Poor Lesley, I think.

‘Does she know you are here?’

The child blinks. Now I look at her, I can see that she is hardly more than a child. She has made the effort to appear otherwise, with startling face paint and extraordinary metal rings and bolts driven into nose and ears, and with a six-inch slice of pale abdomen revealed between the two halves of her costume, but I would put her age at eighteen or nineteen.

‘Your mother. Does she know?’

‘No, actually.’

Her answer is deadpan but, to my surprise, the way she delivers it makes me want to smile. Mamdooh has picked up the tea glass, tidied the tray. Now he stands over me, a protective mountain.

‘Ma’am Iris, it is late,’ he protests.

‘I know that.’ To the child I say, ‘I don’t know why you are here, Miss. You will go straight back where you came from. I’m tired now, but I will speak to you in the morning.’

‘Shall I send Auntie to you?’ Mamdooh asks me.

‘No.’ I don’t want to be undressed and put to bed. I don’t want to reveal to the child that sometimes this happens. ‘Just get her to make up a bed for, for … what did you say your name is?’

‘Ruby.’

It’s a prostitute’s name, which goes well enough with her appearance. What was Lesley thinking?

‘A bed and some food, if she wants it. Thank you, Mamdooh. Good night, Ruby.’

The girl gives a sudden smile. Without the glower she looks even younger.

I make my way to my own room. When at last I am lying down with the white curtains drawn around the bed, the longing for sleep of course deserts me. I lie staring at the luminous folds of muslin, seeing faces and hearing voices.

Majestically disapproving, Mamdooh led Ruby downstairs again. A little old woman, about five feet tall, with a white shawl wrapped round her head and neck, appeared in the hallway. They spoke rapidly to each other.

‘You would like to eat some food?’ Mamdooh asked stiffly.

‘No, thanks very much. Had some on the plane.’

‘Go with Auntie, then.’

Ruby hoisted her luggage once more and followed the old woman up the enclosed stairs and through the shadowy galleries to a small room with a divan under an arched window. Auntie, if that was the name she went by, showed her a bathroom across the way. There was an overhead cistern with a chain, and the bowl was patterned with swirling blue and white foliage. There was an old-fashioned shower head as big as a dinner plate and a slatted wooden board over the drain, and a blue-painted chair with some folded towels.

‘Thank you,’ Ruby said.

‘Ahlan wa sahlan,’ Auntie murmured.

When she had gone, Ruby peeled off her clothes and dropped them on the floor. She got under the thin starched sheet just as she was, and fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.

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