Whispers in the Sand

She glanced round. There was nowhere for anyone to hide in the room; nowhere. She threw open the shower room door and rattled back the curtain, still damp from her shower only a couple of hours or so earlier. She looked under the bed, she shook the door handle. It was firmly locked. But already she knew there was no one there. How could there be?

With another shiver she made her way over to the bed and bent down to pick up the diary. It had fallen open when it hit the floor, cracking the spine lengthways. Forgetting the scarf she ran her finger sadly over the leather. What a shame. It had lasted so long undamaged and now it had been broken. It was as she was preparing to climb back into bed that she noticed that an envelope lay on the floor where the diary had fallen. She bent to pick it up and saw that the strip of sticky brown paper with which it had been stuck in the back of the diary had torn away. The thick woven paper told her at once it must be contemporary with the diary and turning it over she saw a crest embossed on the flap. It depicted a tree with a coronet. She smiled. Forrester? Had it been she wondered part of the stationery they used on the boat? Forgetting her fright in her curiosity she opened it. Folded inside was a flimsy piece of paper. Already she had guessed it was Louisa’s Arabic message.

If you see a high priest on the boat, or indeed any evil djinn, please tell me …

The words from Louisa’s entry echoed for a moment in her head.

A high priest who served the pharaoh … an evil spirit … both fight for it still …

Anna found that her hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, she put the paper back in the envelope and opening the drawer in the bedside table slotted it into her slim leather writing case.

Climbing back into bed and pulling her feet up under her she drew the covers up to her chin. The cabin was cold. A stream of sharp, night-scented river air came in from the open window.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and resting her chin on her forearm, she shut her eyes.

She sat there for a long time, her eyes straying every now and then to the bag still lying on the dressing table. At last she could bear it no longer. Climbing to her feet again she pulled the little bottle from the bag. Holding it in her hand she stared at it for a long time, then reaching down her suitcase from the top of the cupboard she rewrapped the bottle in her scarf, put it in the suitcase, tucking it into an elasticated side pocket where it would be safe, closed the lid, turned the key and hefted the case back into place. Helping herself to a glass of water from the plastic bottle on the table she stood for several minutes sipping the cold water, staring out at the blackness of the night as it drifted by, then snapping off the main cabin light she climbed back into bed.

Louisa was not sure what had awakened her. She lay looking at the ceiling in the darkness, feeling her heart thumping against her ribs. She held her breath. There was someone in her cabin. She could sense them standing near her.

‘Who’s there?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper but it seemed to echo round the boat. ‘Who is it?’ Sitting up she reached with a shaking hand for her matches and lit her candle. The cabin was empty. Staring into the flickering shadows she held her breath again, listening. Her cabin door was shut. There was no sound from the sleeping boat. They had moored as night fell, against a shallow flight of marble steps, where palms and eucalyptus trees grew down to the edge of the river. Water lapped against the steps and in the distance, against the fading twilight she had seen the outline of a minaret.

A sharp crack followed by a rattling sound made her catch her breath. The noise had come from the table in front of the window. It sounded as though something had fallen to the floor. She stared at the spot, straining her eyes in the candlelight then, knowing she would not rest until she had looked more closely, she reluctantly climbed out of bed. She stood for a moment in her long white nightgown, the candle in her hand, staring at the floor. One of her tubes of paint had fallen from the table. She picked it up and stared at it. The slight movement of the boat as it lay against its mooring must have dislodged it and allowed it to roll from the table. Her eyes strayed to Hassan’s scent bottle. She hadn’t seen him to speak to since he had given it to her that afternoon. While she dined with the Forresters he had been sitting on the foredeck with the reis, smoking a companionable hooker, both men deep in conversation.

She had tucked the piece of paper with its Arabic warning into an envelope and slipped the envelope into the back of her diary. Joke or not, the message made her feel uncomfortable.

The little bottle was standing on the table with her painting things. She frowned. She had surely tucked it into her dressing case? She remembered distinctly doing so before dinner. Perhaps Jane Treece had moved it when she tidied away Louisa’s muslin gown and, not recognising it, had assumed it was part of her painting equipment. She reached out to pick it up and at the last moment hesitated, almost afraid to touch it. What if it were true? Supposing it was three or four thousand years old? Supposing it had been the property of a temple priest in the days of one of the ancient pharaohs?

Drawing in a quick deep breath she picked it up and taking it back to her bed she sat down. Leaning back against her pillows, the little bottle cradled between her palms, she lapsed into deep thought, her imagination taking her from the high priest who followed the scent bottle, to Hassan. Why should he have given her a present at all? She pictured his face, the strong bones, the large brown eyes, the evenly spaced white teeth and suddenly she found herself remembering the warm dry touch of his hand against hers as he passed her the flaring torch in the tomb in the valley. In spite of herself she shivered. What she had felt at that moment was something she had never thought to feel again, the intense pleasure she used to feel at the touch of her beloved George’s hand when he glanced at her and they exchanged secret smiles in unacknowledged recognition that later, when the children were asleep, they would keep an assignation in his room or hers. But to feel that with a comparative stranger, a man who was of a different race and one who was in her employ? She could feel herself blushing in the light of the candle. It was something too shocking, almost, to confide even to her diary.

Anna awoke to find the sunlight flooding across her bed from the open window. The boat was still moving and when she climbed to her feet and went to look out she found a breathtaking view of palms and plantations streaming steadily by. For a few moments she stood still, transfixed, then she turned and pulling off her nightshirt she headed for the shower.

Toby was just sitting down to breakfast as she arrived in the dining room. ‘Another late arrival? I believe most of the others have already finished. Please, join me.’ He pulled out a chair for her. ‘This morning we go to the temple of Edfu. I gather we will be arriving fairly soon.’ He beckoned the waiter with his coffee pot over to the table as Anna sat down. ‘You look tired. Did the Valley of the Kings prove too much of an exciting start?’

She shook her head. ‘I didn’t sleep well.’

‘Not sea sick, I trust!’

She laughed. ‘No, though I must admit I noticed the movement. It did feel odd.’ She reached for the cup.

‘I expect it disturbed you when we went through the lock at Esna. It must have been some time in the early hours. It certainly woke me, but not enough to make me want to go up on deck and watch.’

She shrugged. ‘Would you believe, I missed that. No, actually I was reading Louisa’s diary until late and I think it gave me nightmares. I kept waking up after that.’

‘What on earth was she describing?’

‘She was talking about a scent bottle which her dragoman bought for her in a bazaar. It had the reputation for being haunted.’

‘The scent bottle or the bazaar?’ His eyes crinkled rather pleasantly at the corners, she realised, although he kept all traces of laughter out of his voice.

‘The bottle. I know it sounds strange. A haunted scent bottle!’

‘What haunted it? A genie, presumably. They seem to favour living in bottles.’

‘She called it a djinn. Is that the same thing?’ She smiled, hoping that would show she didn’t believe it herself, that she could laugh it off as he had.

‘Indeed it is the same. How intriguing. Well, you mustn’t let such imaginings disturb your sleep again. Perhaps you’d better not read such sensational stuff at bedtime.’ He stood up, pushing back his chair. ‘What can I get you from the buffet?’

She watched as he made his way across the dining room and picked up two plates. She saw him carefully select two of the largest croissants from the basket on the counter, then he was on his way back. ‘We’ve arrived. Do you see?’ Putting down the plates he gestured towards the windows. ‘Just time to eat, then we’d better go and claim our places in a suitable calèche. We drive to the temple of Edfu in style.’

A line of four-wheeled open carriages, drawn by an array of painfully thin horses was drawn up on the quayside waiting for them, each driven by an Egyptian in a colourful galabiyya and turban. Beside each driver a long, formidable whip rested against the footrail. Every so often one was cracked loudly as the horses milled about, jostling for position. The shouting was deafening, as around the calèches and between the horses’ feet a dozen little boys shouted for baksheesh, and urged the tourists towards their own particular choice of vehicle.

As they assembled on the quayside, Anna found herself standing next to Serena and it was with some relief she saw that they were both bound for the same calèche. She became aware that she had been scanning the crowds for Andy and Charley almost without realising it, but there was no sign of either of them; with them when they were finally settled into their seats were Joe and Sally Booth. Their driver, whose name, so he informed them, was Abdullah, could have been any age between seventy and one hundred and fifty, she decided as she quailed beneath his toothless grin. His skin was especially dark, gauntly drawn into deep creases and his missing teeth rendered his smile particularly piratical. Anna settled beside Serena with a fervent prayer that they were not going to be whisked off into the desert and never seen again. They set off at a canter, passing the other vehicles and heading into the centre of town where the horses challenged lorries and cars with no fear at all. Holding frantically to the side of the carriage Anna wished she had a hand free to take out her camera. There was something deeply primitive in this mode of transport which appealed to her greatly.

The calèche lurched into a pothole and Anna fell sideways against her companion. Serena laughed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? I am so looking forward to seeing Edfu Temple. It’s very special you know. It’s not nearly as old as somewhere like Karnac which we shall see next week. It was built in the Ptolomaic period, but it is famous for its inscriptions and carvings and they were faithful still to the old Egyptian gods even in Roman times.’

Anna found herself wishing suddenly she had spent less time reading up about the scent bottle and more on Louisa’s diary entry on her visit here. As the calèche hurtled up the main street and over a crossroads she pictured Louisa and Hassan together in just such a conveyance. There was a shout from behind them. She turned in time to see another vehicle, drawn by a grey horse with hips that stood out like coat racks draw level with them. Its driver cracked his whip in the air above the horse’s head and gave a shout of triumph as Andy leant forward to wave at them. ‘Last one there pays for the beer!’ His call rang in their ears as his calèche drew ahead.

Serena laughed uncomfortably. ‘He’s like a child, isn’t he?’

Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose you see a lot of him if he and Charley are together.’

Serena shrugged. ‘Not that much. Not as much as Charley would like.’ She broke off and they both watched anxiously as a woman crossed the road in front of them, a watermelon balanced on her head. Abdullah cracked his whip just behind her with a malicious grin, clearly hoping to make her jump and she turned, melon still firmly in place, to shout and swear at him without losing an iota of poise and grace. It was impressive to watch.

‘Aren’t they wonderful?’ Serena glanced at the camera which had finally appeared in Anna’s hands now that they were in the thick of the crowds and the pace was less breakneck. She watched as Anna focused and pointed it at the departing woman. ‘I wonder why we don’t carry things on our heads. I don’t know that it’s ever been a western tradition, has it?’

‘Perhaps it’s the damp. Our belongings would get wet in the rain and we’d all develop arthritic necks.’ Anna laughed. ‘It could be a sign that global warming is with us for real – when all the people at the bus stop one morning put their briefcases and bags on their heads.’

Both women laughed. They fell silent again as a small boy passed them, a trussed turkey tucked beneath his arm. The bird’s eyes were crazed. It was panting with fear. Anna raised her camera as Serena shook her head. ‘I find it hard to cope with, the cruelty. That bird. These horses …’

‘They don’t seem to actually hit them,’ Anna put in. ‘Most of the whip cracking is for our benefit. I’ve been watching. My guess is that they know jolly well it would upset the effete western tourists if they hit the horses.’

‘While we are here, perhaps not, but what happens when we’ve gone?’ Serena did not sound convinced.

‘At least they feed them.’ Bags of bright green fodder were hung from every vehicle.

They left the calèches in the shade at the back of the temple and walked the final distance, its full length, towards the entrance. Anna stared up in awe. The temple was huge, a vast squat building, rectangular behind the enormous pylon or monumental gateway, forty metres high, carved with pictures of Ptolemy defeating his enemies. They stopped in front of it, their group forming obediently around Omar, as they listened to his summary of two thousand years’ history and the temple’s place in it.

A white robed figure stood near the entrance, beside the statue of the god Horus as a huge hawk and Anna found herself watching him. A black line of shadow cut across the dazzling white cotton of his galabiyya as he leant silently against the wall with his arms folded. She had the sense that he was watching them and she felt a sudden tremor of nervousness.

‘What is it? Is something wrong?’ Serena was watching her face.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing really. I keep getting this strange feeling that there’s someone out there watching me …’

Behind them Omar took a deep breath and continued his story. Neither woman was listening.

‘Not someone very nice, judging by your reaction.’

‘No.’ Anna gave a small laugh. ‘I think Egypt is making me a bit neurotic. Perhaps we could have a drink before dinner this evening and I could tell you about it?’

About what? A nightmare? A feeling that someone had unpacked her bag in the dark of her cabin and moved her little scent bottle? A scent bottle haunted by an evil spirit. She shook her head, aware that Serena was still watching her curiously. It might sound stupid in the cold light of day, but after all, Andrew and Toby knew about the diary. Why not someone else? And someone in whom she sensed she could confide without feeling embarrassed. Wasn’t it Toby yesterday who had suggested she speak to Serena about her strange feelings in the Valley of the Kings? He had thought she might understand.

They were late back to the boat, exhausted and dusty and hot after their visit. Warm lemonade and scented washcloths were followed by lunch and then as the boat cast off and headed once more upstream, the passengers retired either to their cabins or to the sunbeds on the upper deck.

It was there that Andy found Anna a couple of hours later. He was carrying two glasses. Sitting down in the chair next to her he offered her one. ‘I hope you haven’t been to sleep without your hat.’

‘No, as you can see.’ It was hanging from the chair-back. She pulled herself upright and sipped the fresh juice he had brought her. ‘That was lovely. Thank you.’ The deck was deserted, she realised suddenly; while she had been asleep, one by one, everyone else had disappeared. ‘What time is it?’

‘No such thing as time in Egypt.’ He grinned. ‘But the sun disc is getting low in the west. Which means it will soon be time for another meal.’ He patted his stomach ruefully. ‘I suspect our excursions ashore, strenuous though they are, are not going to be sufficiently energetic to make up for all the food we eat.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Would this be a good time to let me see the diary?’

The abrupt change of subject startled her. He was, she realised, looking down at her bag, which lay on the deck beside her chair.

‘It’s in my cabin. Maybe later, Andy, if you don’t mind.’

‘Sure. No hurry.’ He leant back and closed his eyes. ‘Have you shown it to anyone else?’

‘On the boat, you mean?’ She glanced at him over the rim of her tumbler. It was impossible to read his expression behind his dark glasses.

He nodded.

‘No. Toby is the only one who has seen it. On the plane.’

‘Toby Hayward?’ Andy chewed his lip for a moment. ‘I’ve been thinking, I know his name from somewhere. He’s a bit of a loner from what I gather.’

‘As I am,’ she pointed out gently. ‘At least on this cruise. He is a painter.’

She did not miss the raised eyebrow. ‘Indeed. Is he well known?’

Anna smiled. ‘I’ve no idea. Perhaps that’s why you know his name? I don’t think I’ve heard of him, but that doesn’t really mean anything.’

Andy drained his glass. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, if you want to, but I do think you should take care of that diary, Anna. Apart from being worth a lot of money it’s a piece of real history.’

‘Which is why I have left it locked up.’ She spoke perhaps more firmly than she had intended, but his tone was beginning to irritate her. There were shades of Felix in his manner. And it was patronising.

He laughed, which infuriated her even more. Putting his arms across his face he pretended to duck sideways. ‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. I surrender. I should have realised you are perfectly able to take care of it and of yourself. You are after all, Louisa’s great-great-granddaughter!’

A fact she reminded herself about later when she met Serena in the bar and they settled into one of the comfortable sofas in the corner of the room. Outside it was dark. They had moored alongside a stretch of river bank which was, so they understood, within walking distance of the great temple of Kom Ombo. Around them the others were assembling a few at a time. She could see Andy perched on a stool at the bar. Charley stood near him and they were engaged in a noisy conversation with Joe and the barman.

‘So, tell me about these strange feelings of yours.’ Serena leant back against the cushions, her glass in her hand. She scanned Anna’s face intently for a moment then she glanced back at the bar where a particularly loud shout of laughter erupted from the group standing around Andy.

‘It sounds a bit silly talking about it in cold blood.’ Anna shrugged. ‘But someone mentioned you were interested in sort of psychic stuff.’

Serena smiled. ‘Sort of? I suppose so. I gather this is to do with the man we saw at Edfu this morning?’

‘Not him especially. He was real. But for some reason he made me feel nervous. He was watching us, and I keep getting this feeling that I’m being watched by someone. It’s nothing specific …’ She broke off, not knowing quite how to go on.

‘Start at the beginning, Anna. I find things are much more clear that way.’ Serena was giving her her full attention now. ‘There is clearly something worrying you and that’s a shame on what should be a lovely carefree holiday.’

‘You don’t read Arabic, I suppose?’

Serena shook her head and laughed. ‘I’m afraid not.’

‘I have a diary in my cabin.’

‘Belonging to Louisa Shelley, I know.’ She saw Anna’s face and laughed again. ‘My dear, it’s a small boat and there aren’t very many of us. You don’t surely expect it to stay a secret?’

‘I suppose not.’ Anna was taken aback. She was thinking suddenly of Andy’s warning. ‘Well, in this diary there is a description of how Louisa was given a little glass bottle by her dragoman as a gift. I have inherited the bottle. With it was a piece of paper, which I also have, written in Arabic, saying that the bottle, which it claims is pharaonic in date, has a sort of curse on it. The original owner, a high priest in Ancient Egypt, is following it and so is an evil spirit because a secret potion is sealed into the glass. I know it sounds ridiculous, like something out of a film, but it’s worrying me …’ Her voice trailed away in embarrassment.

‘You have this bottle with you, on the boat?’ Serena asked quietly. In the general hubbub Anna could hardly hear her.

She nodded, relieved that Serena had not laughed. ‘I brought it with me. I wish I hadn’t now. I don’t really know why except it seemed right to bring it back to Egypt. I’ve had it for years. I always assumed it was a fake. An antique dealer friend of my husband’s said it was a fake. Andy thinks it is a fake.’

‘Andy Watson?’ Serena’s voice was sharp. ‘What does he know about it? Have you shown it to him?’

‘He saw it yesterday. He says masses of fakes were sold in Victorian times to gullible tourists.’

‘He’s right of course. But you don’t strike me as being gullible, and I am sure Louisa wasn’t either, nor her dragoman, if he had any integrity at all.’ Serena paused for a moment. ‘And you are afraid of this curse?’

It wasn’t an accusation, merely a statement of fact.

Anna didn’t reply for a moment, then slowly she shrugged. ‘I’ve only known about it since last night.’ She bit her lip with an embarrassed little laugh. ‘But I suppose if I’m honest it is beginning to get to me. Even before I knew the story I had the strangest feeling there was someone watching me. I’ve been jumpy since I arrived in Egypt. Then once or twice I had the feeling that someone has been touching my things when the cabin door was locked and no one could have been there. I’ve tried to persuade myself I was dreaming or hallucinating or imagining it. I was tired after the visit yesterday and everything, but …’ Once again she tailed off into silence.

‘Let’s take things one at a time. Tell me what the note says as far as you understand it. I take it you have a translation?’ Serena’s voice remained quiet, but firm. It had an attractive deep quality which Anna found profoundly reassuring.

Serena thought for a while in silence after Anna had repeated it to her, staring down into the glass she had put down on the low table in front of them, while Anna anxiously watched her face.

‘If Louisa felt there was a spirit guarding the bottle then we must assume the bottle to be genuine, obviously,’ she said at last. ‘And if it’s the same bottle that you have brought with you then the chances are that it does have some kind of resonance about it.’

‘Resonance?’ Anna looked at her anxiously.

Serena laughed again. Anna was beginning to enjoy the deep throaty gurgle. That too was reassuring. ‘Well, my dear, as I said, let’s take this one step at a time. Presumably you know you are of sound mind. When you had this strange feeling, you weren’t asleep; at least you can be sure you weren’t asleep the first time, as you had just stepped out of the shower! You were sober. You knew where you had left your bag. You have probably had your eyes tested at some time in the not too distant past, so, why do you not believe them?’