Night Train to Memphis (10 page)

As I reclined in air-conditioned comfort sipping my iced drink, I tried to concentrate on the exotic scenery gliding past – the Step Pyramid, golden in the afternoon light, green fields of
alfalfa and vegetables, barefoot children smiling and waving as we spoiled foreigners passed – but my mind was a jumble of disconnected impressions. ‘The Step Pyramid is two hundred and
four feet high . . . He likes you because you treated him like a human being . . . O gods of the underworld, greet this pharaoh in peace . . . The poor woman was constantly overeating . .
.’

Jen hadn’t been faking. Some unpleasant evidences of that still clung to my clothes. Would John really go to that length to carry out his plans? I felt reasonably certain the Cairo Museum
was still intact; if he’d laid plans for an event to take place three weeks hence, they couldn’t be changed so quickly. Anyhow (I kept telling myself) I had now done my duty as a good
little spy. Sweet and Bright knew John was the one they were after. I had been as direct as I dared; they couldn’t have misunderstood the message. It was out of my hands now; I hadn’t
volunteered to defend the museum with six-shooters in hand.

The first person I saw when I walked up the gangplank was John. He was leaning on the rail, cigarette in hand. Fair hair becomingly ruffled by the breeze, shirt as fresh and clean as new-fallen
snow, he surveyed the dusty, sunburned, limping crowd with kindly condescension.

‘Much better,’ he called, in response to a question from someone – Feisal, I think; it certainly wasn’t from me, I was speechless. ‘No cause for concern, the
doctors said.’ He turned eyes as blue and expressionless as cornflowers on me and added, ‘I felt certain you’d want to know at the earliest possible moment.’

Whereupon he vanished, leaving me a prey – as Louisa Ferncliffe might have written – to a torrent of passionate, conflicting emotions. Chief among them was fury.

I plucked Suzi out of the group waiting at the desk for their room keys. ‘You’d better see the doctor about that sunburn,’ I said abruptly.

She looked surprised. ‘Is it that bad? It doesn’t hurt.’

‘Your back is bright red.’ That was a slight exaggeration, but she was bright pink all over the parts that showed.

My forceful personality (or something) prevailed; Suzi allowed herself to be towed away.

Carter earned his passage; he was on call twenty-four hours a day, ashore and on land, but the only time when one could count on finding him in the infirmary was after the tours returned, when
he would be available ‘to attend to any minor injuries incurred.’ I hadn’t liked the sound of that; however, after seeing the rough terrain and feeling the heat of the sun, I
could understand why people might be in need of attention for a variety of ‘minor’ ailments ranging from sunstroke to twisted ankles. The infirmary was an impressive set-up, spotlessly
clean and very well equipped, including a locked cabinet that presumably contained drugs.

While Carter was inspecting Suzi, I asked about Jen. ‘Not a damned thing wrong with her except overindulgence and a touch of the usual virus,’ was the irritable reply. Apparently the
doctor’s amour propre had been seriously ruffled. I could guess by whom. ‘She managed to persuade that officious son of hers to go on with the cruise, which he finally consented to do,
after inspecting the hospital and interrogating the entire staff.’

‘So you all came back together?’

‘Yes. If you ask me, Mrs Tregarth was relieved to be rid of him and looking forward to a few days’ peace and quiet. All right, Suzi, you’re in fine shape, if you’ll
permit me to say so; use this ointment tonight and cover up for a few days.’

So that was that. Unless one of the hospital staff was a stooge of John’s, he hadn’t had a chance to speak to anyone. I hoped.

I hadn’t left a message in my safe, but I found one there when I opened it. It was short and succinct. ‘Please report soonest.’

I screwed up the paper and tossed it into the waste-basket. If Burckhardt wanted to be so damned mysterious and security conscious he could damn well wait till I was good and ready. Anyhow, I
had reported, to Sweet and Bright.

I hadn’t realized how tired I was until I got in the shower and let the nice hot water flow over my aching body. It was tension rather than exercise that had stiffened those muscles;
I’d been on edge all day. Considerate of John to reassure me at the earliest possible moment . . . Damn his insolence!

Dress that evening would probably be informal, I decided, slipping into a cotton skirt and sleeveless shirt. Everyone else would be tired too. The schedule was really fierce, and tomorrow would
be another full day, with tours to Meydum and the Faiyum. I found myself looking forward to Tuesday, when we were supposed to cruise all day. I hadn’t had time to enjoy my little balcony or
explore the amenities of the boat, which included a hairdresser, shop, gym, and pool.

However, when I arrived at the saloon in time for Happy Hour I found the others discussing the change in schedule which had been posted on the bulletin board. Meydum and two other scheduled
stops had been postponed till the return trip. We were to sail immediately for Amarna.

Most of the group didn’t seem to care, but a few were complaining bitterly – the elderly couple from San Francisco because they were habitual complainers and Louisa because she
wanted to use Meydum as the setting for her new novel. ‘This will disrupt my writing schedule fatally,’ she declaimed. ‘I had promised my impatient publisher to have at least
fifty thousand words written by the time we reach Luxor. But now – how can I begin? My imagination cannot take fire until I have seen those magnificent ruins.’

I suspected Louisa was thinking of two other ruins. Meydum had never been a city, just a huge cemetery. How could she set an entire novel in a graveyard? Love among the mummies? That one had
already been done. Seeing my colleagues gathered at a table nearby, I started towards them, figuring they would know the reason for the change in plan, but then I saw Larry beckoning me. He was
sitting by himself in the smoking section. Whitbread and the secretary, whatever his name might be, were at another table.

We exchanged raves on the activities of the day and then I asked, ‘Do you know why the change in schedule?’

‘It has to do with the water level” was the prompt response. ‘This is one of the largest boats on the river; it can’t get through the locks at Asyut, which were designed
for smaller vessels, if the Nile is low. There won’t be a problem going upstream, but I gather there is some concern about the return voyage.’

We had been left strictly alone until then. Tact, consideration for Larry’s obvious desire for privacy – or the presence of that tall formidable figure at a nearby table? Ed was
facing us; though he did it unobtrusively, he never took his eyes off his boss. He hadn’t been so visible the night before. Had something happened to increase his concern about Larry’s
safety? I was considering this, and not liking the possibilities that occurred to me, when a man approached our table. Tall, fair-haired . . . My heart did not skip a beat. My heart would not have
skipped a beat even if I hadn’t recognized Foggington-Smythe.

‘May I join you?’ Without waiting for an answer he pulled out a chair and planted himself in it. ‘I felt I deserved a respite after spending the entire day answering idiotic
questions from people who didn’t bother doing basic research.’

There was a resemblance to John, all right – that air of condescending superiority. John wouldn’t have made a stupid remark like that one, though. He had too strong a sense of the
ridiculous.

‘They aren’t scholars,’ I said. ‘Just tourists having fun. Why should they do any work when they have an expert like you to set them straight on every possible
subject?’

Larry raised a hand to conceal his smile, but Foggington-Smythe only nodded gravely. ‘I suppose that’s true.’ Then he turned to Larry, who, I suspected, was the real
attraction. ‘Is it true that our schedule has been changed because the authorities learned that terrorists were planning an attack at Meydum tomorrow?’

Larry’s jaw dropped. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘That’s the rumour that is going around.’

‘To the best of my knowledge there’s no basis for it,’ Larry said firmly. He glanced at the door of the saloon. ‘At any rate, we’re under way now. Why don’t
you take Vicky out on deck and show her some of the sights?’

I didn’t blame him for wanting to escape from Perry, or even for using me as a decoy. ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said agreeably. ‘Sure you won’t join us?’

‘Duty calls, I’m afraid,’ Larry murmured. ‘This may necessitate an alteration in my plans for the reception and formal opening of the Tetisheri tomb. I’ll have to
find out what’s going on.’

His staff fell in behind him as he made for the door, and Perry led me out.

The sun was sinking in a smoky haze. I couldn’t see any of the sights Perry pointed out; I don’t think he could either, but he indicated their location and went on to tell me all
about them. I let the words wash over me; an occasional ‘Really?’ or ‘How fascinating!’ was all he wanted anyhow. The view was lovely. Sunset colours stained the rippling
water and lights began to twinkle along the shore.

‘Damn,’ Perry said suddenly. ‘Here comes the bride.’ He chuckled at his own wit, and went on, ‘Pretty little thing, but without a brain in her head; I suppose she
wants to ask some fool question . . . Ah, Mrs Tregarth. If you are in quest of information, perhaps you would be good enough to wait until this evening. I am lecturing on Egyptian literature but
will take questions afterwards.’

It was as rude a put-down as I had ever heard, but Mary met it head-on. Smiling, she drawled, ‘How frightfully kind of you. It was Vicky I wanted to talk with, actually.’

‘Oh? Oh. Well, then – uh . . . Excuse me.’

Mary gave me a conspiratorial smile. The breeze whipped her full skirt around her calves and moulded her silk blouse to her body. ‘He’s the world’s most pompous ass,
isn’t he? I hope I didn’t misinterpret your expression of glazed boredom, Vicky.’

‘You rushed to my rescue?’ I inquired.

With a graceful gesture she invited me to walk with her, and we strolled on in silence for a while. Then she stopped, leaning against the rail, and turned to face me.

‘I really did want to speak with you. To thank you for being so kind to Mother Tregarth.’

‘I just happened to be there.’

‘You did what I ought to have done.’ Mary’s pretty mouth twisted. ‘I’m so squeamish; I can’t stand seeing someone I love in pain. I hope you don’t think
badly of me. I’d like us to be friends.’

It was not a relationship that held much appeal for me. A ghastly picture formed in my mind – the bride and the groom and the bride’s new friend, in a cosy trio. I couldn’t
bring myself to slap her down, though. She had to tilt her head back to look into my eyes, and hers were big and wide and innocent. The irises were an unusual shade of golden brown; they glowed
like amber in the sunset light.

‘I admire women like you so much,’ she went on. ‘You’re so intelligent and so capable – so in control of your life. Not like me.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘That’s very . . .’

‘Inaccurate’ was the word that came to mind. I substituted a feeble ‘kind.’

‘You wouldn’t be intruding,’ Mary went on eagerly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think that. If we’d wanted to be alone together we wouldn’t have joined a
cruise like this one.’

‘Or invited your mother-in-law to come along,’ I said, before I could stop myself. Instead of being offended at my candour, Mary laughed.

‘I needn’t tell you it was the other way round. Poor darling, she’s so devoted to John. She kept sighing and dropping hints about how lonely she’d be.’

So her doting son had yielded and let her come along? That theory certainly cast a new light on John’s character. When he had spoken of his mother – which wasn’t often –
it had been with detached, amused exasperation.

‘John is a very private person in many ways,’ Mary went on. ‘And very reserved. He doesn’t make a public show of his feelings. When we’re alone . . .’ She
broke off with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I don’t know why I’m saying these things. You have a way of inducing confidences, Vicky. I feel so comfortable with you.’

‘That’s nice.’ I didn’t trust myself to say more.

‘I hope you don’t mind my unburdening myself.’

I minded. The last thing I wanted was to be the recipient of her confidences about her relationship with John. Had he suggested she approach me? Surely not; it was to his advantage to keep us
apart. More likely she had picked me as a confidante because I was unattached, and closer to her age than the other women on the boat. I had wondered – oh, yes, I admit I had – why
he’d settled on a half-baked girl barely out of finishing school, but it was becoming clearer now. Adoration, that was what he wanted – unquestioning, doglike devotion. And money? It
was one of his favourite things, and I had already noticed, as what woman wouldn’t, that Mary’s clothes had not been bought at Marks and Spencer.

‘Not a bit,’ I said, lying in my teeth. ‘Uh – I’ve been admiring your earrings. They’re excellent reproductions.’

She accepted this as a tactful, if ungraceful, method of changing the subject. ‘Oh, they aren’t copies. Second century
B.C.
, according to John. He gave them
to me.’

Before I could stop her she had unfastened one and handed it to me.

I was almost afraid to touch it. The miniature head was only three-quarters of an inch high, but every feature had been moulded with delicate accuracy. It was a classically Greek face, with the
long unbroken line from the forehead to the end of the nose, but on its brow it wore an ornament that was not Greek – the horns and full moon of the Egyptian goddess Isis. A modern jeweller
had added new wires. One wouldn’t want to keep bending the ancient gold; it was almost pure, close to twenty-four carat.

Silently I returned it to her. I had never seen anything I coveted more.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ Casually she replaced the earring.