The Hidden (40 page)

“Shush,” she says, “keep your voice low.”

“Saiza,” I whisper, “I am so glad to see you. Where have you been since our Sarai was destroyed? What happened to you?”

Saiza nods and holds me tight. “Our papa, our family, gone.” She swallows painfully.

I turn away abruptly. I don’t want her to see my tears.

“Did you kill your husband, Hezba?”

I close my eyes and nod slowly. “He gouged out Rachid’s eyes in front of me. He found out about my affair with Alexandre. He would have killed me in the end.”

“And the baby, is it al-Shezira’s or Alexandre’s?”

I turn away again. She may be my half sister, but I cannot tell her. I will tell her when the baby is born, but for the moment I must keep the identity of my baby’s father a secret. “Don’t ask me that, dear Saiza,” I say. “Tell me what they are saying at the courthouse.”

“They are saying that you will be found guilty, that the qadi is determined to make an example of you.”

I shake my head and raise my eyes to Saiza’s. She grabs my shoulders and shakes me gently with frustration and emotion. Then she bows her
head and strokes my short hair. She doesn’t understand how I can be so resigned about my situation. The truth is I am neither resigned nor calm, but I must preserve my energy for Alexandre, for tonight. I know he will come tonight. I know that we will escape and that my baby will be born in safety. I must keep my spirits up. I say nothing to Saiza. I simply hug her and try to comfort her.

“Say something, Hezba,” she says. “You don’t seem to care at all about what I just said.”

“I am leaving tonight, Saiza. This is my last chance. I won’t be seeing you again for a long time, I am sure, but I want you to know that I love you and I am sorry you lost your baby son, Ali. You see, I have to try and stop this persecution of me, of women. I am not to blame. And if I have even a chance of happiness with Alexandre, then I must fight for it. I do not believe I did anything wrong. Al-Shezira deserved everything he got. I refuse to be sentenced to death for murdering a man everyone wanted dead. I must fight back. I may just be a woman, but this woman is going to fight till the end.”

I can see the fear veiling Saiza’s face, the way her mouth curls in despair, the tears misting her eyes. I have seen that look before. It is the look that says she knows she cannot stop me, even if she wants to.

“Don’t, Hezba, I am begging you. Think about what you are doing. Think about the child in your womb. I am sure there is something we can do. We have money and power in this city. We have connections. I will pay someone to bribe this qadi to let you off. This judge is well-known. He loves money and is easily bought. But please, don’t do anything stupid.”

“There is no greater power than the power of the Hadith, Islamic law,” I say. “I have no choice. Islamic law will condemn me. Islamic law has already found me guilty. I must fight for my baby, Saiza. For a better life for her.”

The door opens, and the guards and the nurse walk in.

Saiza hugs me, sobbing, and whispers in my ear. “Have courage, Hezba, but please promise me you won’t do anything impetuous, I’m begging you.”

I hold her tightly, savouring the sweet scent of her neck. I can promise her no such thing. I wish I could, but it is impossible.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Aimee heard the sound of a gunshot, an ear-piercing explosion, hysterical screams, sirens and more gunfire, then crackling flames. She was running as fast as she could, her dress yanked up around her thighs, her heart burning in her chest from the exertion. As she ran in the vague direction of her aunt’s house, she passed screaming people running in the other direction towards the palace.

She tried to breathe, but the smoke and the fumes made her choke. Her bare feet were bleeding. She ran over rough pavements, animal excrement, gushing drains, through mucky and dusty harets. Tears streamed down her face, blinding her. The bomb must have killed Farouk. He had risked his life to save her. She was running free and he was dead. God, he was dead, but she couldn’t think about that now. The only safe place for her was with her aunt Saiza. She ran until she could run no more. Finally she saw a cab. Collapsing in a state of exhaustion against the car door, she wrenched it open and ordered the driver to take her to the suburb of Medinet Nasr. She slunk back in the rear seat, dishevelled, out of breath, her cheeks streaked with tears. Her dress was torn and dirty. Her feet were cut to shreds, her arms covered in dirt, her face coated in perspiration. She mustered the last of her energy, leaned forward, and asked the driver, panting, “Do you know what happened?”

The driver nodded.

“The palace, there was a bomb. I wanted to go and help, but I was turned away. It’s chaos down there, too many cars, ambulances, and people all trying to get in and out. I wanted to help those poor people, but I could do nothing.”

Aimee saw his eyes mist over. He clutched the steering wheel, bit his lip, and shook his head.

“You are helping me, Sayyid,” Aimee said. “I was there. I am all right, but I want to go to my aunt’s. It is the only safe place for me right now.”

The driver nodded miserably.

“We’re here, Sayyida,” he said, refusing, even when Aimee insisted, to wait for two moments while she got some money from her aunt. She trembled on the pavement as he left, then turned to ring the doorbell of her aunt’s house. Rose answered the door. She was wringing a handkerchief anxiously in her hands. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Aimee.

“Aimee!” she cried out. “The police have been looking for you. Where have you been?”

Rose. It was so good to see a familiar face. She stifled a sob and flung her arms around the housekeeper’s neck.

“Rose, where’s Auntie? I need to see her.”

Rose peeled back Aimee’s arms from her neck and looked her straight in the eye. “My dear child. Your aunt had an accident.”

Aimee swallowed hard and stared at her.

“What? Where is she? Is she all right?”

Rose stared back at her, her face strained with exhaustion. Aimee noticed the sorrow in her eyes, the downturned mouth, the mask of grief clamped down over her features, the way she hung her head.

“Aimee, you must prepare yourself for a terrible shock. Your aunt Saiza had a fall. She was taken to the hospital, but she did not survive.”

Aimee stared at Rose blankly, incredulously. Her arms went limp; then her legs buckled under her. She sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands. She felt Rose crouch down beside her, put her arms around her shoulders, then get up and walk away for a moment. Then she felt a glass being nudged slowly into her hand and Rose’s fingers encircling hers.

Aimee stood up, and Rose put her arm around her to steady her.

“When did this happen?” she asked in a choked whisper.

“Yesterday,” Rose said, stroking a stray strand of hair from her cheek.

“Where did it happen?”

“She went to your house. She slipped down the steps that lead from your front door to the courtyard below. She hit the ground hard. The hospital tried to save her, but she hadn’t been in the best of health. The fall from such a height brought on a heart attack. She died a few hours later.”

Aimee opened her mouth, but no scream came. Instead she hung her head and closed her eyes. Her head was swimming. She couldn’t breathe. Her thoughts turned to that terrible scene the other day when Rachid had revealed the real identity of her father and she had stormed out of the house. She had almost accused Saiza of lying to her. That was the last time she had seen her aunt.

“Come and sit down, Aimee,” Rose said soothingly. “You’ve had a terrible shock.” Rose walked her slowly towards a small sitting room off the entry hall. Aimee reached for an armchair and slid into it, unable to grasp where she was or what had happened.

She looked up blearily at Rose.

“There was a bomb at the palace,” she whispered.

“A bomb? I heard something, far away, I wasn’t sure.”

“I had to get away. I ran and ran as fast as I could to get away. It’s terrible. The people, that terrible noise, the smoke, the Abdin Palace has been destroyed.”

Rose’s hand flew to her mouth.

“My God. I must telephone my friend at the radio station and find out what’s going on.”

Aimee’s head fell back against the armchair. She closed her eyes. She suddenly felt cold, bitterly cold, and began shivering. The shivering grew more violent. Rose found two blankets and gave her some more brandy.

“You’re in shock, my dear. I’ll call for the doctor, straight away. I’ll stay with you until he gets here. I can telephone my friend later.”

Aimee opened her eyes slightly and peered at Rose through tired slits, pulling the blankets closer to her.

“No, please, Rose, don’t telephone the doctor. I’m all right,” she lied. How could she tell Rose what she had been through? She could hardly believe it herself. Compared to the fact that her beloved aunt was dead, none of what had happened meant anything anymore. Her ribs ached and her wrists were still sore from being tied up. She shivered and closed her eyes as she remembered Farouk’s face, the gun he held pointed at Issawi, the rage in his voice.

“Is Rachid still here, Rose?”

“Yes, he’s been in his room all afternoon and refuses to come out. I tried to bring him some tea, but I heard him chatting to himself. I thought I would leave him for the time being, poor thing. He had become fond of Saiza since he arrived.” Saiza. The mention of her aunt’s name dragged her back to earth. She was dead, she told herself again and again. But she couldn’t accept it. It couldn’t be true. Her teeth chattered violently, and she tucked herself more
deeply under the blankets to get warm. At last the brandy started working its magic and she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, Rose was there beside her. Rose smiled sadly at her.

“I’ll get you some tea,” she said. “You’ve slept for a couple of hours. Have some tea, and then I’ll make up one of the spare bedrooms for you.”

“What time is it, Rose?”

“Nearly midnight.”

Aimee sat up and rubbed her eyes. “The bomb at the palace? Have you heard anything?”

Rose shook her head.

“I didn’t want to put the wireless set on in case it woke you,” she said. “I’ll listen in while I’m making the tea. We must pray that not too many people were hurt.”

Aimee bit her lip.

“Don’t fret, Aimee. Let me get you that tea and then I’ll put you to bed. Tomorrow I’ll get the doctor to examine you. I’m sure we’re safe here.”

Aimee slumped back again. She wished Rose were right, but somehow she didn’t believe it. The feeling that everything was so very wrong gripped her throat and made her stomach churn with anxiety. Rose had left the room, and finding herself alone, she was petrified. As she looked around the room, her eyes fell on Saiza’s handbag on the floor near her chair.

Aimee groaned as the reality of her aunt’s death flooded through her again. She reached for Saiza’s handbag and stroked the leather sadly. Then she opened the catch and looked inside. She pulled Saiza’s appointment diary out, opened it, then put it back. She saw her face compact, her comb, her keys, her little photograph album of snapshots. It was difficult to touch any of her things. Saiza had
touched all of these things. She had run the comb through her hair, dabbed her face with the powder in the compact, and flicked through the appointment diary to check the day’s schedule, her women’s club meetings, her volunteer work for the war. She had opened the leather address book to retrieve the address of a friend. She had unscrewed the ink pen and written a note to someone. Then Aimee spotted an envelope inside the bag. She pulled it out and saw her own name scrawled across it. She opened the envelope, unfolded the notepaper inside it, and began to read. She had difficulty deciphering the words through her tear-blinded eyes, but something was written in heavy black ink at the top of the page.

It was a name and an address.
Sayyid Gad Hassan Mahmoud, Sharia Mustafa Kamil, Shubra.
Though she recognised the name, the address was not familiar. Surely it couldn’t be the same disgusting lunatic who had threatened to rape and kill her in the desert? One of Issawi’s cronies, the thug that Farouk had pointed out at the el-G?

Farouk had told her that Gad Mahmoud belonged to the X, but Aimee now knew differently. He was part of this man Issawi’s group. The nightmare she had just endured at the hands of the lunatic Issawi had taken place with Mahmoud looking on. Mahmoud had kidnapped her and taken her to Issawi’s headquarters. Mahmoud had locked her up in that room, on Issawi’s instructions. Mahmoud wanted this Group of the X found and imprisoned. And now his name was linked to her beautiful dead aunt. She felt imaginary hands grabbing at her throat, panic overwhelming her again. To see that name written down on the page horrified her. The rest of the letter was even more shocking. This Gad Mahmoud was someone Saiza wanted her to meet, someone who could help her solve the mystery of the whereabouts of her real father.

The journal of Hezba Iqbal Sultan Hanim al-Shezira,

Cairo, October 1919

The moon casts a brilliant light over the gardens. Everything is quiet. I have been sitting perfectly still in the corner of my room for hours, waiting with a pounding heart for the rebel attack to begin. I go through every little detail in my head of Alexandre’s rescue of me, the time, what I have to do, where we will go, asking myself a hundred more questions, which I know Alexandre will answer when the time is right. His men are powerful. They have at their disposal enough weaponry to blow Alexandre’s way out of prison. Then, in the ensuing chaos, they will come to Virginie’s house and get me out.

I hear the night guards assume their position outside the house—two outside my door and two outside the front door—relieving the day guards of their duties. I will wait with bated breath for Alexandre’s rebel forces to arrive. I start counting the minutes, slowly, purposefully, watching the splash of moonlight on the shuttered slats of the balcony doors.