The Khamsin Curse (3 page)

The Countess pointed with her
black-gloved hand. “This is William Willcocks, designer and
engineer. John Aird, contractor and engineer. And Benjamin Baker, a
third engineer.”

“It would be marvellous to see
the construction of the dam while we’re in Egypt.”

“If Mycroft included the trio
of engineers and Professor Mallisham among the faces to get to know
then I’ve got a feeling your wish might come true.” She aimed one
last critical glance at the mirror to check the yellow diamonds.
“Let’s go down to dinner.”

The Mena House dining room was
a modern masterpiece of orientalist splendour. The ceiling was of
beaten copper which reflected the tremulous candlelight in the most
theatrical way imaginable. Gentlemen in smart dinner suits and
ladies richly robed and jewelled glowed like living gods in a
spectacular banqueting drama.

The sheer brilliance of the
scene made our two sleuths catch their breath as they paused in the
doorway, waiting for the maître d’, who was currently busy on the
far side of the room making sure all was right with America’s
cattle king.

Mr Jefferson Lee was being
ushered to a large round table set in an alcove that resembled a
Turkish harem but with the carved screens thrown open for a rare
glimpse inside the nabob’s private world. In keeping with the harem
theme, were the three women in his life: his beautiful blonde
daughter, the mousy brunette and the mature attractive redhead.

“Ah,” greeted the maître d’
genially as he hurried back to his post, “Countess Volodymyrovna
and Dr Watson! Mr Jefferson Lee has just instructed me to request
that you join his party for dinner.”

Refusal was clearly not an
option. The round table was surrounded by ten chairs, six of which
were vacant. Besides, from their point of view it might even be
considered a stroke of luck. If Mr Lee was financing the project
headed by Max Mallisham, and Mallisham was on their list of people
to keep an eye on, it was best to start the ball rolling in said
direction.

Introductions were conducted by
the red-faced American. He naturally started with himself then
moved on to the ladies in his party. “Allow me to introduce my
daughter, Miss Hypatia Lee, my niece, Miss Daisy Clooney, and my
personal secretary, Mrs Lorna Baxter.”

The three women, seated
ensemble
with their backs to the dining room, were forced to
crane slender necks over slender shoulders when the two newcomers
stepped up to the table. They each smiled politely without speaking
then turned back to take their cue from the nabob.

“Please, take this seat to my
right, Countess,” directed their host, “and Dr Watson, if you would
take the chair to my left. Joining us for dinner this evening will
be Mr Willcocks, Mr Aird and Mr Baker. You have probably read about
the Aswan Dam?”

Grateful to take his mind off
Colonel Moran, Dr Watson warmed to the topic at once. “I believe it
is the largest construction of its kind ever undertaken?”

“Yes, yes, an absolute
engineering marvel. I haven’t seen it yet but I am looking forward
to taking in the measure of it when we move camp to the island of
Philo.”

“Philae,” corrected Miss Lee,
smiling indulgently at her father before launching into her own pet
topic. “It’s located at the first cataract of the Nile. We will be
joining a project supervised by Professor Mallisham, the esteemed
British Egyptologist. You may have heard of him. He unearthed the
tomb of Hierax the high priest in Memphis in the year...”

“Speak of the devil,”
interrupted Mr Lee, sounding like a snorting bull about to charge.
It was a wonder he didn’t paw the ground.

Now, a rugged outdoors man
dressed in formal attire is like a caveman in a dinner suit. The
sight creates a primeval dichotomy in the female brain that is
simultaneously alluring and provoking. The esteemed archaeologist
acknowledged the ladies, ignored his host, barely glanced at Dr
Watson then turned his attention to the Countess. The irresistible
lustre of a
fleur fetiche collier
of nine yellow diamonds
surrounded by a swathe of flawless white diamonds was probably the
drawcard but, even without the jewels, the intelligence that shone
out of her blue-grey eyes marked her out as a gem worth
bagging.

“Max Mallisham,” he announced
with a husky timbre as he parked himself next door to the Countess
much to the disappointment of Miss Lee who had already turned to
her right as if expecting him to occupy the vacant chair.

When he discovered the name of
the lady with the dazzling yellow diamonds his eyes seemed to
dilate in proportion to the stream of Slavic syllables. “Not the
grand-daughter of Zoya Volodymyrovna?”

“Step-daughter,” supplied the
Countess with uncharacteristic modesty.

“Your step-aunt financed some
of the most notable digs of the nineteenth century. Are you also
interested in archaeology?”

“Hardly interested,” teased the
Countess, sensing a man on the make and playing the part of the
spoilt dilettante in need of an expensive diversion.
“Passionate!”

Everyone laughed, except
Hypatia Lee. Miss Clooney suddenly sat upright and straightened her
shoulders; while Mrs Baxter pretended to cough into her napkin to
disguise a half-smile. Clearly, all was not harmonious in the
cattle king’s harem, and now here was a prospective new concubine
to add to the jealous mix.

“You must join us in Philo,”
snorted their host, refusing to be side-lined at his own dinner
table. “We are travelling upstream three days hence. I have a
paddle steamer moored at the wharf. I purchased her from a Swiss
canton. She was plying the waters of Lake Constance. I had her
shipped overland and then organized for an Italian crew to sail her
to Cairo three months ago so that we could decamp in comfort. None
of these beastly camel treks for me! What’s that proverb? When a
slave gets on a camel he tries to sit on both humps! Well, good
luck to him! The first time I got on a camel the ornery creature
dumped me head first into the sand! I can ride a horse all day. I
think I was born on a horse. Possibly conceived on one…”

“Oh, daddy,” chastised Miss
Lee.

Mr Lee ignored his daughter’s
blushes. “Jefferson Lee never does things by halves. The Lady
Constance…”

“Sekhmet,” corrected Miss Lee,
recovering quickly.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,
Sekhmet. She’s having her haunches spruced up with a lick of paint
as we speak. We shall re-brand her with a bottle of expensive
bubbly before we board. There are twelve promenade cabins. Plenty
of room for two more guests on the floating ranch. The more merrier
I say! What do you say?”

Dr Watson didn’t hesitate. “I
think I speak for both myself and my travelling companion when I
say we will be delighted to take you up on the invitation, Mr Lee.
I am keen to see the Aswan Dam and my companion is keen to turn her
hand to jigsaw puzzles in the form of broken shards of
pottery.”

The red-faced rancher grinned
from ear to ear. Miss Lee managed a smile that reached no further
than her tightly pursed lips.

“It’s not really a dig,” pouted
the daughter. “We aren’t excavating shards of pottery. Isn’t that
right Professor Mallisham?”

“Quite right, Miss Lee. Philae
has some unspoilt temples with magnificent cartouches that have
lost none of their vivid colour and some first rate hieroglyphs. It
is worth noting the last hieroglyph to be carved in Egypt was done
in Philae. We will be documenting everything should the Nile flood
the island after the dam is completed. The whole project could
cause enormous devastation to the island. It is a travesty…”

“There you go again,
Mallisham,” berated a voice from somewhere behind them.

“Give it a rest,” advised
another.

“Put a sock in it,” gibed a
third.

It was the trio of British
engineers. They introduced themselves to the two newcomers and made
themselves comfortable. The conversation bounced from Camp Philae
to Camp Aswan for the remainder of the evening. Dr Watson found
himself gravitating toward the latter and the Countess toward the
former. Beneath the polite hostility, which managed to sound
outwardly jovial, ran an undercurrent of tension and rancour.

Following dessert and coffee,
the party dispersed. Most of the men shuffled off to the smoking
room for cognac and cigars, Mrs Baxter retreated to her bedroom for
an early night. Miss Lee and her mousy cousin, Miss Clooney, found
a table in the piano bar where they sipped American cocktails prior
to a visit to the in-house casino. Professor Mallisham stepped onto
the terrace and seemed to vanish into thin air.

The Mena House sat in an oasis
of palm trees which beckoned several guests to take an after-dinner
stroll in the moonlight. Dr Watson and Countess Volodymyrovna were
among them as one lit up a calabash pipe and the other a cigarette
and they followed the gravel path through the perfumed garden.

“I should have consulted you,”
began Dr Watson hesitantly, “but I’m afraid I got carried away with
the prospect of seeing the Aswan Dam. Are you happy with the idea
of travelling with the Lee party to Philae? If not I can make our
apologies…”

“I’m thrilled,
mon ami
.
I caught a glimpse of the Sekhmet moored on the east bank when we
docked earlier this evening. She’s not like those clunky, top
heavy, paddle steamers you see plying the Mississippi. She is sleek
and elegant. Besides, we need to check out what Mallisham is
actually doing in Philae, if only to eliminate him from our
investigation. The floating ranch will have us in Philae in next to
no time and wrap us in the height of luxury as we go.”

He felt reassured. “What about
Miss Hypatia Lee? I sensed some antipathy.”

“Oh, phooey! She regards me as
a rival for the attention of the esteemed Egyptologist. He is only
interested in my diamonds. He could hardly take his eyes off them
all night. Yellow was the right choice after all. I will string him
along because he may be involved in the business we’re looking
into. Once she realizes I am not interested in the professor she
will relax her dislike and we will be great friends. I suspect she
harbours a secret fear I might set my sights on her father too. His
relationship to the three women in his life is interesting. I kept
picturing a nabob and a harem, not that I am suggesting anything
sordid or incestuous, but I have no intention of becoming his next
concubine.”

Dr Watson laughed with relief.
“I pictured the same thing! Miss Clooney hardly spoke at all; she
seemed over-awed, possibly even frightened of the nabob. Mrs Baxter
only replied when directly addressed and each time she checked to
make sure her remarks were not displeasing to the master. Miss
Hypatia Lee is a feisty young lady but even she seemed mindful of
her father’s displeasure. I wonder if he has a foul temper.”

“Hmm, I think it might just be
a case of purse strings. He who controls the money controls the
women. It doesn’t pay to get on his wrong side. Most self-made men
have an urge to control everything, and by that I mean
absolutely
everything, pertaining to their own lives and the
lives of those anchored to them.”

3

“Man fears Time; Time fears the
Pyramids.”

The Countess recalled the
Egyptian proverb as she and Dr Watson breakfasted early, keen to
explore the Giza Necropolis before the daytime temperature soared.
From the window of the breakfast room they could see Khufu’s
Pyramid looming out of its sandy bed, reaching skyward like a Jules
Verne rocket ship made of stone. A short calash ride, not much more
than half a mile, would have them there before the sun warmed the
pointy end.

“Isn’t there a theory about the
Pyramids being the granaries of Joseph?” Dr Watson was savouring
every mouthful of the spicy couscous and herb omelette he had been
brave enough to order from the breakfast menu while at the same
time studying the largest of the three monuments, the other two not
being visible from the window; the second in size but on higher
ground built for Khafra, and the smallest built for Menkauru.

“You’re thinking of that mosaic
on the ceiling of the Basilica di San Marco we saw in Venice last
month. The pyramids in the mosaic had stepped sides and flat tops.
Most likely the artist copied them from the three smaller pyramids
behind Menkauru’s tomb. The Egyptians built granaries but they were
underground pits with domed roofs made from mud blocks. The ancient
Egyptians wouldn’t have been daft enough to build granaries that
were ninety-nine per cent stone and one per cent grain storage. But
biblical storytellers never let logic get in the way of a good
myth.”

They were finishing their
Arabic coffee when the German arrived for breakfast minus his
fair-haired companion. Dr Watson turned instantly grumpy. “Time to
make tracks,” he said abruptly, grabbing hold of his binocular
field glasses. “Do you need to go back to your room for
anything?”

She indicated her lacy parasol.
“No, I have everything I need. I presume we will return to the
hotel for lunch sometime in the early afternoon?”

He nodded as he pushed to his
feet, anxious to be off. “Let’s go. The concierge said we can hail
a calash at the gate of the hotel.”

Always the case that when one
is in a hurry one will bump into several people one does not wish
to meet. First up was Mr Jefferson Lee.

“Going out early,” he remarked
cheerfully. “And where are you off to? Let me guess,” he posed,
spying the field glasses strung around the doctor’s neck which told
him it was sight-seeing and not shopping they had in mind. “I bet
it is the Sphinx. Everyone wants to see that one first. And if I
was a betting man - which I am - I would say the Pyramids second.
Is that right?” He gave a hearty laugh, pleased with his
reasoning.