Authors: Kathryn Le Veque
The phone crackled
as a voice came through. “Everything but the first couple of sentences, Dr.
Henredon,” the faithful old secretary said. “The entire conversation was
recorded. What do you want me to do with it?”
Fox continued to
stare at Alia, who had turned a sickly shade of white. “Forward a copy to the
General Director of the Cairo Museum, Dr. Mohammed Abdel Hamid. Also forward a
copy to Dr. Trenton Dawes St. Héver, Director of Antiquities at the Bolton
Museum. Tell them that this is a conversation between Dr. Fox Henredon and Dr.
Alia al Shabeen and let them know that I’ll call them both later to clarify.”
“Will do, Dr.
Henredon. Are you at least enjoying your trip to Egypt?”
Fox smiled, his
gaze still fixed on Alia. “Very much,” he said. “I’ll call you later.”
With that, he
hit the disconnect button and put the phone back in his pocket. He cocked his
head at Alia’s stunned expression.
“And with that,
my wife and I will be leaving,” he said quietly, urging Morgan towards the
curb. “Have a good day, Dr. al Shabheen.”
Alia was so
angry that she was weaving unsteadily even as she stood there. Morgan couldn’t
help it; she gave the woman a triumphant cock of the eyebrow as she moved for
the taxi stand. The next thing she realized, a roar of sorts was coming up
from behind and Morgan turned in time to see Alia bearing down on her, claws
bared.
Startled into a
defensive stance, Morgan lashed out a hand and caught Alia in the nose, sending
the woman onto her backside. As Alia lay prone on the concrete curb, hands on
her face and blood pouring down her cheeks, Morgan bent over her without a hint
of remorse.
“I guess this
stupid American can kick your butt,” she hissed. “Stay down. It’s safer for you
that way.”
Fox gently
pulled her away, not so much as passing a glance to Alia wallowing on the
ground. A taxi pulled up several feet away and Fox began loading their luggage
into the trunk. He opened the door for his wife and got in after her without a
hind glance. For them, it was over and done with. The taxi pulled out of the
driveway and lost itself in the dense Luxor traffic.
As a couple of
the valets moved in to help Alia, still bleeding on the ground, Beni watched
the entire scene from several feet away. He had no intention of moving in to
help her. In fact, the more he thought on it, the more he realized he’d burned
his bridges with both Alia and Fox. Perhaps it was time for him to find
another line of work. He wasn’t as distressed about it as he thought he would
be. Perhaps there was more for him out there than being subservient to a
madwoman.
Shoving his
hands into his pockets, he faded into the crowd and wandered away, perhaps to
better things.
January 26, 1924
We
are prepared to move south to find the first clue of the papyrus. Dear Kadin
has made the arrangements and Louis continues to beg me to return to England
with him. As much as I love my homeland, something about Egypt beckons me and
I cannot refuse. The quest is dangerous and I understand this, but if it
claims my life, then I will not be sorry. It was something I had to do. My
life, my heart, is here... in Egypt.
~ Frances
Sherburn
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Fox stood
several feet away under the shade of an ancient olive tree, watching his wife
as she stood over Fanny’s newly covered grave. There were thousands of purple
flowers, a color that had been Fanny’s favorite, blanketing the fresh earth,
and the noon sun was gentle over head. It was a peaceful, perfect day in the
old cemetery where generations of Allahaba’s family had been buried.
Morgan had a
white scarf over her head and around her shoulders as a sign of modesty and
respect. It was the same white scarf that Fanny had worn to Morgan and Fox’s
wedding. Ziva had given it to Morgan that morning along with many other of
Fanny’s personal belongings. It was such a bitter sweet moment for Morgan,
collecting her great-grandmother’s possessions that had meant so much to her.
But the one thing that had meant a great deal to both of them, the journal, now
lay buried under several feet of dirt.
A gentle breeze
sang through the cemetery, lifting the edges of the white scarf. As Morgan
stood there and gazed at the grave, lost to her thoughts, Fox walked up beside
her. He slipped his big arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her
head.
“Are you okay,
love?” he asked gently.
She nodded,
sniffling delicately; tears were close to the surface, as they had been all
morning. “I’m okay,” she said softly. “She did look peaceful, didn’t she?”
Fox nodded; he
had been one of the pallbearers who had carried Fanny’s tiny body down from her
bedroom and to the waiting procession. Then he’d helped carry her into the
cemetery for burial.
“She looked…
happy,” he gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’d be happy, too, if I was finally
reunited with the love of my life.”
Morgan gazed up
at him, looking like an angel with her sweet face and white scarf. “Do you
think we did the right thing?”
He kissed her
forehead; he knew what she was referring to, something they’d talked about all
night before finally acting on it when morning dawned. Given Alia’s threats
and the potential for something very ugly and damaging, he wasn’t at all
disturbed by their decision. His dark gaze moving back to the mound of purple
flowers
“I think so,” he
said softly. “It was hers, after all.”
Morgan’s gaze
moved to the purple flowers as well. “If she has it, Alia and the Egyptian
government can never get it,” she said. “It’ll be safe forever.”
Fox nodded
faintly. “If we buried Fanny with not only the journal but the papyrus as well,
then its safety is assured. We have photographs and the translation of the
papyrus and the Egyptian government can have that if they want. I can always
make more copies. But the papyrus… it belonged to Fanny. Besides, like I said
last night, I wouldn’t put it past Alia to have alerted Customs in spite of
everything. If they got a hold of it, we’d never see it again. This way, it’s
where it belongs.”
She gazed up at
him again. “And the other thing?”
He fell silent,
still staring at the mound. “When Allahaba translated that tiny linen scroll,
the first thing I thought of was Fanny,” he said softly. “I don’t know why, but
I just did. She never found what was at the end of those clues; she never had
the chance that we did. So by burying the scroll with her… to me, it’s a piece
of what she was looking for, the one tangible proof of a quest that changed the
course of her life. She has her journal, her papyrus, and the scroll that was
found at the end of that papyrus. Her story is finally finished.”
There were tears
in Morgan’s eyes. “But it’s valuable artifact,” she whispered. “Maybe the most
valuable artifact ever found.”
Fox shrugged.
“It meant more to a one hundred and five year old lady,” he winked at her. “I
have a translation of it and pictures of it. She deserves to have what she
wanted so badly. She’s earned it.”
Morgan laid her
head against his chest, her arms around his narrow waist. “What if the
Egyptian government wants that, too?”
“Then they’ll
have to dig up an old woman to get it and we know that’s never going to happen.
Whatever is buried with Fanny is safe forever from crazy curators or greedy
government officials,” he stroked her back affectionately, comfortingly. “But I
particularly like the fact that the scroll’s translation will be on Fanny’s
headstone. It fits her perfectly.”
Morgan agreed.
“It made sense. It’s a beautiful epithet, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
Morgan wiped
delicately at her nose as she released her husband and bent down to pick up one
of the many purple mums adorning Fanny’s grave. She gazed at the flower a
moment, pensive.
“So now we have
some things to do,” she turned to Fox. “I need to call my parents and tell them
all about this crazy adventure, about Fanny, and about our future plans. And
you need to call your bosses and figure out how to proceed on those two digs we
left out there in the desert.”
He nodded,
putting his arm around her and gently pulling her away from the gravesite. The
cemetery was a beautiful one, with tasteful headstones and lush grounds. As he
gazed up into the sky, he felt like he was embarking on a whole new life with a
woman by his side who he adored more than words could express. All he could see
was a bright, wonderful future.
“There’s time
for that,” he said. “Can I at least enjoy the remainder of my honeymoon for the
next few days before I’m forced back to reality?”
She grinned up
at him. “Sure you can,” she said. “What more did you have in mind?”
He met her
smile, so in love with those big baby doll dimples. “Lots of things,” he told
her. “Pyramids, romantic river cruises, maybe even the Valley of the Kings.
And spending every night with you.”
“And then?”
He wriggled his
eyebrows as they headed from the cemetery gate and towards the waiting car
where Allahaba sat, ready to drive them back to his home for a big meal. Fox
spied his friend in the distance, a man who was now, thanks to Fanny, family.
He felt incredibly blessed, on many levels.
“And then we do
whatever the Fates have in store for us,” he told her. “They’ve been pretty
good to us so far.”
“I’m looking forward
to it.”
He gave her
another hug, heartfelt and sincere. “I love you, Mrs. Henredon.”
“And I love
you.”
“Enough to spend
the next thirty years of your life living in a tent and digging in the desert?”
She laughed
softly as they reached the car and he opened the door for her. She paused
before climbing in, her wide brown eyes intense on him.
“Enough for
that,” she murmured. “More, even.”
The car sped
away from the cemetery, heading back into the ancient city that was as alive
now as it had been a thousand years ago.
Back in the old
cemetery, the purple flowers covering Fanny’s grave blew gently in the wind as
beneath them, a very old woman dreamed everlasting dreams of days when she was
young and beautiful. Kadin was in her dreams, kissing her gently, so glad to
see the woman he hadn’t seen in thirty years.
As she eternally
slumbered, in her arms she clutched her precious journal, the last page finally
written by her great-granddaughter. Morgan had finished Fanny’s story with the
words from the tiny scroll, the same words emblazoned on her headstone:
Worship
of Her, Who is Pure Being, Consciousness, Bliss.
Lady
of Heaven, Who Exists in all Forms of Time,
And
All That is Therein,
Who
is the Divine Illuminatrix in All Beings,
Mother
Isis, as she sails to Her final Rest,
May
her Story be Told in Sanctuary,
and
Know she is One with the Heavens
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathryn Le Veque has been a prolific writer of Medieval and
Contemporary romance for eighteen years. She lives in La Verne, California with
her two children and big family of cats. When she’s not writing, Kathryn
spends time volunteering, golfing, or enjoying time with family and friends.
The author has always had a ‘thing’ for Egypt, evidenced in
this novel as well as the Kathlyn Trent/Marcus Burton adventure series. Lady of
Heaven is truly an inspired novel. It took exactly seven weeks to write it,
something that kept the author up day and night. Sometimes when the Muse sings,
you simply have to go with it, and ‘Lady of Heaven’ is the result. Fox Henredon
and Morgan Sherburn are a match made in heaven.
What’s fact and what’s fiction? The Manjam Hamsh wilderness
and Mt. Nusruq are fact. There really are gold mines at Mt. Nusruq as well as
Roman ruins; if you look on Google Earth, you can see the ruins quite clearly.
Ranthor is fiction as is the Lady of Heaven papyrus and the Isis scroll, so the
contents of those scrolls are purely from the author’s imagination. Edfu exists
and so do all of the major landmarks in Egypt. Bolton and Bromley Cross, as
cities, exist, but Heaven’s Gate does not. This book is a perfect example where
fact and fiction intermingle to produce a blockbuster storyline.
Visit Kathryn’s website at
www.kathrynleveque.com
.