Night Train to Memphis (26 page)

After we emerged I found a convenient boulder and sat down, tipping my hat over my eyes. I must be getting used to the climate. The hot, dry air felt good. Yes, by God, I would do as jolly old
Achmet had suggested – forget distractions and enjoy myself.

I could probably talk Schmidt into going to Aswan. It would be pleasant to cruise, without distractions. We could come back to Luxor later, after . . .

They’d be watching every move he made from now on, poised like cats by a mouse hole, waiting for him to commit the act that would condemn him to prison, or to a narrower and more permanent
resting place. People have been shot while resisting arrest

A pair of booted feet came into view and I looked up to see Jean-Louis. I wasn’t sorry to have my train of thought interrupted.

‘Do you have a cigarette?’ Jean-Louis asked brusquely.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t . . .’ Then I remembered that I did. Reaching into my bag, I dredged out my cigarettes. The pack was almost full, but it was rather squashed.
‘Keep it,’ I added generously.

‘That is most kind.’

It wasn’t, but I didn’t say so. He must be a chain-smoker. The ground where he had been standing was littered with butts.

‘So, did you enjoy the paintings?’ he asked.

‘I’m still dazzled. You’ve done a magnificent job. Mes hommages.’

Between the mop of bushy hair and the beard I couldn’t see much of his face, but he didn’t respond to my smile. ‘It is only one small part of what needs to be done. That is
what the work of the institute will be – preservation. A worthy cause, do you not think?’

‘Unquestionably. As I said – ’

‘A cause worthy of sacrifice.’

He appeared to be talking to himself rather than to me. I wondered if the guy was drunk. Surely not at this hour? His hands were shaking as he lit another cigarette from the butt of the
first.

I could feel relays clicking into place. I don’t know how society conditions women into feeling that they are obliged to console, reassure, and flatter melancholy males. I’d fought
the impulse ever since I was old enough to recognize it, but I hadn’t been entirely successful. I decided that Jean-Louis must be one of those unfortunate people who can’t see the
doughnut for the hole. Apparently he was brooding on the magnitude of the task ahead and questioning his ability to carry it out. The job would never be finished, not in his lifetime at least;
there was too much to be done. That’s true of a lot of things, though, including the achievement of social justice, universal peace, and a world in which there are no hungry children.
It’s no excuse to stop working towards those ends.

I said as much, larding the pompous speech with compliments, and gradually his face, or at least his mouth, relaxed. ‘It is true,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And I am one of the
few who can work effectively in this area.’

‘Uh – right,’ I said.

He went on to tell me how good he was at the restoration business and I went on to regret my womanly instincts. My wandering eye caught that of Larry, who had been watching us, and he responded
to my unspoken plea for rescue.

‘Come now, Jean-Louis, you’re supposed to be mingling,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ I said, rising. ‘I haven’t had a chance to talk to our former shipmates.’

Larry accompanied me. ‘Moody fellow, isn’t he?’ I inquired, when we were out of earshot.

Larry frowned. ‘He hasn’t any reason to be moody right now. What did he say?’

‘I’m afraid I didn’t pay much attention.’

‘He was talking a lot. Unusual for him, he’s not very sociable.’

‘He was fishing for compliments,’ I said. ‘Getting them too.’

Our shipmates greeted us with open arms. Sweet, who had apparently recovered from his bout of sickness, said slyly, ‘We were afraid you had deserted us, Vicky.’

‘I’d desert you too if I had the chance,’ Suzi said with a big grin. ‘How about wangling an invitation for me, Vicky?’

‘I was only asked . . . because of Schmidt,’ I said, fumbling for a reasonable explanation. ‘He and Larry are old pals.’

‘What about the Tregarths?’ Suzi demanded. ‘They aren’t old pals of Larry’s, are they?’

‘I’ve no idea what prompted that invitation,’ I said.

‘Tregarth is good at pushing in where he’s not wanted,’ said Perry, joining us.

‘I can’t get anyone an invitation,’ I said pointedly. ‘I wouldn’t be rude enough to try.’

‘So what are your plans?’ Sweet asked. ‘Will you be going on to Aswan with us day after tomorrow?’

I said I hadn’t made up my mind. Some of the others were still wavering, but the majority had opted for the Aswan cruise. Including Sweet and Bright. Obviously I’d been wrong about
them. But I still couldn’t understand why Bright had lied about his origins.

‘At any rate we will enjoy one another’s company for a day or two longer,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘Are you coming to Karnak with us this afterooon, Vicky?’

The party was breaking up. Feisal began herding the group towards their bus and I returned to ‘my’ stretch limo, but not before I had agreed to join the others that afternoon. It was
pure reverse snobbism; I didn’t want them to think I was too stuck up to mingle with non-billionaires.

There were five of us in the limo, not counting the chauffeur, but it wouldn’t have seemed crowded if John hadn’t been one of the five. At least I didn’t have to sit next to
him. I climbed in after Schmidt, and Larry took the seat beside me. Leaning back with a sigh, he loosened his tie.

‘You must be glad it’s over,’ I said.

Larry glanced at me and smiled sheepishly. ‘I hate ceremony and long speeches. I am glad to be done with that part of it, but it will be hard to leave Egypt.’

I figured I’d done my duty as a sympathetic female, and I couldn’t feel too sorry for a man who owned – if I remembered the newspaper stories correctly – six other
residences, including a chateau in the Loire Valley.

‘You can always build another house,’ I said.

‘I have too many damn houses already,’ Larry said, with an uncanny impression of having read my thoughts. ‘No, I won’t live in Egypt again.’

‘I’m sure they’ll always have a spare room for a guest,’ said John.

He was referring to Jane Austen, but none of the others caught the allusion, or its implications. Nasty old Aunt Norris in
Mansfietd Park
always had a spare room because she never invited
anyone to stay with her.

Schmidt chuckled fatly. ‘For you, Larry, there will always be a spare room anywhere in Egypt. You have done the country a great service. When will you be departing, mein Freund? You must
tell us when we are in the way. The ETAP hotel, I understand, is very fine; we can take ourselves there at any time.’

Larry assured us we were welcome to stay as long as we liked. ‘The packers are coming tomorrow. It will take a while, since some of the ceramics and furniture are old and fragile, so
there’s no hurry. Have you decided on your future plans?’

He looked at John. John was looking at me. One eyebrow went up.

I remembered what Achmet had said. This seemed like an appropriate moment to indicate my complete disinterest in John Tregarth alias Smythe and all his works. ‘I’m going to
Aswan,’ I said.

‘But Vicky,’ Schmidt began.

‘You don’t have to come along, Schmidt.’

‘I will go where you go,’ Schmidt said, as I had hoped he would. Otherwise I’d have had to kidnap him and drag him away by force.

So that afternoon we went to the temple of Karnak. John and Mary decided to join us. I hadn’t invited them. Schmidt had. Larry declined; he said he had work to do, and he’d seen the
temple several dozen times.

We had to wait a few minutes for the rest of the group to arrive. Studying the crowds that filled the passage between the rows of ram-headed sphinxes, I said, ‘I can’t imagine what
this place is like when tourism is at its peak. look at all those people.’

‘This is not an area where there have been attacks on tourists,’ Schmidt said, nodding encouragingly at Mary.

Mary’s devoted husband wasn’t so considerate of her feelings. Frowning slightly, he said, ‘Not precisely true, Schmidt. There was a bombing here a couple of years ago and
another attempt earlier this season.’

‘Ah, but those attacks were in objection to what the fundamentalists consider the worship of the old heathen gods,’ Schmidt explained. ‘Some of these peoples’ – his
pointing finger indicated a group of unkempt visitors in ponytails and cut-off jeans – ‘the New Agers, you call them, hold ceremonies in the temple. We, we don’t worship
anything.’

‘We sure don’t,’ I agreed. John grinned at me. Avoiding his eyes, I went on, ‘You’re right about that bunch, Schmidt, they’re all wearing amulets and crystals
and earrings and junk. Why do they have to look so scruffy?’

‘Their spiritual consciousness has elevated them above earthly desire,’ said John, in a voice I knew well. ‘I should think you’d approve, Vicky; you dislike crass
materialism and vulgar acquisitiveness, don’t you?’

I was saved from replying by the arrival of our shipmates. Falling in step with Feisal I remarked, ‘You’re looking very pleased with yourself, Feisal. Are you going to tell me about
that good news you mentioned, or is it still a secret?’

‘Not any longer.’ Feisal stopped and turned to face me. He thumped himself on the chest. ‘Greet, with proper respect, the assistant director of the institute.’

I caught his hand and shook it vigorously. ‘Congratulations! I’m absolutely delighted.’

Feisal kept hold of my hand as we walked on. ‘You’ll help me celebrate, perhaps. I promised to show you some of the night life of Luxor.’

‘That would be great. But why are you guiding this tour?’

‘I’m no quitter, as you Americans say. As soon as I get the last of this lot onto the plane in Cairo I’ll come back and take up my new position. In the meantime I will carry
out my duties like a good little soldier. All right, friends, gather around; the temple of Karnak is not one temple but a complex of temples, built over many centuries. The Avenue of Sphinxes . .
.’

People wandered off as we proceeded, some to stop and rest, others to inspect a particular area in more detail. Schmidt and I had paused to look at an obelisk and he was lecturing me about the
career of Hatshepsut – ‘one of the first feminists, Vicky, she should be of interest to you’ – when I saw a familiar face that didn’t belong to our group. A familiar
beard, rather.

‘I have been looking all over for you,’ Jean-Louis said grumpily.

‘What for?’ I asked. He certainly didn’t look like a man who has finally found the girl of his dreams.

‘To show you the temple, of course. Didn’t you ask that I do so?’

‘We are delighted to have you, of course,’ Schmidt exclaimed, before I could answer. Just as well; I would have said no, I hadn’t. However, I was familiar with the habit some
people have of believing in their own fantasies. I must have made a hit with Jean-Louis. That would teach me not to go around oozing sympathy.

He’d worked on the Aton Temple project for three years before leaving it to take up Larry’s offer, and he knew Karnak as I know my own apartment. We finally managed to pry him away
from that part of the temple and talked him into showing us boring tourist stuff like the Hypostyle Hall. ‘Impressive’ is an overused word, but it’s the only word for that cluster
of mammoth columns. The only thing wrong with it was the tourists. One group had squatted in a circle and I recognized the seekers after truth we had seen entering the temple earlier. They were
muttering to themselves and waving their hands. I heard somebody say something about auras.

‘Cretins,’ Jean-Louis muttered.

‘They do no harm,’ Schmidt said tolerantly.

Finally I decided I’d absorbed enough for one day and I cut Jean-Louis short in the middle of a translation of the annals of Thutmose III. He was reading the hieroglyphs off the wall. It
was a wasted exhibition so far as I was concerned; how did I know he was reading them right?

Jean-Louis consulted his watch. ‘Yes, we must go. Mr Blenkiron has sent the car for us, it will be waiting.’

I spotted Suzi as we passed through the Hypostyle Hall. She waved and I waved back, but Jean-Louis didn’t stop. I deduced that we were late. When we emerged from the last – or first,
depending on which way you were going – pylon into the Avenue of Sphinxes, John and Mary were waiting. She looked done in. I didn’t blame her; we had covered a lot of territory and
still seen only part of the enormous complex.

That was when it happened. The force of the explosion threw me to the ground, or maybe it was Schmidt who threw me to the ground. He was on top of me when I got my breath and my wits back.

I decided I probably wasn’t dead. I wished I could be sure about Schmidt. The plump pink hand lying on the ground near my face was flaccid and unmoving. I tried to squirm out from under
him. People were screaming and there were sounds like firecrackers.

The weight on my back lifted. I got to my hands and knees, then to my knees. John was bending over Schmidt, shaking him. Schmidt’s head rolled back and forth, then his eyes opened and he
let out an anguished bellow. ‘Vicky? Vicky, wo bist du? Bist du verletzt? Ach, Gott – ’

‘You’ll do,’ John said, stepping back. ‘Stop shrieking, Schmidt, she’s not hurt.’

‘Speak for yourself.’ My shins and forearms had taken the brunt of the fall. Blood oozed from a few square feet of scraped skin. ‘What happened?’

Schmidt, crawled over to me and enveloped me in a hug. ‘It was a bomb, Vicky. Terrorists, setting off bombs and shooting. Gott sei Dank, you are not injured.’

I could see over his shoulder. The cloud of dust from the explosion was still settling. Other people had been bowled over but they didn’t appear to be badly hurt, for they were moving and
cursing. All except one. The bloody cavern where his face had been was framed all around by sticky wisps of hair.