Authors: Jane Jackson
Caseley moistened her lips. Her throat was dry and she longed for a cool drink. She waited for Jago to reply. When he didn’t, she glanced at him. His expression matched the Bedouin’s for impassivity. He simply waited.
From the corner of her eye Caseley saw Antonia and Sabra returning.
Eventually, the Bedouin spoke again. ‘Tomorrow I go to Cairo. Two days after that I leave for the Eastern Desert to attend the wedding of one of my many cousins.’
Then Caseley remembered Robert Pawlyn explaining that Bedouins rarely approached important matters directly.
‘Such an important event will bring together many of your tribe and extended family,’ Jago’s response told Caseley he had not forgotten Pawlyn’s warning.
The Bedouin nodded. ‘Such gatherings are rare and a welcome occasion at which to exchange news and discuss current events.’
‘Did you say a wedding?’ Antonia whirled round. ‘Are you going, Sabra?’ The Sheikha nodded. ‘Please may I come? I would so love to photograph the women – if they do not mind. Surely they won’t? A photograph would be a wonderful keepsake.’
Caseley recalled her wedding to Jago. It had been a very quiet, simple affair. With her father having recently died after she had managed to avert a scandal that could have destroyed the business, neither of them had wanted any fuss. Though still in mourning for him it had been the happiest day of her life, until the birth of her sons. Her mind shied away.
Sheikh Imad shook his head. ‘I do not think photographs will be possible.’
‘Why not? I know they are not seen much in public. But I am a woman myself –’
Sabra gripped Antonia’s arm and shook it lightly. Still holding it she turned to Jago, asking in French, ‘You wish to keep your discussions with the Tarabin a private matter?’
Caseley saw Jago tense.
How did she know?
He nodded.
‘Then if Madame Barata and I were to accompany you, Captain –’
‘I should like Mr Pawlyn included. He speaks Arabic and French and so could act as my interpreter in place of my wife.’ Jago glanced at Caseley. He was sending her a message, but she was fighting a powerful combination of rejection and relief and could not read it.
‘Very well.’
‘And me,’ Antonia beseeched. ‘If Mrs Barata is going you must let me come too, Sabra. Please. You can’t –’
‘Sshh,’ Sabra said, then turned back to Sheikh Imad, still speaking French. ‘Women in the party would allay suspicion. A family group bound for a wedding? What could be more innocent?’ She held Sheikh Imad’s gaze. Caseley translated quietly for Jago. The silence stretched.
Sheikh Imad gave a single nod. Antonia squeaked with delight and clasped Sabra’s hands, thanking her. Caseley released the breath she had been holding.
‘I must go,’ Sabra said, and turned to Caseley. ‘We will leave for Cairo on Friday. Come to my villa tomorrow afternoon. Miss Collingwood will bring you.’
Though it was more command than invitation, Caseley didn’t hesitate. ‘Thank you, ma’am. I should enjoy that.’
‘If she wishes, Miss Collingwood may take photographs.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful.’ Antonia’s delight told Caseley how much the invitation meant. ‘Thank you, Sabra. Thank you so much.’
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C
aseley stood to one side watching Robert Pawlyn take his leave.
‘It is a superb exhibition, Antonia.’
‘Thank you, Robert.’
‘I’ll see you on Friday, then.’
Though Antonia’s eyes shone in her flushed face and her smile was wide and warm, Caseley knew it was not for Robert Pawlyn, but for the man who had just left.
‘Will you excuse us for a moment?’ Jago drew Pawlyn away.
It was nearly seven. Caseley wanted to go upstairs for a few minutes’ quiet before they had to leave for the Consulate and dinner with Sir Douglas.
‘Miss Collingwood –’
‘Please, you must call me Antonia. I feel we are already dear friends. I can hardly believe it!’ She pressed her clasped hands to her full bosom. ‘To be invited to the wedding of Sheikh Imad’s cousin is such an honour! You must be so glad you are here.’
Caseley could have pointed out that it was Jago’s presence and the promise of gold that had secured the invitation, but she had no wish to burst Antonia’s bubble of happiness.
‘I do wish more people had come tonight,’ Antonia sighed.
‘Your father told us that many Europeans have already left the city.’
‘Others have stayed.’ Antonia made no effort to hide her impatience. ‘I have gone to a lot of trouble over this exhibition. Some support would have been nice. I know what it is. They didn’t come because they disapprove. I have worked hard to develop my talent and they are jealous.’
Egypt may be on the brink of war. Surely that is a more likely reason for their absence?
Surprised by the depth of Antonia’s self-absorption, Caseley changed the subject. ‘I must apologise for not being able to change for dinner tonight. I don’t have another gown with me.’
‘Don’t worry about it. You don’t have time, anyway. You and the Captain will be the only guests, apart from Spencer, and Maud of course. There will be no ceremony. No one will even notice.’
Abandoning her resentment Antonia released a contented sigh. ‘I wish there might have been more visitors. But at least Sheikh Imad and Sheikha Sabra came. And I have something wonderful to look forward to. What an adventure it will be! I know Sheikh Imad said I might not be able to photograph the women. But I shall take my camera anyway. I must go. Maud will be driving the servants to distraction.’
She started towards the door then turned back. ‘She has my father in her sights as husband number three. Fortunately, he has been too busy to notice. Now she’s losing patience. I wish she had left with the others.’
She pirouetted in a circle with outstretched arms. ‘But nothing is going to upset me tonight. I’m going to a Bedouin wedding with Sheikh Imad. Isn’t that romantic?’
Maud Williamson’s handshake was brief, her smile practiced, her blue gaze condescending.
‘How do you do, Mrs Barata. I hope you are comfortable at the hotel?’
No ceremony, Antonia had said. Clearly no one had informed Mrs Williamson. Her fair hair was drawn back in a complicated coiffeur decorated with silk flowers and a jewelled aigrette. Her magenta silk gown was of the very latest fashion. Edged with lace, the low neckline revealed soft white flesh. Around her throat she wore a cameo pinned to a black velvet ribbon. Elbow-length sleeves ended in deep frills and ribbon bows, and over her flat ruffled skirt horizontal folds of pale pink silk were gathered to form a bow on top of an enormous bustle.
‘Very comfortable, thank you,’ Caseley replied politely, aware her simple hairstyle and lilac day gown had been assessed and found wanting. Maud turned to Jago.
‘Captain Barata. I’m delighted to meet you. Though I fear you will find our society sadly lacking as so many have departed.’
‘Then it’s as well I have no time for social life, ma’am,’ Jago said.
She laid a slim, pale hand over his, her manner both arch and playful. ‘All work and no play –’
‘Gets the job done.’ Jago’s smile matched hers for insincerity. ‘As I’m sure Sir Douglas will agree.’
‘Quite so, Captain.’ She turned back to Caseley. ‘My dear Mrs Barata, I see you are limping.’ Her expression was all sympathy. ‘Have you suffered an accident?’
Caseley realised she was paying for Jago’s rebuff. ‘Not recently.’
‘My wife was a child at the time, Mrs Williamson. We rarely notice unless it is remarked on.’
His hand at her waist was comforting. He was protecting her and she was grateful. But no one else could hurt her as he had, because no one else mattered as he did.
A servant approached with a silver tray holding wine glasses of sherry and Madeira. Jago took sherry. As Caseley smiled and shook her head, the servant bowed and returned a moment later with a small tray on which stood a crystal tumbler half-full of cloudy liquid.
‘Citron pressé, Madame?’ he said softly.
Caseley took it gratefully. ‘
Merci beaucoup
.’
Watching Jago exchange pleasantries with Sir Douglas and Spencer Blaine, while Maud Williamson spoke quietly through a fixed smile to Antonia who made no effort to disguise her irritation, Caseley was suddenly overcome by doubt. What was she doing here?
A dark-skinned Egyptian wearing a spotless white robe with a scarlet sash, a scarlet brimless cap and white gloves announced dinner. He stood by the dining room door as they filed in and took their places at a long table set with a snowy cloth, crystal glasses and silver cutlery. Down the centre shallow bowls of lilies perfumed the air, flanked by silver cruets and multi-branched candelabra with beeswax candles that cast a gentle flattering light.
Her chair was held and she sat. Another servant carried a silver tureen to the sideboard. Why had she demanded to come? She was in mourning, not only for her children but for life as she had known it.
A small eggshell-thin bowl decorated with hand-painted flowers was set in front of her. She was relieved to see that it contained not the thick brown soup she dreaded, but a clear consommé. She picked up her spoon. Not too hot; the soup was delicious. The first mouthful loosened the knots in her stomach, making the second easier to swallow.
Would it not be more sensible for Jago and Robert Pawlyn to go without her? But with Sabra and Antonia in the party, how could she back out?
He caught her eye. Seeing his concern she pulled herself together and smiled to signal all was well.
‘Naturally,’ Sir Douglas said, leaning back to allow a servant to remove his empty bowl, ‘we have discussed with the French how best to protect the Suez Canal.’
‘Forgive me,’ Jago pretended puzzlement. ‘As I understand it, both the French and the Canal Company are of the opinion that the only danger to the Canal lies in intervention.’
‘Exactly. And the likelihood of intervention increases with every day that Colonel Arabi continues his reinforcement of the gun batteries in the forts.’
Spencer Blaine nodded. ‘The British government appealed to the Sultan to order the work stopped.’
‘Just a few weeks ago, Arabi announced in the press that he would guarantee public order.’ Anger reddened Sir Douglas’s fleshy face. ‘And what happened?’
‘A riot,’ said Spencer Blaine.
‘Yes, thank you, Blaine,’ Sir Douglas snapped. ‘I think I can manage.’ He turned to Jago. ‘An argument between a Maltese and a donkey boy attracted a crowd and things got out of hand. But instead of taking control, the police were nowhere to be seen. So what started as a mere scuffle exploded into a full-scale riot. Proof, if it were needed, that Arabi makes promises he cannot keep.’
‘Perhaps I have it wrong, but is it not the case that the police could only be called out on the orders of Alexandria’s civil governor?’
Sir Douglas looked at his aide, clearly expecting him to deny Jago’s claim. But Blaine, helping himself from the proffered dish of lamb cutlets and green peas, appeared not to have heard.
Jago continued. ‘As I understand it, the governor’s background is Turco-Circassian. So he has no sympathy whatsoever for the nationalist cause. He is very much the Khedive’s man and, I am reliably informed, hopes to take Colonel Arabi’s place as minister of war. In those circumstances, one might be forgiven for thinking he had every reason to let the riot continue.’
Frowning, Sir Douglas opened his mouth to respond, but Antonia spoke first.
‘For heaven’s sake, Papa. Enough of politics. Surely we can enjoy one meal without talk of riots and guns and threats?’
‘Antonia is right,’ Maud said at once.
Ignoring her, Antonia continued. ‘I have some wonderful news. Sheikha Sabra came to my exhibition late this afternoon.’
‘Good of her, I’m sure,’ Sir Douglas dabbed his mouth with his napkin then raised his wine glass. ‘If I weren’t so busy –’
‘Yes, I’m sure you would have.’ Antonia’s tone contradicted her words. ‘But never mind that, Papa. Sheikh Imad was with her. He has invited us to attend the wedding of one of his cousins out in the desert.’
‘Us?’ her father said.
‘Yes. Captain and Mrs Barata, Mr Pawlyn and I.’ She beamed with pride and excitement.
‘Why would he invite you?’ Sir Douglas demanded. ‘Not that it matters, as you cannot accept.’
‘It would not be at all wise,’ Spencer Blaine added, having waited to see his patron’s reaction.
‘Really, Antonia,’ Maud began. ‘You cannot –’
‘Sir Douglas,’ Jago leaned forward, his eyes gleaming like a cat’s in the candlelight. ‘In normal circumstances I would agree with you. But circumstances are far from normal. Unfortunately, intervention does look increasingly likely. Should this come about, having the Bedouin tribes on the English side will ensure that resistance by Arabi’s forces is swiftly quashed. Sheikh Imad’s invitation offers the perfect opportunity for me to meet tribal elders.’
‘Such a meeting is no place for women,’ Maud argued.
‘Indeed it is not. Nor will they be involved. But the invitation offers an opportunity we cannot afford to ignore. Travelling as a party of guests bound for a wedding perfectly disguises our true purpose.’
Sir Douglas put his knife and fork together. His plate was immediately removed. A fresh dish and cutlery were laid in its place as another course of strawberry jelly, pastries, almond pudding and a soufflé of rice was offered. Caseley took a feather-light honey and almond pastry.
‘I take your point,’ Sir Douglas conceded. ‘Very well, it seems I must withdraw my objection. Though I cannot like it.’
‘We should congratulate Captain Barata,’ Spencer Blaine’s sour smile would have curdled milk. ‘For someone so recently arrived he has a remarkable grasp of local events.’
‘Too kind.’ Jago’s grave bow had Caseley biting the inside of her cheek.
Blaine flushed and turned to Antonia. ‘Sir Edward’s absence in Cairo means your father cannot leave the Consulate. So if you insist on pursuing this harebrained scheme, I must escort you.’
Caseley held her breath, anticipating an outburst. But Antonia surprised her.