The Mistress of Nothing (29 page)

I put a stop to these thoughts, before I got carried away. I needed to speak to Omar about my situation. But how? There was no point trying to time my visit to Abdullah with his; I couldn’t get away from the hotel in the afternoon, and besides, I wanted to see him alone. Going to Boulak ran too many risks. I did not want Lady Duff Gordon to discover I was still in Egypt; she’d learn soon enough, doubtless, but I was fairly sure that Omar would not have told her that I had not done as she ordered and returned to England. There was little time: soon Omar would be leaving for Europe with my Lady and I could not take it upon myself to move in without his permission. At night all this rushed around and around in my head.

But one morning when I sat down with Mabrouka for breakfast, I felt a change in the atmosphere: something had shifted. The air was hot and still; the night had not brought much relief from the heat of the previous day. Something had happened since my last visit, a conversation had taken place. Mabrouka looked at me, frowning. Abdullah began to fret; Omar’s mother picked him up and carried him away, saying she was taking him to fetch a cool drink. I felt cold, despite the heat. Had I done something wrong? Were they going to stop my visits?

“I told him you love your child,” said Mabrouka. “Any fool can see it.”

I did not know what to say.

“I told him the life you are leading is too harsh, much too harsh for any woman, Egyptian or
Frangi.”

I could not reply.

“He says it is not my place to speak of such things, but I told him I’m ashamed that his wife, a daughter of this family, should have to live in this way.”

I bowed my head and stared at my hands, engulfed by shame.

“And do you know what he said?”

I looked at Mabrouka. I felt no hope. I felt as though my head might burst into flames.

“‘Sally will not be coming to live here, in my father’s house,’” she mimicked Omar’s voice cleverly. “ ‘She will do no such thing.’ And when I asked him why, he said it was his decision. Then he told me to stop talking about you, to stop asking questions, that your fate was none of my business. He told me to be silent.”

I sat for a moment. Mabrouka put her hand on mine. “I’m sorry,” she said, whispering. I closed my eyes and sat in that quiet, calm house in the midst of the family that would never be mine.

Then I got up and headed back out into the city. I walked directly to Boulak, crossing Cairo swiftly as though it was a journey I made every day. At the port I inquired as to the whereabouts of Lady Duff Gordon’s
dahabieh,
and when I found it, I climbed on board without being seen and went straight to the galley. Omar was there, as I knew he would be, preparing lunch for my Lady.

“Seeing you in the hotel—,” I said.

“I know,” he replied, “but …”

“—made me realize how I have missed you.” I watched him closely.

“As I have missed you, Sally, but if my Lady discovers you here …”

I held up my hand to silence him; we were both keeping our voices very low, well aware of the proximity of my Lady.

Omar took my hand and pulled me to him and began to kiss me. The months apart burned beneath my skin. We stumbled from the galley into Omar’s cabin and, the door shut, pressed ourselves together with more urgency than before. I let my husband kiss me, I let my husband undress me.

Afterwards, we held each other, and I couldn’t help but laugh and smile.

Omar was altogether more serious, worried. “Why have you come here?”

“I’ve come to ask for something,” I said, still smiling.

He shifted a little, and a gap opened between our bodies. We were sticky with passion, aware of how completely airless the cabin had become. “Yes?” he said.

“Let me live with your parents and Mabrouka. They want me to, Mabrouka wants me there, and I can no longer remember why I do not live there with Abdullah. I need your permission to live with them. I will find a new job—”

“I can help you find a new job,” he said quickly.

“I need to find somewhere decent I can live, and I want to be close to our child. Omar, I need to be able to see my baby for more than a few minutes every day. Please.” I felt exhausted by having made the request I’d been storing up for so long.

Omar shifted again. He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “You can’t do it. I won’t allow it.”

I sat up. My voice rose an octave, before I remembered to lower it once again. “No? You’d deny me, your wife, the security of your father’s household?”

Omar cleared his throat again. He sat up and pulled his shirt back on. “It is not possible. You cannot live in my parents’ house. That’s final.”

“That’s final?” I looked at him, but he would not meet my gaze. He turned away. The truth suddenly dawned on me. I put my hand on his back. “It’s not your decision, is it?” I said, looking at the door, and beyond, through the
dahabieh
to where my Lady lay asleep. “She won’t allow it, will she? And you cannot defy her.”

Omar did not reply. His fists were clenched hard, I could see his nails biting into his skin.

I got up and dressed, as though I was going to leave. I could tell he was relieved.

“I’ll find a job for you, a better position, I promise,” he began, but I gave him a look of such ferocity that he stopped speaking. I could read his thoughts: she’ll go now, she’s angry now, but I’ll find her a good post, and I’ll find her somewhere better to live, and I’ll be able to help her, and she can see Abdullah at my father’s house whenever she pleases, and we can see each other as we’ve seen each other today.

I walked out of Omar’s cabin, through the galley and the sitting room. I opened the door of Lady Duff Gordon’s cabin and walked in.

She was lying on her divan, looking drowsy and comfortable; earlier, she had been drinking tea and smoking the
narguile;
I could see the familiar paraphernalia spread out on her table. She looked up now and saw me standing in front of her and, for a moment, it was as though we’d slipped back through time to a place where I was still her loyal and intrepid companion. But that moment did not last.

“I’ve come,” I said, “to ask you for money.”

“You’ve what?” she said, and she pushed herself up from her cushions into a sitting position, almost knocking over the little table next to her divan.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ve given up Abdullah to Mabrouka, as you ordered. I’ve been working in Cairo.”

“I gave you money,” she said, “for your passage to England.”

“That money was useful when I first arrived, when I was trying to find my way in the city. I tried to keep Abdullah with me, but you were right, he is better off in Omar’s father’s house. I have done as you asked. But I am not going to leave Cairo.”

“Yes, you are,” she hissed. “I’ll book your passage myself this time.”

“Lady Duff Gordon,” I said, and I drew myself together, “I was your maid for many years. During that time I was at your side day and night. I worked for you in Esher when you ran a busy household. I helped you through your confinement with Miss Rainey. I nursed you as your illness grew more serious; once we left England I was your physician as well as your maid. I lived with you in Luxor, hundreds of miles up the Nile, where we were often the only Europeans. My wages were poor, sometimes you were unable to pay me anything at all, but that did not matter to me: my life in your household was secure—better than that, my life in your household was rewarding—and I never wanted for a thing.”

Omar, having thought I had left, must have heard our voices. He entered the room behind me, but at first I did not notice him.

“When I left Luxor I had nothing. All those years—no savings. You threw me out, with no regard for my safety. I’m only asking for what I am owed.”

There was a silence; the air felt heavy. It was hot, perhaps the hottest day of the summer so far.

I had been addressing my Lady in English; she replied in Arabic, to make sure that Omar understood every word. “Get off my boat. If you do not leave now, I will have you arrested. Omar?” she addressed her dragoman.

I turned quickly, to see Omar standing there. “I’m sorry,” I said to him, my voice low.

He glared at me. “Yes, my Lady?” he said.

“Did you put her up to this?”

“No!” we spoke in unison.

“I thought I was rid of you. Get off my boat. You will not have a penny from me.” She kept her tone even, matter-of-fact, as though she turned away former intimates every day.

At that, I turned, stiffly. As I stepped past my husband, I said, “She’ll forgive you. She always does.” And I left the
dahabieh.

In that moment, Omar stood in the door of my Lady’s room unable to move, uncertain what to do next. I could see him in my mind’s eye, I knew him so well. My request for money was doubly humiliating; could he not support his own wife? And yet, the plain truth was he could not; he did not earn enough to provide for both Mabrouka and me while we kept separate households, while I was not living, was not allowed to live, in his father’s house.

“All right, Omar,” I pictured my Lady saying, as though nothing untoward had taken place. “I’m ready for my lunch now. I’ll eat on my own, thank you.”

But instead of returning to the galley, Omar came after me.

I hadn’t got far, and I was easy to spot, tall as I was among the throng of Egyptians. He caught up and grabbed me by the arm roughly.

“Omar! Let go of me.”

“How could you go to my Lady behind my back like that?” he said. “How could you endanger everything I’ve worked for?”

“I’ve
placed
you
in danger?”

“To go to her like some beggar off the street. How could you betray me like this, Sally?”

“Betray you?” I was shouting now. “Me, betray you? You have gone along with her every decree. You have failed on every count to stand by me. You have left me to struggle on my own in the city.” My voice grew in volume, and I could feel hot tears pooling behind my eyes. “You have denied me a place in your family!”

“Everything depends on my retaining my position with Lady Duff Gordon—you know that! Do you expect me to lose everything as well, just because you have lost—” He stopped speaking.

“Say it—say it, Omar—just because I have lost everything.” I couldn’t stop myself from crying now. “No, that’s not what I want. I’m punished, I’m punished enough for both of us, I know that. But you have gone along with everything she …”

“I married you! You are my wife!”

I stopped. I lowered my voice. “But it hasn’t worked, has it? You are not able to be any sort of husband to me. What happened just now, between us, that means nothing. For as long as you work in her household”—Omar tried to interrupt, but I held up my hand to stop him from speaking—“and I know you must stay in her household, I know that only too well, but for as long as you work for her, you will not be husband to me.” And with that, I turned and walked away.

IN THE END, OMAR DID NOT TRAVEL TO EUROPE WITH MY LADY.
A week before they were due to sail, my Lady received a letter from Sir Alick, instructing her not to bring Omar with her to Europe. Mabrouka told me that Sir Alick felt it was not appropriate for my Lady to travel on her own with a male servant. Though she regretted this—she knew her family would love Omar’s Egyptian manners, as well as his cakes—my Lady was so buoyed with anticipation over the reunion that she accepted her husband’s demand without complaint. Mabrouka said that Omar would not admit to any disappointment, but she could tell that he felt it; however, he would stay in Cairo once my Lady departed from Alexandria and oversee the letting of the
dahabieh
for the summer. And he would move back into his father’s house.

Move back into his father’s house. I looked at Mabrouka, but she was fussing over Abdullah, who had spilled his drink. Move back into his father’s house, I thought, and assume his role as husband, father, and son. Husband to Mabrouka. What could it be like to be married to a man with whom you had spent so little time? They had had a child, the sweet little Yasmina, to whom I was becoming almost as attached as I was to Abdullah. Perhaps, I thought, they would have another child.