Whispers in the Sand

He gave her a searching look. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course.’

She couldn’t see where it was that Hassan had taken Louisa and pitched her a makeshift shelter on a soft Persian rug. She desperately wanted to get away from the crowds, to find the place and to experience the silence as Louisa had done. She stood for a moment shading her eyes, looking up one of the white, dazzling paths which led away from the noisy centre of the valley. Could that have been where they went? Glancing over her shoulder she saw Ben disappearing with another queue into a tomb on the far side of the well-trodden centre of the valley. Near him she recognised one or two other people from their party. She hesitated, then, resolutely turning her back on them, she began to make her way up the empty track past a dusty fingerpost labelling yet more tombs, and, her shoes slipping on the dust and stones, she scrambled on upwards away from the crowds.

Above her the rock martins circled and swooped into holes in the cliffs but apart from that nothing moved. Almost immediately the sound of the crowds behind her diminished and disappeared. The heat and the silence were overwhelming. She stopped, staring round, scared for a moment that she might lose her bearings, but the path was clearly marked. Just empty. The colours of the rock were monochrome. Blinding. The sky the most brilliant blue she had ever seen.

Somewhere near her she heard footsteps suddenly, and the sound of scraping on the limestone. She frowned, shading her eyes as she scanned the cliff face. There was no one there. It was no more than a shifting of the sands.

But her mood had changed again and once more she began to feel uneasy. After the noise and bustle and colour of the main valley – the crowds, the shouting guides, the raised voices in a dozen different languages – this intense silence was unnerving. It was the silence of the grave.

In spite of the heat she found herself shivering again. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched, a weird sensation that there was someone near her. She stared up at the cliff face, narrowing her eyes against the glare. There were other tombs in this direction. She had seen them on the plan. But no one seemed to be visiting them. Perhaps they were closed as the greater part of the tombs were, to protect them from the massive tourist interest. She took a few steps further up the path, rounding another corner. The cliffs were arid, silent, but for the birds. Far above she could see a dark speck against the blinding sky. Perhaps that was a kite, like the one Louisa had seen. The feeling that there was someone there at her shoulder was so intense suddenly that she swung round. Tiny eddies of dust swirled momentarily round her ankles in an undetectable breath of wind, then the air was still again.

Stubbornly she moved on. It was round here that Hassan had pitched the shelter for Louisa, she was sure of it. Here they had sat together on the rug and she had opened her sketchbook and, unscrewing her water jar, had begun one of her paintings of the rugged hillside.

‘Do I gather you too prefer to be away from crowds?’

The voice, a few feet from her, shocked her out of her reverie. She spun round. Toby Hayward was standing nearby. He swung his canvas satchel off his shoulder onto the ground and wiped his face on his forearm. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t see you until I came round the corner.’

Astonished at how relieved she was to find out the presence she had felt was that of a real person, she managed a smile. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘The right place for it.’ He stood for a moment in silence. ‘I find it hard to catch the atmosphere with the crowds down there,’ he said suddenly. ‘So many of them, and they snap endless pictures, but don’t look. Have you noticed? Their eyes are closed.’

‘The camera remembers. They are afraid they won’t,’ Anna said quietly. ‘We all do it.’ Her own camera was still in her bag.

‘I’m sure you look as well.’

The anger in his voice disturbed her. ‘I try to.’ She decided to try a different tack. Her quest, after all, was not secret. ‘I was trying to picture this place a hundred years ago, before it was commercialised.’

‘It’s always been commercialised. They probably brought guided tours here before the corpses were cold.’ Folding his arms he stared up at the cliffs. ‘Did I hear you right last night? You are a relation of Louisa Shelley?’ No apology for eavesdropping, she noticed.

‘I’m her great-great-granddaughter, yes.’

‘She was one of the few Victorians who empathised with the Egyptian soul.’ He had narrowed his eyes, still studying the rock formations above their heads.

‘How do you know that’s how she felt?’ Anna stared at him curiously.

‘From her painting. They have a set of watercolours at the Travellers’ Club.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

He nodded abruptly. ‘On the staircase. I’ve often studied them. She lingers over details. She’s not embarrassed by form or feature. And she’s never patronising. She uses a wonderful depth of colour unlike Roberts. He sees all this –’ he waved his arm at the cliffs – ‘as one tonal range. She sees the shadows, the wonderful textures.’

Anna looked at him with a new interest. ‘You talk like an artist.’

‘Artist!’ He snorted. ‘Stupid word. If you mean a painter, yes, I’m a painter.’ He was still staring up at the cliff and she took the opportunity of looking at him for a moment, surreptitiously, taking in the rugged features, the thatch of unruly greying-blond hair beneath the faded blue sun hat.

‘Louisa loved Egypt. I’m reading her diary, and it’s apparent on every page.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘I almost envy those Victorian women. They had so much to contend with and yet they persevered. They followed their dreams. They worked so hard for them –’ She broke off in mid-sentence, aware suddenly that he had turned his attention from the cliff and was watching her intently. She met his gaze and held it for a minute, but it was she who looked away first.

‘It sounds to me as though you wished you too had had to work hard for a dream,’ he said quietly.

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I’m not the intrepid type, sadly.’ How could she be when she had remained so meekly in her marriage and at home?

‘No?’ He was still looking at her thoughtfully.

‘No.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Or not until today. Breaking away from the group and coming up here was pretty intrepid for me.’

He laughed and suddenly his face looked much younger. ‘Then we must encourage your intrepidness. Which tombs did your great-great-grandmother visit? Not young King Tut, obviously.’

‘No.’ Anna’s smile died.

Watching her, he raised an eyebrow. ‘So, what have I said now?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Something about Tutankhamen’s tomb?’

She shook her head. He was intuitive, she would grant him that. ‘I was in there. A little while ago. Something strange happened.’

‘Strange?’

She shook her head. ‘Claustrophobia, I suppose. Nothing really. Only it made me need to get away from everyone and come up here.’

‘And I spoilt your solitude. I’m sorry.’

‘No. No. I didn’t mean that.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘The trouble is, it didn’t work. The feeling, whatever it was, followed me up here.’

Again he gave her that long, disconcertingly direct look. There was no judgement in it. He wasn’t laughing at her. On the contrary he was considering her words, mulling them over, scanning her face for clues. ‘I think this whole valley could have that effect on people,’ he said at last. ‘In spite of the numbers of tourists who come here, the atmosphere is extraordinary. It is uncomfortable. Have you met Serena Canfield yet? She was sitting next to me at dinner last night. You should talk to her if you’re a sensitive. She is into Ancient Egyptian magic and stuff which might appeal to you. She has read all the books about star gates and Orion and Sirius.’

Anna raised an eyebrow. Was he being dismissive of her, gently taking the mickey or was he making the suggestion in good faith? It was hard to tell. Those steadfast eyes, the colour as clear as water, were impossible to read.

‘I might just do that,’ she said with a small touch of defiance. ‘There is room for so much that is strange and out of the ordinary in Egypt.’

He shrugged, but the angling of his head could have been a nod of agreement. ‘What I do hope is that she doesn’t go too near our revered guide, who is a devout Muslim and will not hear a word about all that stuff on his ship. He has enough trouble with the “legends” of the pharaohs. Did you notice that? He will not allow them even to be history.’

Anna shook her head, laughing. ‘I had no idea there was so much ideological conflict going on on the boat. It will make for an extraordinarily interesting trip. I have spoken to Serena. She sat next to me on the bus, but we didn’t talk about Sirius. That aspect of Egypt’s history seems to have passed me by. My interest stems from travel books, people like Lawrence Durrell, my mother’s books about archaeology, even school where we had a teacher who was passionate about pyramids.’

‘And Louisa.’

‘And Louisa.’

‘Can I see her diary one day?’ He held her gaze once more with that disconcerting directness which seemed to be his trademark.

She looked away first. ‘Of course you can.’

‘Now?’ He raised an eyebrow hopefully.

‘I’m sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘I didn’t bring it with me. It’s on the boat.’