those words of the ancient scribe were not prophetic. Was she destined
to be one of those who would marvel at the splendour of the golden
deathmask? Might she be, the first to do so in almost four thousand
years? Might she touch this wonder, take itup in her hands and at last
do with it as her conscience dictated?
Reading Taita's account left Royan with a sense of ancient suffering,
and a feeling of compassion for the people of those times. They were,
after all - no matter how far removed in time - her own people. As a
Coptic Egyptian, she was one of their direct descendants. Perhaps this
empathy was the main reason why, even as a child, she had originally
determined to make her life's work a study of these people and the old
ways.
However, she had much else to think of during those days of waiting for
the return of Atalan Abou Sin. Not least of these were her feelings for
Nicholas Quenton Harper. Since she had visited the little cemetery at
the oasis and made her peace with Duraid's memory, her thoughts of
Nicholas had'taken on a new poignancy. There was so much she was still
uncertain of, and there were so many difficult choices to make. It was
not possible to fulfill all her plans and desires without sacrificing
others almost equally demanding.
When at last the hour of her appointment to see Atalan came around, she
had difficulty bringing herself to go to him. Like somebody in a trance
she limped through the bazaars, using her stick to protect her injured
knee, hardly hearing the merchants calling their wares to her.
>From her skin tone and European clothing they presumed she must be a
tourist.
She hesitated so long over taking this irrevocable step that she was
almost an hour late for the appointment.
Fortunately this was Egypt, and Atalan was an Arab to whom time did not
have the same significance as it did to the Western part of Royan's
make-up.
He, was his usual urbane and charming self. Today, in the-privacy of his
own office, he was comfortably dressed in a white dishdasha and a
headcloth. He shook hands with her warmly. If this had been London he
might have kissed her cheek, but not here in the East where a man never
kissed any woman but his wife and then only in the privacy of their
home.
He led her through to his private sitting room, where his male secretary
served them small cups of tar-thick coffee and lingered to preserve the
propriety of this meeting. After an exchange of compliments and the
obligatory interval of polite small-talk, Royan could come obliquely to
the main reason for her visit.
"I have spent much of the last few days at the museum, working in the
reading room. I managed to see many of my old colleagues there, and I
was surprised to hear that Nahoot had withdrawn his application for the
post of director."
Atalan sighed, "My nephew is a headstrong boy at times. The job was his,
but at the very last moment he came to tell me that he had been offered
another in Germany. I tried to dissuade him. I told him that he would
not enjoy the northern climate after being brought up in the Nile
valley. I told him that there are many things in life such as country
and family that no amount of money can recompense. But-' Atalan spread
his hands in an eloquent gesture.
"So who have you chosen to fill the post of director?" she asked with an
innocence that did not deceive him.
"We have not yet made any permanent appointment.
Nobody automatically comes to mind, now that Nahoot has withdrawn.
Perhaps we will be forced to advertise internationally. I for one would
be very sad to see it go to a foreigner, no matter how well qualified."
our excellency, may I speak to you in private?" Royan asked, and glanced
significantly at the male secretary hovering at the doorway. Atalan
hesitated only a moment.
"Of course." He gestured to the secretary to leave the room, and when he
had withdrawn and closed the door behind him Atalan leaned towards her
and dropped his voice slightly. "What is it that you wish to discuss, my
dear lady?"
It was an hour later that Royan left him. He walked with her as far as
the lift outside his suite of offices.
As he shook hands his voice was low and mellifluous "We will meet again
soon, inshallah."
hen the Egyptair flight landed at Heath, row and Royan left the airport
arrivals hall for a place in the queue at the taxi rank outside, it
seemed that the temperature difference from Cairo was at least fifteen
degrees. Her train arrived at York in the damp misty cold of late
afternoon. From the railway station she phoned the number that Nicholas
had given her.
"You silly girl," he scolded her. "Why didn't you let me know you were
on your way? I would have met you at the airport."
She was surprised at how pleased she was to see him, and at how much she
had missed him, as she watched him step out of the Range Rover and come
striding towards her on those long legs. He was bare-headed and
obviously had not subjected himself to a haircut since she had last seen
him. His dark hair was rumpled and wind-tossed and the silver wings
fluffed over his ears.
"How's the knee?" he greeted her. "Do you still need to be carried?"
"Almost better now. Nearly time to throw away the stick." She felt a
sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck, but at the last moment
she prevented herself from making a display and merely offered him a
cold, rosy brown cheek to kiss. He smelt good - of leather and some
spicy aftershave, and of clean virile manhood.
In the driver's seat he delayed starting the engine for a moment, and
studied her face in the street light that streamed in through the side
window.
"You look mighty pleased with yourself, madam. Cat been at the cream?"
"Just pleased to see old friends," she smiled, "but I must admit Cairo
is always a tonic."
"No supper laid on. Thought we would stop at a pub.
Do you fancy steak and kidney pud?"
"I want to see my mother. I feel so guilty. I don't even know how her
leg is mending."
"Popped in to see her day before yesterday. She's doing fine. Loving the
new puppy. Named it Taita, would you believe?"
"You are really a very kind person - I mean, taking the trouble to visit
her."
"I like her. One of the good old ones. They don't build them like that
any more. I suggest we have a bite to eat, and then I will pick up a
bottle of Laphroaig and we will go and see her."
It was after midnight when they left Georgina's cottage. She had
dispensed rough frontier justice to the malt whisky that Nicholas had
brought and now she waved them off, standing in the kitchen doorway,
clutching her new puppy to her ample bosom and teetering slightly on her
plaster-cast leg.
"You are a bad influence on my mother," Royan told him.
"Who's a bad influence on whom?" he protested. "Some of those jokes of
hers turned the Stilton a richer shade of blue."
"You should have let me stay with her."
"She has Taita to keep her company now. Besides, I need you close at
hand. Plenty of work to do. I can't wait to show you what I have been up
to since you went swanning off to Egypt."