The Snake-Catcher’s Daughter. Michael Pearce

      

      HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

      1 London Bridge Street

      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published in Great Britain in 1994

      Copyright © Michael Pearce 1994

      Michael Pearce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

      A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks

      HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication

      Source ISBN: 9780008259433

      Ebook Edition © JULY 2017 ISBN: 9780007485055

      Version: 2017-08-30

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Keep Reading

       About the Author

       Also by Michael Pearce

       About the Publisher

1

      One evening when Owen got home he found a girl in his bed.

      ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘What’s this?’

      ‘I’m a present,’ she said.

      ‘Who from?’

      ‘We can go into details later.’

      ‘A member of the British Administration is not allowed to accept presents,’ he said, stuffily.

      And not altogether honestly. For the Mamur Zapt, Head of Cairo’s Secret Police, was not, strictly speaking, a member of the British Administration but a member of the Egyptian Administration; and whereas the British, under Cromer’s strait-laced regime had not been allowed to accept bribes, the Khedive’s servants had always taken a more relaxed view.

      ‘All the world knows about your Zeinab,’ said the girl, pouting.

      Owen rather hoped that all the world did not know about Zeinab and was more than a little surprised that the girl did.

      ‘Ah, yes, but she is not a present.’

      ‘I don’t need to stay a present,’ said the girl.

      ‘Off you go!’

      ‘Like this?’ demanded the girl, pulling the sheet back. Underneath she was completely naked.

      ‘If that’s the way you came.’

      The girl, rather sulkily, rose from the bed and picked up a dress that was lying across a chair. A European dress, but was she European? Such questions were on the whole unprofitable in cosmopolitan Cairo. A Levantine, say, and a beautiful one.

      Owen began to wonder if perhaps he should make more of an effort to get to the bottom of this attempt to bribe him. Bottom, as a matter of fact, was exactly what he was contemplating just at this moment …

      ‘Oh yes?’ said Zeinab belligerently when he told her.

      ‘Oh yes?’ said Garvin, the Commandant of the Cairo Police Force, sceptically.

      ‘Oh yes?’ said everyone in the bar when he happened to mention it. ‘What happened next?’

      ‘She put on her veil and left,’ said Owen with a firmness which did not altogether, unfortunately, dampen speculation.

      ‘Leaving her honour behind her?’ suggested someone.

      ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

      Leaving behind her, actually, a small embroidered amulet, the sort of thing you could pick up in one of the bazaars. Inside it was a single quite respectably sized diamond. Perfume stayed on his fingers long after the girl was gone.

      ‘So that is why you told everybody,’ said his friend, Paul. Paul was ADC to the Consul-General and wise in the ways of the world; wise, at any rate, in the ways of protecting your back.

      Owen nodded.

      ‘People must always be attempting to bribe you,’ observed Paul.

      ‘Not so much now,’ said Owen. ‘When I first came, certainly.’

      He had been in post for nearly three years.

      ‘And it has taken them all that time to find out?’ said Paul, marvelling.

      ‘That I couldn’t