Whispers in the Sand. Barbara Erskine

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.’

      ‘Of course. Silly me.’ He swung his bag back onto his shoulder. ‘OK, I think I’m heading back down to the valley to see another tomb or two before we leave. I’ll go and find Omar and plague him with some deep philosophical questions! Will you be all right on your own?’

      She wasn’t sure whether the question was posed out of real concern or was a subtle way of telling her that he did not expect her to walk back with him and indeed, no sooner had he spoken than he turned and began to lope back down the path. In seconds he had disappeared behind the rocks.

      The silence and the heat flowed back over her in a heavy curtain. Standing stock still she found she wanted to call him back. The loneliness in the valley was intense. Shading her eyes, she stared round for a moment scanning the cliff face then she turned and looked after him. At her feet a few pieces of shale rattled down the path. The sound emphasised the quiet. She was trying to recall the diary, the picture of the valley as Louisa had seen it, trying to visualise the rug, the shelter, the simple companionship of the man and the woman as Louisa laid out her painting things, but she couldn’t bring the picture into focus. The shadowy image of Louisa and her parasol, the click of the donkeys’ hoofs on the stone, the tap of the paintbrush against the rim of the water pot had all faded into the silence. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to run after Toby. This was ridiculous. What was there to be afraid of? The silence? The emptiness after the crowds in the valley bottom? She cast one last look over her shoulder up at the sun-baked cliffs and then she began to retrace her steps, hoping at every moment to catch sight of Toby ahead of her on the path. Twice she glanced over her shoulder again and then suddenly panic overwhelmed her. She lengthened her stride and before she knew it she was running back down towards the valley as fast as she could, slipping and sliding in her anxiety to catch up with Toby. It didn’t matter what he had said, she didn’t want to be alone in that spot for one second longer.

      But the path was empty. There was no sign of him. Arriving at last in the valley bottom once more amongst the crowds and the shouting guides she made her way panting to the shaded resting place where groups of other tourists were sitting, exhausted by the intense heat which seemed to pool in the valley. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath, trying to steady the thudding of her heart under her ribs. There was no sign of Toby anywhere.

      It was Andy who found her. Sitting down heavily on the bench next to her he took off his hat and fanned his face with it. ‘Hot enough for you?’

      She nodded, struggling to steady her voice. ‘I thought the tombs would be cool. In the darkness.’

      ‘More like tandoori ovens.’ He grinned. ‘Are you enjoying yourself? You look lonely sitting here. I thought Ben was taking care of you.’

      ‘I don’t need taking care of, thank you!’ Her indignation was only half feigned. ‘But he was with me, yes. He’s a nice man.’