Clara and Bella positioned themselves at the furthest table from the entrance to the bar – in a low-lit corner where even waiters didn’t hover. But while they couldn’t easily be seen – or heard – they had a clear view of the door and who entered and exited. They were both dressed for dinner in their formal gowns and were awaiting Larry and Rudy as arranged. They used the time wisely.
Firstly, Jack Danskin entered wearing a dinner suit. He was pale but otherwise he looked back to health, his moustache neatly trimmed, his jaw cleanly shaved and his black hair tamed with Brilliantine. He ordered a whiskey then surveyed the bar, thankfully failing to spot Clara and Bella.
‘Glad he’s on the mend,’ said Clara.
‘Aye,’ agreed Bella. ‘But glad, too, he’s a few steps behind us on the case. Wonder if he knows we beat him to the museum.’
‘He won’t be pleased,’ said Clara, not hiding the satisfaction in her voice.
Jack did not stand alone long. Soon Dr Davies and Miss Philpott came in. They took a seat and ordered drinks from a waiter. Neither looked worse for wear.
‘I wish I knew what the dead porter had on Davies,’ muttered Clara. ‘We have nothing on them other than they went up to Edinburgh.’
‘But they didn’t say why they were in Edinburgh, did they?’
‘No. In fact, I remember them being quite evasive about it on the ship. And Petit and Stein gave me the impression they hadn’t told them they were leaving Newcastle. Everyone seemed to expect them to stay, including Daphne.’
‘Maybe it was rival museum business,’ observed Bella. ‘Don’t these museums try to outdo each other to get the best objects?’
‘Such as the jewels of Ahhotep?’ asked Clara. ‘Possibly. But as these were previously missing, I don’t think they could legitimately put them on display. That’s like owning up to stealing them. And why would they go up to Edinburgh to get the jewels if Yorke was delivering them to Newcastle? If we weren’t going out this evening, I wouldn’t mind joining those two for dinner to ask some probing questions.’
‘We can try them at breakfast,’ suggested Bella.
‘Davies never comes down for breakfast,’ said Clara wryly.
‘Hmmm,’ said Bella, tapping her cocktail glass with a fingernail. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. We just assume Davies is in bed at that time, don’t we? Recovering from a hangover. And that he only emerges from his room around noon. But is that true? Maybe he doesn’t have a hangover every morning. Maybe he doesn’t come to breakfast to give him time to do other things.’
‘Such as?’
Bella shrugged. ‘Whatever criminal artefact smugglers do. Maybe he’s meeting people. Maybe, like when he went up to Edinburgh, he’s got business he doesn’t want the others to know about.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Clara.
Their attention was then drawn to Professor Petit and Dr Stein who entered the bar together, already in close conversation. Whatever they were talking about appeared to be vexing Petit, who threw his arms in the air and marched to the bar, leaving Stein to shrug and join the Americans.
Danskin sidled up to Petit and the two fell into conversation. Danskin was a philanderer himself, so they had that in common. But as far as Clara knew, Jack’s dalliances had always been consensual. As had her own. And it was at that point that Larry and Rudy entered the bar. Larry was carrying a leather document folder under his arm. Clara stood and waved, alerting the men to their location.
After getting settled with drinks and giving compliments about how lovely the ladies looked, Larry indicated his document folder. ‘I’ve got those photographs, Miss Vale.’
‘Oh, I think it should be Clara this evening, don’t you?’
Larry smiled. ‘Then Clara it is.’ He opened the folder and took out three photographs and laid them on the table. They were of different views of the desert. Clara recognised one of them as the pyramids of Saqqara, dominated by the Step Pyramid of Djoser, and with the village down the hill. Then to the east, the meandering ribbon of the Nile. The various roads and tracks leading out of Saqqara, like a spider’s web, were clearly visible.
‘Are those the ones my uncle took?’
‘The best of them, yes,’ said Larry. ‘You said your uncle had told you about this. That he’d written to you?’
‘To a friend of his, actually, but the friend passed on the letters to me when he knew I was coming to Egypt.’
Rudy cocked his head in interest. ‘So, Bob wrote about the dig of Amarna in 1928?’
‘He did,’ said Clara.
‘In much detail?’
‘What kind of detail?’
‘Oh, what was found, what was catalogued and so on?’
Clara shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that. Although he did in his notebook.’
Rudy leaned in. ‘His excavation notebook?’
‘Yes,’ said Clara, wondering where this conversation was going. ‘You knew about his notebook?’
Rudy nodded. ‘I did. I saw him writing in it. But I thought it had been lost.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Because it was not part of the collection you donated to the Hancock. I would have expected it to have been with the collection, and it wasn’t.’
Clara’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know it wasn’t?’
‘Because Stein, Petit and I did an inventory. I thought I would find it there. It wasn’t. Then on the ship, when Petit asked, you said that you’d donated everything to the museum, including all the related papers.’
Clara cast her mind back, trying to remember the conversation. She had a vague recollection of it. ‘That is a curious detail to remember, Rudy,’ she observed.
He smiled modestly. ‘I’m a details person, Clara.’
She smiled back. ‘As am I.’ She paused for a moment, filing the conversation away for future consideration, then turned her attention back to the photographs. The remaining two images were of nondescript areas of desert, with no obvious landmarks. ‘Where are these?’ she asked.
Larry pointed to one and then the other. ‘West of Saqqara. South of Saqqara. I flew in a thirty-mile radius. North, of course, is Cairo and east, there’s nothing of interest – archaeologically that is.’
‘What’s of interest west and south, then? Is that what these markings indicate?’
Clara pointed to various circles and squares that had been inked onto the photographs.
‘Yes,’ said Larry, ‘those are all potential places of archaeological interest. I don’t know what I’m looking at myself, but my client asked me to take photographs of anything that might indicate an undiscovered site.’
‘And who was your client for these?’
‘For these particular ones it was Dr Stein, I believe.’
Then he looked at his watch. ‘Ladies, Rudy, I think it’s time we left for dinner.’
The taxi made its way through the old town, but instead of dropping them at one of the traditional restaurants, frequented by locals, it stopped at a pier on the river. They joined a queue of Europeans, with a smattering of well-to-do Egyptians, waiting to board a river boat restaurant.
‘I’m not complaining,’ commented Clara to Larry, as Bella and Rudy walked ahead of them, ‘but I thought you were going to take us to the “real” Cairo, away from the tourist crowd.’
Larry gave an apologetic shrug. ‘I’m sorry. I left it a bit late and couldn’t get a table. But then Rudy suggested this place. He thought Bella would enjoy it. You’re not too disappointed, are you? I can try to get us a table elsewhere …’
Clara smiled. ‘No, I’m not disappointed. I’m sure we’ll have a lovely evening.’ She nodded to Bella and Rudy whose voices were lowered in intimate conversation. ‘It looks like those two already are.’
Larry chuckled. ‘He is quite taken by her, you know. I’ve never seen him like this with a woman.’
‘Have you known him long?’ asked Clara.
‘Not as long as I’ve known his boss. I think it’s been about seven years. Yes, that’s right. I met him in ’23 when King Tut’s tomb was getting all that attention.’
‘Did Rudy and Stein work on Tut’s tomb?’ asked Clara.
‘Yes, they did. It took a lot of manpower to clear it. Davies, Philpott and Petit worked on it, too – and James Farnsworth and Daphne Coleman. Howard Carter ran a tight ship back then and only let specialists in, not lowly pilots like me, so I didn’t get to see it. They built a temporary airstrip near the Valley of the Kings and I flew some of the experts in and out. That’s where I first met Rudy Werner. He’s a good guy. He deserves to come out of Stein’s shadow, but he doesn’t have the requisite academic qualifications. He’s struggled to get his doctorate.’
‘Why’s that, do you think?’ asked Clara.
Larry shrugged. ‘He can’t seem to finish his dissertation. Although he does think he’s close. He told me he’s been doing some field research on his own that will give him enough material to push him over the line.’
‘What’s his dissertation on?’
‘Oh, he did tell me once. But it’s a bit too theoretical and speculative for me. I’m not an academic, Clara. Never did well at school.’ He grinned. ‘Hasn’t done me much harm, though.’
Not with your father’s fortune, it hasn’t, thought Clara, but then chastised herself as she remembered that she, too, was living off family money.
‘Oh, that’s it!’ said Larry. ‘I’ve remembered. It’s something to do with Egyptian efforts to reclaim their heritage. Something to do with the history of an obsolete secret society. The Guardians of something or other …’
Clara stopped in her tracks. ‘The Guardians of Kemet?’
Larry raised a finger. ‘That’s it! You’ve heard of them?’
‘In passing. My uncle mentioned them once.’ She stared at Rudy’s back, her mind racing. She needed to speak to Bella to see what she could find out about it. However, there was no opportunity now. The queue of diners was ushered onto the river boat. There were two decks – the lower was the restaurant deck, while on the upper, there was an open-air bar where passengers could enjoy cocktails and a cigarette as they drifted along the Nile. Rudy led them straight to the restaurant deck.
‘Oh good,’ said Bella, ‘I’m famished!’
Dinner on the boat was a buffet affair with the tables piled high with Egyptian cuisine. The evening was billed as an authentic Egyptian dining experience, complete with entertainment by a Saidi folk band and singer. Clara loved the rhythms of the music – accompanied by flutes, lyres and drums – and the mournful, soaring vocals. She realised what she was seeing and hearing was likely diluted and packaged for the tourist market, but it was still far closer to the ‘real Egypt’ than the light classical and popular jazz of the Shepheard’s Hotel dance band.
And then came the dancers. First the whirling dervish – a Sufi man wearing a colourful weighted skirt that spun faster and faster until Clara thought he might take off – who performed breathtaking tricks with a tray of water-filled glasses while not spilling a drop. He was replaced by a sensuous belly dancer, an amply endowed woman in a revealing costume whose every undulating movement hypnotised the guests. Clara wondered at the contrast in cultures between the modestly dressed and covered women on the streets of Cairo and this goddess of dance. She enjoyed the woman’s performance immensely. However, the full programme of food, music and dance left no opportunity to have a quiet word with Bella. As the dessert course drew to a close – with a choice of basbousa sweet cake, om ali bread pudding and a wickedly delicious baklava with flaked pastry, almonds and honey – Clara prepared herself to suggest she and Bella visit the ladies’ cloakroom. But she wasn’t quick enough! Before she knew it, Rudy had pulled out Bella’s chair and suggested the two of them go onto the top deck for a cigarette and a drink. Bella readily agreed.
Clara frowned. She’d have to speak to Bella later. Meanwhile, Larry was ordering Turkish coffee for them both.
‘Would you mind if we have our coffee on the top deck, too?’ asked Clara. She might not have a chance to speak to Bella but she would still like the opportunity to enjoy the sunset views of the Nile.
‘Of course,’ said Larry. When the coffee arrived, he asked for it to be taken to the top deck. He then pulled out Clara’s chair and they headed towards the staircase.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘Would you mind waiting a moment, I need to visit the gentlemen’s cloakroom.’
Clara said she didn’t and waited at a window, enjoying the sight of the low winter sun and the silhouetted palm trees on the banks of the river.
When Larry returned, he offered her his arm and they climbed the staircase together. But as they emerged from the stairwell there was an ear-piercing scream followed by a splash. Guests and crew rushed to the railings and looked over. Clara joined them and saw, to her horror, Bella flailing around in the water, desperately trying to stay afloat.
‘She can’t swim!’ screamed Clara and clambered onto the railing preparing to dive in. Larry grabbed her round the waist and pulled her back.
‘Leave it to the crew! They know what they’re doing.’
A moment later a lifebuoy was tossed overboard followed by two crew members. But Bella was already going under. Clara fought against Larry, trying to break free, but he held her tight.
One of the crew grabbed the buoy while the other dived under the water, where Bella had just disappeared. Clara held her breath, praying that Bella would be all right. Clara herself had nearly drowned a few months earlier; and she could swim!
Oh, Bella … hang on!
A moment later, accompanied by cheers from on board, Bella was brought to the surface. She gagged and spluttered. ‘Oh, thank God! Are you all right, Bella?’ shouted Clara.
A rope ladder was lowered down the side and, to Clara’s relief, Bella shakily climbed up, supported from below. Two men, one of them a devastated Rudy, reached over and hauled her up and laid her on the deck, covering her with their jackets. Larry released Clara who then rushed to Bella. Blankets appeared and someone shouted: ‘Let the doctor through!’ An Egyptian man in a dinner suit – announcing he was a doctor – knelt beside a shivering Bella.
Clara held back on her questions until the doctor had done a thorough examination, declared Bella to be fine ‘all things considered’ and then prescribed a stiff brandy. As they waited for the drink, Clara wrapped her arm around Bella and asked, ‘What happened?’
Bella, still shaking, whispered, ‘I was having a cigarette. Watching the sunset. Rudy had gone to get us a drink. Then someone shoved me. I went over. Oh God, Clara, I can’t swim! I thought I was a goner!’
‘Did you see who it was? Who pushed you?’
Bella shook her head. ‘I didn’t. I just felt the shove.’
Clara looked up at Rudy who was kneeling beside them with Larry standing behind him. ‘And did you see anything?’ she asked.
He shook his head, his face pale and worried. ‘I didn’t. I went to get drinks as Bella said, then I heard her scream.’
‘I saw who did it,’ came a voice from over Larry’s shoulder.
By now the captain had arrived and was taking charge. ‘Let that man through,’ he instructed.
A young waiter stepped forward. He was shaking nearly as much as Bella.
‘What did you see?’ asked the captain in English, then repeated the question in Arabic.
The waiter reached out a quivering finger and pointed it at Rudy. ‘It was him. That man pushed the lady. I saw him do it.’