Chapter Twenty-Three

London, January 1973

Eve woke with a start the morning after Ana Mansour’s visit. She vaguely recalled she had been dreaming about the tomb but the details were foggy. Only one thing was clear: she had to give back the gold unguent container. She should never have taken it. Perhaps Ana could help her to do it anonymously, so she wouldn’t need to reveal the illicit nighttime visit. Then it could be reunited with the other Tutankhamun treasures in the Cairo Museum, where it belonged.

She remembered the artifacts spread across Howard’s table and wondered how much he had taken from the tomb over the years he worked on it. She didn’t believe Ana’s theory that he had already been inside when she and Pups arrived in November 1922. His astonishment at the sights that night was genuine, and besides, he’d had to chip through sealed doorways. However, it was possible he returned the day before the official opening, while she and Pups were resting at the Winter Palace. And after that, he was often alone inside the tomb, making his intricate drawings of the layout and then cataloguing everything. She didn’t blame him for the items that found their way into his pockets. It was his discovery more than anyone else’s, the crowning achievement of his career, and it was only natural that he wanted some mementos.

Had the Egyptian authorities stuck to the terms of the concession, he could have taken them legitimately, but in 1924 he fell out with them and was temporarily barred from the tomb. During his absence, one of their inspectors found a wooden head of Tutankhamun emerging from a lotus flower that had been packed for shipment without being itemized or catalogued. They accused Howard of attempting to steal it, but he maintained it was an administrative error. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. She clearly remembered seeing some Tutankhamun trinkets when she visited him at his London flat, the one around the corner from the Albert Hall. There was a blue shabti on his desk, and a tiny Anubis figure on the mantelpiece, but nothing that looked as valuable as her gold container.

Once Howard was finally allowed to continue his work on the tomb in 1925, the terms of the concession had been changed, so all the contents belonged to the Egyptian state. Looking back from the 1970s, Eve could see that was only fair. It was part of their national heritage. Returning the gold unguent container would be her way of righting a wrong. That’s what she should do, as long as she didn’t get into trouble for taking it in the first place.

As soon as Brograve awoke, she told him her idea that they ask Ana to return it anonymously. He rubbed his eyes.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said. “No matter how discreet Ana is, questions will be asked about how you came to have it. And remember, we don’t know her very well.” He stretched. “Besides, I haven’t seen it for years.”

That made her pause for thought. When had she last seen it?

When she and Pups returned from Egypt, she’d put it in a hat box in her closet at their Berkeley Square house. After a while she’d moved it to another closet because the unpleasant scent seemed to be impregnating her clothes. When she married Brograve she took it with her to their first home together, at 26 Charles Street, Mayfair, but she never put it on display. It was kept in a drawer in the spare room, as far as she remembered, wrapped in layers of cloth to try and contain the scent. And then, when they moved to Framfield, she’d stuck it in a box in the attic along with some other knickknacks. After that her mind went blank. She had a strange feeling she had put it somewhere in particular—but where?

She had never admitted to Brograve that she couldn’t remember them leaving Framfield. She wished they hadn’t; that house and garden had meant more to her even than Highclere and she missed them terribly. She hoped the new owners cherished them as much as she had.

* * *

Brograve brought her breakfast on a tray and helped her to sit up in bed and balance it on her knees. Since she had come home from Pine Trees, he had brought her breakfast in bed every morning. He would surprise her; she never knew whether it would be porridge, toast and honey, or an egg, but there was always a cup of milky tea. Today it was a boiled egg with toast soldiers arranged around it like the rays of the sun in a child’s drawing.

While she ate, he sat on the bed beside her with his own tea.

“I need to find the unguent container today,” she told him. “If I don’t, they’ll say Howard took it, and once I’m gone, there will be no one left to defend him.”

“The doctor said you were to take it easy,” Brograve warned. “It doesn’t have to be today.”

She was undeterred. “If Sionead can lift boxes down for me, all I need do is sit on the sofa and sift through them. It probably won’t take long. The container had such a curious smell I’ll know as soon as I open the right box.”

Brograve agreed, after cautioning that she mustn’t overdo it. The telephone rang while she was still eating and he went out to the hall to answer it.

“She’s much better, thank you,” he said. There was a pause. “No, I’m afraid she can’t talk to you today . . . I think we’d better leave it for a while . . . Why don’t you give me your telephone number so we can ring you when it is convenient? . . . And your address? . . . Yes, I understand . . .”

The conversation went on for some time. Eve gathered that it was Ana Mansour and she was asking when they could resume their interview. She didn’t want to talk to her again until she’d found the missing container and could tell her an edited version of the truth. It was too awkward being forced to lie.

Sionead came to take her blood pressure and dole out her morning pills: so many pills she would rattle if you shook her. She said that out loud and Sionead smiled politely, whereupon Eve suddenly remembered she had said it before. Probably many times.

“The doctor’s coming at eleven,” Sionead said. “Just to check on you.”

Eve felt bad for wasting his time. Everyone had made a big fuss about her feeling momentarily sleepy but she was fine now. Right as rain. She took a gulp of tea to get rid of the bitter aftertaste of the pills.

After breakfast, she got dressed. Sionead was on hand to help but Eve liked to do everything herself, no matter how long it took. The brassiere was especially tricky. She had to fasten the hooks at the front, then wriggle it around into position before forcing her arms through the straps. Pulling a sweater over her head could easily turn into a comedy routine, with her staggering around as if in a straitjacket.

When she was finally ready, she wandered through the flat, looking into cupboards and trying to decide where to start her search. There were cardboard boxes of photographs and letters, lots of mementos from her mother’s last home, Brograve’s files of financial documents, battered leather suitcases containing god-knows-what, and a bulging album of newspaper cuttings. On impulse, she lifted down the album and tucked it under her arm to take to the front room. A trip down memory lane.

The cuttings started with the first triumphant announcements of the find: “New Tomb Found: Egypt’s Greatest,” “Discovery of the Century,” “Wonders Found in Luxor Tomb.” The story had been on the front page of every newspaper in Britain and Egypt, probably around the world too.

The excitement hadn’t died down by the time she and Pups returned to London in mid-December. Some canny manufacturers had already rushed out Tutankhamun-themed merchandise in time for Christmas: tins of biscuits with Egyptian-style patterns on the lid, bracelets like snakes coiling up your arm, even a face powder compact with the head of a cobra engraved on it. Tutankhamun was all the rage for the next few years, with every flapper worth her salt drawing kohl around her eyes with that little flick at the sides and learning the Tutankhamun shimmy. Eve had shimmied herself a few times, and received a tongue-lashing from Almina, who called it “the epitome of vulgarity.”