TWENTY-EIGHT

Harriet felt dreamlike. Her feet, in the same flat, laced boots that she wore in London, were treading the ground where queens had walked in beauty, where kings sported in their chariots and citizens listened to the music of drums. She was being warmed by the same sun, breathing the same air, tinged now with rose and gold.

It was late afternoon, and after the fortnight-long voyage up the Nile, she and Louisa had disembarked from the Amon-Ra, been carried through the shallows by the crew, and set down on the shore of the village of Luxor by the ruins of a vast temple.

Fouad splashed through the water, holding his shoes above his head, soaking his pantaloons. With a satisfied air, as if he’d conjured it himself, he waved in the direction of a brown-stone building that stood on the other side of a rough road leading along by the river.

“Hotel, Miss Harry. Kwayis?”

“Kwayis, Fouad. Good.”

She smiled at him. Fouad appeared to have made the decision that although employed and paid by Louisa, it was Harriet he was there to serve. He was a faithful shadow, offering help both wanted and unwanted.

“Lord only knows what it’ll be like,” Louisa said, raising her green glasses and peering in the direction of the hotel.

Harriet and Louisa crossed the road and passed under an arch bearing the name Luxor Hotel, picked out in pebbles in the mortar. Inside, behind a reception desk, a man dressed in a threadbare ­dinner jacket and a lopsided white bow tie, appeared to be waiting for them. He spread his hands in welcome.

“Salaam alaikum, mesdames.”

“Rooms,” Louisa said, pulling off her glove, holding two fingers in the air. She pointed at herself, then Harriet. “We need two rooms.”

The lobby was painted white with earth-colored tiles underfoot. Pushed up against one wall was a shoeshine chair in carved black ebony. With its high step and long back, it looked to Harriet like a dusty, vacated throne. The man was already unhooking keys from a board. He emerged from behind the desk and made a bow to Louisa.

“The ladies will have the best chambers that we’re able to offer.”

“You speak English,” said Louisa, pausing the movement of her fan. “How very fortunate.”

“Monsieur Andreas, at your service,” he said, bowing again, turning to lead the way up the wooden stairs, past a large thermometer on the wall. “You are most welcome, madame. Follow me.”

Minutes later, they’d taken two adjacent rooms with windows looking on to the Nile, at a long-stay rate of thirteen shillings a week, negotiated by Louisa. Fouad would be accommodated in a separate part of the hotel, a room in the garden where Egyptian servants stayed. The trunks had been hauled up the stairs, farewells made to the captain, the crew, and the French passengers of the Amon-Ra.

Louisa departed for the neighboring room, saying she intended to rest before dinner. She kissed Harriet on the cheek and looked at her with anxious eyes.

“You will be able to get well here, away from the wind, away from everything.”

“I hope so, Mother.”

Harriet closed her door behind her and surveyed a wooden bed swathed in a veil of white netting, a simple washstand, two long windows. Pulling her hair loose from its bun, she slid her book under the pillow and went to the window. Opening the wooden shutters, she leaned over and rested her elbows on the warm stone sill.

Across the rough road, the place where the dahabeah had moored to allow Harriet and Louisa to disembark was empty. The water bore no trace of what had recently been their home. On the other side of the river, the mountains looked soft and mysterious, like a pink velvet cloth carelessly thrown down on the floor of the world. There was no sign of what was hidden in them, the painted tombs of kings and queens.

A huge sun sank below the horizon, the color of the mountains changing before Harriet’s eyes from rose to crimson to a deep, luminous violet. She was within sight of her destination. Despite the warmth of the air, she shivered.