The Khamsin Curse (12 page)

You see, my father was Uncle
Jefferson’s older brother. He stood to inherit the Texas ranch and
the family fortune but he married for love – a woman the patriarch
didn’t approve of and so he cut him out of the will. My mother was
Native American from the Comanche tribe. Both my parents died when
I was just eight years old. A tornado swept through our farm. It
destroyed pretty much everything. I survived because my mother
sheltered me with her body in the barn. A beam came crashing down
and struck her head. She died instantly. My father perished trying
to save the horses. I was found the next day by one of the
neighbours wandering about in a daze. Uncle Jefferson and his new
young wife – Hypatia’s mother had died of pneumonia one year
beforehand – refused to take me in. I went to live with my maternal
grandmother in Wichita. She legally adopted me; that’s when my name
changed to Clooney.

When she died nine years later
I finally ended up going to live with Uncle Jefferson and Hypatia
at the big ranch. His young wife had died in childbirth and he was
a widower for the second time so there was no one to object.
Besides, Hypatia made a fuss and insisted. That was three years
ago. I was seventeen. She thought it would be fun to have a
half-caste cousin, a companion who might amuse her, but she soon
discovered we don’t really have much in common. I sometimes pretend
to like the things she likes but they don’t really interest me.

I am passionate about horses. I
want to breed American Quarter Horses. Hypatia flits from one thing
to another. She has brains but no staying power. Next year she
won’t care about Egyptology and will be mad about something else –
becoming an aviatrix, climbing Mont Blanc, agitating for women’s
rights, posing as a muse to a penniless artist in Montmartre.”

They were interrupted by the
arrival of Gideon Longshanks and the conversation switched to
pleasantries. Whenever Daisy looked down at her open book, he made
wildly gesticulating overtures with his eyes. Countess V took the
hint.

“Oh, Mr Longshanks, I wonder if
you would be so good as to help me with the catch on my Morocco
jewellery case. It appears to be stuck and my manservant is
presently occupied with polishing shoes for Dr Watson and my maid
is busy ironing my petticoats. My pearls are in need of polishing
for tonight but that will never happen if I cannot open my
case.”

“Glad to help out,” he said
affably, following her into her cabin. He waited until the door was
closed then lowered his voice and talked quickly. “Colonel Hayter
has turned into my shadow. He keeps following me around. Every time
I look, he is there at my back. I need Dr Watson to distract him.
He could pretend to want to reminisce about army days or some such
thing. If the colonel doesn’t back-off I swear I will be forced to
do something reckless. Plus I want to search his cabin. If Dr
Watson could keep him busy after dinner tonight, perhaps with a
game of cards, that would be appreciated. I’ll only need about half
an hour.”

“I think that can be arranged,”
she said. “I wouldn’t mind searching the professor’s room. If you
could pretend to be sympathetic about Philae and mouth-off
something negative about the three engineers you will win him over
in no time. He doesn’t play cards and he doesn’t like to hang about
and drink with the men after dinner from what I have seen of him
but he might be encouraged to brag about his discovery of the tomb
of Hierax the high-priest if you show some interest.”

He nodded in the affirmative.
“I could do that before dinner. If you dress early and come down to
the saloon for pre-dinner drinks, you can slip out the moment he
arrives. I will keep him busy even if it means I have to endure a
pompous lecture.”

She pictured the two alpha men
together and tried not to laugh. “By the way, I just found out from
Daisy that she and Hypatia met the professor in Berlin last year.
He was giving a lecture on Egypt. Hypatia hatched the scheme to
come to Philae then and there. Mrs Lorna Baxter travelled with
them. She was initially hired to organize their grand tour. She
stayed on after they returned to America and was instrumental in
organizing this Egyptian visit. She travelled widely with her late
husband who was a diplomat, and she has been to Egypt before.”

“Hmm, the name Baxter doesn’t
jump out at me. Her husband may have been a paper-shuffler rather
than a high-ranking diplomat. Middle-Eastern postings are
prestigious if they are in Baghdad or Damascus or Cairo but being
stuck in Khartoum or Suez is a mug’s game. Some people like to
big-note themselves and exaggerate their capabilities, especially
if they are looking to be hired by American millionaires. I wonder
if a search of her cabin would yield anything of interest?”

“We should probably wait until
we reach Luxor. Searching too many rooms at once may arouse
suspicion. My maid and manservant could search her cabin while we
all make an excursion to the temples.”

“Yes, I’ll go along with that.”
He moved to the door and jerked it open then pitched his baritone
several decibels higher up the scale. “Yes, those catches can
sometimes be tricky. I had a Vuitton valise that was always
sticking. It drove me to distraction. Well, if there’s nothing
else, I’ll leave you to it, Countess.” He made sure to bang the
door on his way out, noting that she had once again placed Anubis
and Sekhmet on either side of her bed. Courage and Fear. He
actually wondered if she had got them the wrong way round.

Lady of Dread. Daughter of
Slaughter. She who Mauls.

The female was deadlier than
the male as far as he was concerned.

Major Nash emerged to find the
Acting High Commissioner waiting patiently for him just outside the
Countess’s cabin. It gave him a bit of a start and he immediately
wondered if the other had been eavesdropping. The man was leaning
negligently against the guard rail and trying to light up a
cigarette but his hands were shaking so violently he could hardly
get the match to the tip of the gasper. It was quite pathetic and
not a little sad to see a man who was once a brave soldier reduced
to a stick-thin bundle of nerves.

“Is everything tip-top?” the
colonel said with patently false chirpiness.

Major Nash forced himself to
extend some sympathy to the ex-soldier. “Just fine, thank you,
Colonel Hayter. Damned nuisance, this breeze off the river.”

“What?” The casual observation
seemed to confuse him.

“Lighting a cigarette – it can
be a damned nuisance with this Nile breeze. You hardly know it’s
there until you try to light up a gasper.”

The colonel turned a ripe shade
of watermelon. “Oh, yes, quite, I see what you mean. Yes, yes, it
keeps blowing out the lucifer.” His match burnt down and almost
barbecued his fingers. Quickly he tossed the spent match overboard
and struck another. Of course, that wasn’t really the problem. It
was the shaky hands. Colonel Hayter decided to give up. He blew out
the match and sent it to join its mate. “Is everything all right
with the Countess?”

Major Nash glanced back over
his shoulder at the cabin door which was now closed. One might
easily draw an inference that he was conducting an illicit liaison,
but the fact it was broad daylight quickly poured cold water on the
idea. “Yes, just fine. I was helping her with the catch on her
Morocco jewellery case. It had jammed. I had a Vuitton valise that
had the same problem. It was a lovely looking piece, cost me a
pretty penny, but I got rid of it in the end. It drove me to
distraction trying to pry it open every time I arrived in a new
city late at night and couldn’t get to my pyjamas without a
battle.”

The door opened suddenly and
the Countess emerged wearing a bobbin lace, afternoon dress with a
peplum, a pale blue silk sash and some understated pearls. “Did you
hear any news about that Cambridge chap before you boarded, Colonel
Hayter?”

“Damned bad business, that. Oh,
I beg your pardon, Countess. I meant to say shocking business. It
spooks the visitors. No, no news, unfortunately.”

Major Nash acknowledged the
Countess with a nod of his head and kept his tone light. “What
about the owner of the shop that sold the dodgy artifacts? Any sign
of him?”

“I doubt we will find the
fellow. The shop was closed, completely boarded up. I’d say the
fellow has gone to ground. He will open up in another part of the
bazaar by next week. Every second shop in the souk sells dodgy
artifacts. The Cambridge chap was stupid to go on his own to
confront the dealer, though I don’t think the owner of the shop had
anything to do with the death.”

“You don’t?” Major Nash
struggled to keep the incredulity out of his intonation.

“No, these fellows are shifty
but they are not killers.”

“What do you think happened?”
pursued the Countess.

“I think the Cambridge chap had
a row with the dealer and wandered about with his head in a bit of
a spin. He may have taken a wrong turn, ended up in a part of town
he should have avoided, got into a fight over some girl and got
himself beaten up. He probably fell down the well by accident.”

“Accident?”

“Yes. That uncovered well was
an accident waiting to happen, especially in the dark, and in the
state he was in. It’s not surprising he wasn’t looking where he was
going.”

“How is that?” asked the major,
trying to sound merely curious.

“Oh, the savaging he got at the
hands of some over-protective brothers and uncles.”

“Savaging?” pursued the
Countess.

Colonel Hayter elaborated
without thinking. “His body was a mess. It looked as if there might
have been a pack of dogs involved, or maybe he ran into them later
as he was wandering about, lost. There are a lot of starving strays
that side of the city.”

“Enough said,” reminded the
major tactfully, “there is a lady present.”

Colonel Hayter looked slightly
abashed.

The Countess was undeterred.
“So you think there was a girl involved?”

“Sure to be! Sure to be!
There’s always a girl involved. One has to learn to respect the
customs of a foreign culture. Some of these university chaps come
over here and think they can behave as they like. They drink to
excess, get rowdy, and before you know it things get out of hand.
When they find themselves in an Egyptian prison, I can tell you,
they sober up quick smart. The conditions are medieval. They make
Newgate look like Claridges. If you have ever visited the dungeons
in…”

Major Nash shot the colonel
another warning look before making a great show of checking his fob
watch, fumbling to get it out of his pocket. “I think it might be
time for afternoon tea. I believe Mrs Baxter said they were going
to serve it in the saloon because there is some orange dust in the
air. The Khamsin could be on its way.”

Mr Jefferson Lee was in a
touchy mood and the target of his angst was Professor Mallisham who
had inadvertently or deliberately usurped the position of the
nabob. He was seated between Hypatia and Daisy; the former was
sugaring his tea, the latter was serving him a sticky baklava. Mr
Lee was being forced to occupy an armchair outside the inner circle
and his tone was not dripping honey.

“That security man you have
hired seems past it,” he barked. “I doubt he could hit the side of
a barn. I’m not paying good money for a second rate hack.”

Professor Mallisham deftly
balanced a cup of tea on one knee and a cake plate on the other
knee. “Don’t let the crusty exterior fool you. Colonel Sebastian
Moran is a crack shot. Last week I witnessed him take the head off
a cobra with a single bullet. And he is not short on brains either.
Moran was educated at Eton and Oxford. Nor is he short on pedigree.
His father was Sir Augustus Moran, CB, Minister to Persia.”

Mr Lee turned for support to
the trio who entered the saloon together. “Did you hear that, Mr
Longshanks? Did you ever cross paths with Sir Augustus Moran?”

“I’m afraid not. He was
Minister to Persia before my time but I believe he conducted
himself with honour. As for the son, he has published two books –
Three Months in the Jungle
and
Heavy Game of the Western
Himalayas.
I have read both and they are quite good.”

Mrs Baxter was dispensing the
tea.

Colonel Hayter accepted a cup
and tried not to spill milky brew down the front of his shirt. “I
read them too. Jolly good, they were. Behind the bluff of the
big-game hunter is a sharp brain.”

“Big-game hunter?” posed the
big American.

“Oh, yes, yes,” continued
Colonel Hayter. “He bagged so many tigers in India one started to
feel sorry for the other hunters and then for the man-eaters.”

Dr Watson had been sitting
quietly up to this point, trying not to betray what he really
thought of Moran, but there was no denying the man’s proficiency
with a hunting rifle. “I believe he still holds the record for most
tigers bagged by an Englishman on the sub-continent. Is that right,
Hayter?”

“Right-ho, old chap. No one has
bettered his record.”

Major Nash continued to stand
by the tea trolley and wait until all the others had been served.
“There’s a story, which may be apocryphal, that says Moran shimmied
down a drain after a wounded tiger. Men who were there at the time
swear it’s true.”

Professor Mallisham licked his
sticky fingers then wiped them on his dusty trousers. “I heard that
story too. That’s what put me onto Moran in the first place. The
man is not short of courage either.”

Dr Watson wasn’t convinced.
“Foolhardiness is often mistaken for courage.”

“I disagree,” countered Gideon
Longshanks. “Every act of courage involves an element of
foolhardiness or recklessness or boldness. It is an impulsive act
that goes against self-preservation. It cannot co-exist with
rational thought.”