Whispers in the Sand. Barbara Erskine

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      That night, dressed in her coolest muslin Louisa lingered at the saloon table after Augusta had retired to her cabin. Sir John raised an eyebrow. ‘We sail as soon as the wind gets up a little. The reis tells me that should be with the dusk. The wind comes in off the desert then.’ He reached for the silver box of cheroots and offered it to her. Louisa took one. She had never smoked before coming to Egypt. To know how shocked her mother-in-law would be to see her was enough reason. The scandalised lift of Lady Forrester’s eyebrow had been a second. With a silent chuckle she leant forward and allowed Sir John to light it for her.

      ‘Can I ask you to translate something for me?’ She reached into her pocket for the paper which had been wrapped around the little bottle.

      Sir John took it. Leaning back he inhaled deeply on his own smoke and rested it on a small copper ashtray. ‘Let me see. This is Arabic, but written a long time ago, judging by the paper.’

      He glanced at her for a moment. ‘Where did you say you found this?’

      She smiled. ‘I didn’t. One of the servants found it in the souk with a souvenir he bought for me.’

      ‘I see.’ He frowned. Laying it down on the table he smoothed out the creases and peered at it in silence for several moments. Watching him, Louisa could feel her first casual interest tightening into nervous apprehension. He was frowning now, a finger tracing the curling letters over the page. At last he looked up.

      ‘I think this must be a practical joke. A piece of nonsense to frighten and amuse the credulous.’

      ‘Frighten?’ Louisa’s eyes were riveted to the paper. ‘Please, will you read it to me?’

      He was breathing heavily through his nose. ‘I needn’t read it exactly. Indeed it is difficult to decipher all of it. Sufficient to say that it seems to be a warning. The item it accompanies –’ he looked up at her, his blue eyes shrewd – ‘you have that item?’

      ‘A little scent bottle, yes.’

      ‘Well, it is cursed in some way. It belonged once to a high priest who served the pharaoh. An evil spirit tried to steal it. Both fight for it still, apparently.’ His face relaxed into a smile. ‘A wonderful story for the gullible visitor from abroad. You will be able to show it to people when you go back to London and watch their faces pale over the dinner table as you recount your visit to Egypt.’

      ‘You don’t think it’s serious then?’ She tapped ash from her cheroot onto the little copper dish.

      ‘Serious?’ He roared with laughter. ‘My dear Louisa, I hardly think so! But if you see a high priest on the boat, or indeed any evil djinn, please tell me. I should very much like to meet them.’

      He moved his chair closer to hers as he laid the paper down on the table between them. ‘There are real antiquities to be bought if you have the contacts. I could arrange for some to be brought to the boat when we return to Luxor. There is no need for you to send servants to the bazaar.’

      ‘But I didn’t –’ She bit off the words before she could finish the sentence, realising suddenly that it would not be wise to tell Sir John that the bottle had been a present from her dragoman.

      He leant closer to her. ‘I have been looking at some of your watercolours.’ He nodded towards the corner of the cabin where she had left a folio of sketches. ‘They are very good.’

      It was extremely hot in the cabin. She could feel the heat from his body so close beside her; smell his sweat. She edged away from him. ‘That is kind of you to say so. And yes, I should like it if it were possible to have some antiques brought to the boat. I have as you know very little spending money, but if I saw something I liked I could at least sketch it.’

      He let out a roar of laughter. ‘First rate! Good idea! I shall look forward to seeing you do that.’ His hand came down on top of hers, suddenly, as she rested it on the table and he gave it a squeeze. ‘First rate,’ he repeated.

      Louisa pulled her hand away, her anxiety not to offend him fighting with her desire to stand up and put as much distance as possible between them.

      A sound in the doorway made them both turn. Jane Treece stood there, her eyes on the table where, a moment before, their hands had lain together on the piece of paper with its Arabic script.

      ‘Lady Forrester wondered whether Mrs Shelley would like me to help her get ready for bed.’ The voice was a monotone. Cold. The woman’s eyes strayed to the ashtray where Louisa’s cheroot lay, a thin wisp of smoke rising up towards the cabin lamp hanging from the ceiling beams.

      ‘Thank you.’ With some relief Louisa stood up. ‘Forgive me, it has been a tiring day.’ She moved away from the table, her black skirts rustling slightly. She could feel Sir John’s eyes on her and her face grew hot again.

      ‘Your note, my dear.’ He picked up the piece of paper and held it out to her. ‘You had better keep it safe. Your grandchildren will no doubt enjoy the story.’