The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 15
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office.
She felt anger rising in her. This was one of the major treasures of her
very Egypt. It had been plundered and stolen from one of her country's
sacred sites. It did not belong here. It belonged on the banks of the
great river Nile. She felt herself shaking with the strength of her
emotion as she went forward to examine the statue more closely and to
read the hieroglyphic inscription on the base.
The royal cartouche stood out in the centre of the arrogant warning: "I
am the divine Ramesses, master of ten thousand chariots - Fear me, of ye
enemies of Egypt."
Royan had not read the translation aloud; it was a soft, deep voice
close behind her that spoke, startling her. She had not heard anyone
approaching. She spun round to find him standing close enough to touch.
His hands were thrust into the pockets of a shapeless blue cardigan.
There was a hole in one elbow. He wore faded denim jeans over well'worn
but monogrammed velvet carpet slippers - the type of genteel shabbiness
that certain Englishmen often cultivate, for it would never do to seem
too concerned with one's appearance.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," He smiled eazy.
'le of apology, and his teeth were very white but slightly "t smi
crooked. Suddenly his expression changed as he recognized her.
"Oh, it's you." She should have been flattered that he remembered her
from so fleeting a contact, but there was that flash of something in his
eyes again that offended her.
Nevertheless, she could not refuse the hand he offered her.
"Nick Quenton-Harper," he introduced himself. "You must be Percival
Dixon's old student. I think I saw you at the shoot last Thursday.
Weren't you beating for us?"
His manner was friendly and forthright, so she felt her hackles
subsiding as she responded, "Yes. I am Royan Al Simma. I think you knew
my husband, Duraid Al Simma."
"Duraid! Of course, I know him. Grand old fellow. We spent a lot of time
in the desert together. One of the very best. How is he?"
"He's dead." She had not meant it to sound so bald and heartless, but
then there was no other reply she could think of.
"I am so terribly sorry. I didn't know. When and how did it happen?"
"Very recently, three weeks ago. He was murdered.
"Oh, my God." She saw the sympathy in his eyes, and she remembered that
he also had suffered. "I telephoned him in Cairo not more than four
months ago. He was his old charming self Have they found the person who
did it?"
She shook her head and looked around the hall to avoid having to -face
him and let him see that her eyes were wet. "You have an extraordinary
collection here."
He accepted the change of subject at once. Thanks mostly to my
grandfather. He was on the staff of Evelyn Baring - Over Bearing, as his
numerous enemies called him. He was the British man in . Cairo during-'
She cut him short. "Yes, I have heard of Evelyn Baring, the first Earl
of Cromer, British Consul-General of Egypt from 1883 to 1907. With his
plenipotentiary powers he was the unchallenged dictator of my country
for all that period. Numerous enemies, as you say."
Nicholas's eyes narrowed slightly. "Percival warned me you were one of
his best students. He didn't, however, warn me of your strong
nationalistic feelings. It is clear that you didn't need me to translate
the Ramesses inscription for you."
"My own father was on the staff of Gama! Abdel Nasser," she murmured.
Nasser was the man who had toppled the puppet King Farouk and finally
broken the British power in Egypt. As president he had nationalized the
Suez Canal in the face of British outrage.
"HaV he chuckled. "Different sides of the track. But things have
changed. I hope we don't have to be enemies?"
"Not at all," she agreed. "Duraid held you in the highest esteem."
"As I did him." He changed the subject again. "We ar very proud of our
collection of royal ushabd Examples from the tomb of every pharaoh from
the old Kingdom onwards, right up to the last of the Ptolemys. Please
let me show it to you." She followed him to the huge display case that
occupied one complete wall of the hall. It was lined with shelf after
shelf of the doll-like figures which had been placed in the tombs to act
as servants and slaves for the dead kings in the shadow world.
With his own key Nicholas opened the glazed doors of the case and
reached up to bring down the most interesting of the exhibits. "This is
the ushabd of Maya who served under three pharaohs, Tutankhamen, Ay and
Horemheb.
It is from the -tomb of Ay who died in 1343 Bc."
He handed the doll to her and she read aloud the three thousand-year-old
hieroglyphics as easily as though they had been the headlines of that
morning's newspaper.
"I am Maya, Treasurer of the two Kingdoms. I will answer for the divine
Pharaoh Ay. May he live for ever!" She spoke in Arabic to test him, and
his reply in the same language was fluent and colloquial, "It seems that
Percival Dixon told me the truth. You must have been an exceptional
student."
Engrossed now in their common interest, speaking alternately Arabic and
English, the initial sharp prickles.of antagonism between them were
dulled. They moved slowly round the hall, lingering before each display
case to handle and examine minutely each object that it contained.
It was as though they were transported back over the millennia. Hours
and days seemed of no consequence in the face of such antiquity, and so
it startled both of them when Mrs. Street returned to interrupt them, "I
am off now, Sir Nicholas. Can I leave it to you to lock up and set the
alarm? The security guards are on duty already."
"What time is it?"Nicholas answered his own question by glancing at the
stainless steel Rolex Submariner on his wrist. "Five-forty already, what
on earth happened to the day?" He sighed theatrically. "Off you go, Mrs.
Street. Sorry we kept you so long."
"Don't forget to set the alarm," she warned him, and then to Royan, "He
can be so absent-minded when he is off on one of his hobby-horses." Her
fondness towards her employer was obviously that of an indulgent aunt.
"You've given me enough orders for one day. Off you go," Nicholas
grinned, as he turned back to Royan. "Can't let you go without showing
you something that Duraid."was in on with me. Can you stay for a few
minutes longer?" She nodded and he reached out as if to take her arm,
and then dropped his hand. In the Arab world it is insulting to touch a
woman, even in such a casual manner. She was aware of the courtesy, and
she warmed to his good manners and easy style a little more.
He led her out of the exhibition halls through a door marked "Private.
Staff Only', and down a long corridor to the room at the end.
The inner sanctum." He ushered her in. "Excuse the mess'. I must really
get around to tidying up in here one of these years. My wife used to-'
He broke off abruptly, and he glanced at the silver-framed photograph of
a family group on his desk. Nicholas and a beautiful dark-haired woman
sat on a picnic rug under the spreading branches of an oak. There were
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