day on her way to her 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
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
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