Free Whispers in the Sand by Barbara Erskine Page A

taken Louisa and pitched her a makeshift shelter on a soft Persian rug. She desperately wanted to get away from the crowds, to find the place, and to experience the silence as Louisa had done. She stood for a moment shading her eyes, looking up one of the white, dazzling paths which led away from the noisy centre of the valley. Could that have been where they went? Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Ben disappearing with another queue into a tomb on the far side of the well-trodden centre of the valley. Near him she recognised one or two other people from their party. She hesitated, then, resolutely turning her back on them, she began to make her way up the empty track, past a dusty fingerpost labelling yet more tombs, and, her shoes slipping on the dust and stones, she scrambled on upwards away from the crowds.
    Above her the rock martins circled and swooped into holes in the cliffs, but apart from that, nothing moved. Almost immediately the sound of the crowds behind her diminished and disappeared. The heat and the silence were overwhelming. She stopped, staring round, scared for a moment that she might lose her bearings, but the path was clearly marked. Just empty. The colours of the rock were monochrome. Blinding. The sky the most brilliant blue she had ever seen.
    Somewhere near her, she heard footsteps suddenly and the sound of scraping on the limestone. She frowned, shading her eyes as she scanned the cliff face. There was no one there. It was no more than a shifting of the sands.
    But her mood had changed again, and once more she began to feel uneasy. After the noise and bustle and colour of the main valley—the crowds, the shouting guides, the raised voices in a dozen different languages—this intense silence was unnerving. It was the silence of the grave.
    In spite of the heat, she found herself shivering again. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched, a weird sensation that there was someone near her. She stared up at the cliff face, narrowing her eyes against the glare. There were other tombs in this direction. She had seen them on the plan. But no one seemed to be visiting them. Perhaps they were closed, as the greater part of the tombs were, to protect them from the massive tourist interest. She took a few steps further up the path, rounding another corner. The cliffs were arid, silent but for the birds. Far above she could see a dark speck against the blinding sky. Perhaps that was a kite, like the one Louisa had seen. The feeling that there was someone there at her shoulder was so intense suddenly that she swung round. Tiny eddies of dust swirled momentarily round her ankles in an undetectable breath of wind, then the air was still again.
    Stubbornly she moved on. It was round here that Hassan had pitched the shelter for Louisa, she was sure of it. Here they had sat together on the rug, and she had opened her sketchbook and, unscrewing her water jar, had begun one of her paintings of the rugged hillside.
    “Do I gather you, too, prefer to be away from crowds?”
    The voice, a few feet from her, shocked her out of her reverie. She spun round. Toby Hayward was standing nearby. He swung his canvas satchel off his shoulder onto the ground and wiped his face on his forearm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t see you until I came round the corner.”
    Astonished at how relieved she was to find out the presence she had felt was that of a real person, she managed a smile. “I was dreaming.”
    “The right place for it.” He stood for a moment in silence. “I find it hard to catch the atmosphere with the crowds down there,” he said suddenly. “So many of them, and they snap endless pictures, but don’t look. Have you noticed? Their eyes are closed.”
    “The camera remembers. They are afraid they won’t.” Anna said quietly. “We all do it.” Her own camera was still in her bag.
    “I’m sure you look as well.”
    The anger in his voice disturbed her. “I try