Chapter Twenty-Eight
CAIRO, EGYPT
I step out of the Shepheard’s lobby and into the Egyptian sunshine, following in my parents’ wake.
No long sojourn in Cairo to sample their social season is required of me this time; Mama didn’t even suggest it.
Instead we will be heading directly to Luxor.
Papa is thrilled with this itinerary, but Mama is barely speaking to me.
In fact, she’s only spoken to me when absolutely necessary since our argument on Armistice Day.
I won the battle to come to Egypt, but at what cost?
As Papa tussles with the manager over our bill and Mama confers with the porter about our trunks, I take a last look at Cairo.
In between the wicker tables and chairs on the terrace of Shepheard’s, I can see the bustle of cars and buggies as well as the jostle of crowds along Ibrahim Pasha Street.
Amidst the throngs, I spot a young European-looking girl with braids and a pinafore skipping along with an Egyptian girl wearing a sebleh but not a headscarf.
What a curious pair, I think. To see the girls more clearly, I step around one of Shepheard’s ubiquitous enormous ferns—and bash directly into a khaki-uniformed officer coming the other direction.
“Pardon me. So sorry, sir,” I say without looking up.
“Please don’t apologize, and please don’t call me sir. I’m not so old just yet.” The soldier chuckles.
I glance at his face. It’s the officer from the Residency ball. And I see a glimmer of recognition in his dark eyes.
Our gaze meets, and at the same time, we exclaim, “You!”
“If it isn’t the girl who one-stepped her way across Cairo.” He beams at me, and his grin is so wide and infectious, I can’t help but grin back.
“I hardly think this particular maneuver was as graceful as the one-step,” I joke.
He chuckles again and asks, “Might I have the honor of actually doing the one-step with you at the Residency ball later this week?”
My cheeks warm at the invitation. “I would be happy for the dance, but I’m afraid we’re leaving Cairo for Luxor this morning.”
“How is it that I am always losing you? First at the ball last year—seemingly to parts unknown for an entire year. And now again—to Luxor.” He sounds plaintive.
“I might have stayed longer last time, but things did get rather dangerous in Egypt. Maybe this time, I won’t have to race off on the next ship, and I’ll be able to return to Cairo,” I say. Then, feeling suddenly shy, glance down as I ask, “Assuming you’ll still be here?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I’m finally being sent back—”
He can’t finish because my parents sidle up to us. Of all the unfortunate timing, I think.
“Eve, would you care to introduce us?” Papa asks.
“Ah, of course, this is—” I stop, realizing that I haven’t yet got his name. My cheeks feel hot.
The gentleman stretches out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Second Lieutenant Brograve Beauchamp.”
“Beauchamp you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You wouldn’t be related to Beauchamp, the politician and chairman of Lloyd’s, would you?”
“I am indeed, sir. He’s my father.”
“Good chap, your father. We’ve run in the same circles over the years—clubs and all that. I’m George Herbert.” Papa stretches out his hand, and the men shake.
“Lord Carnarvon?”
“Yes.” Papa looks a little sheepish. Having introduced himself as George Herbert, he’s been caught out with his formal name.
“Even if I hadn’t heard of you from my father, I would certainly be familiar with you from your work here in Egypt, sir. You and Howard Carter have made some magnificent discoveries.”
Papa claps Lieutenant Beauchamp on the back. “Kind of you to say. Hope to make some even more magnificent finds soon.” He pauses, then adds in a low voice, “I was very sorry to hear about your brother.”
Lieutenant Beauchamp’s face is no longer open and affable. His expression closes, and a deep sadness overtakes his eyes. I don’t need anyone to explain to me what happened. Lieutenant Beauchamp lost his brother in the war.
“Thank you for your condolences.”
“How did you and our Eve become acquainted?” Mama asks, her voice bright but her eyes wary. She’s undoubtedly pleased to see me chatting with an eminently suitable young man, but given that she didn’t orchestrate the introduction, she’s withholding judgment.
“We met at the Residency ball last year, Mama.” I rush to answer. I know she’ll find that an acceptable mode of meeting young men.
“And you’ve been here ever since, Lieutenant Beauchamp?” Mama presses.
“Yes, Lady Carnarvon. With the exceptions of a few trips elsewhere in the Middle East.”
“It’s a wonder you two recognized each other after all this time,” Mama says with a sniff.
“I could never forget your daughter, ma’am,” Lieutenant Beauchamp says, his eyes on mine.
I feel my cheeks burn again, and I can only imagine they are flaming red.
I’ve been complimented and flattered by men—young and old—since participating in the Season, but never before by one I actually fancied.
Whether he senses a frisson between me and Lieutenant Beauchamp and wants to foster it, or simply enjoys sharing his passion with another Englishman, Papa says, “You would be very welcome to come and see the dig, Lieutenant Beauchamp.”
The lieutenant shifts his gaze from me to Papa and replies, “What a lovely invitation, Lord Carnarvon. I would very much like to see the inner workings of an archaeological dig and visit with you all again. Unfortunately, my troop of Life Guards leaves Cairo shortly. We are finally going home.”