Chapter 2
The following morning
What in hell am I doing here?
Casting an eye over the foyer of the hotel, Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or shudder.
The place resembled some sort of absurd Orientalist fantasy, with its lotus-topped columns, Moorish tiles and arches, huge great coppered lamps, and potted palms. Best of all were the twin ebony statues flanking the staircase, in all their bare-breasted glory.
Mind you, watching the reactions of hotel patrons—particularly female guests— approaching the shameless display was the most entertainment he’d had in ages.
It almost made up for how disillusioned he was feeling—about the dig, about his future within the field of Egyptian archaeology, and about life in general.
He wasn’t one for admitting failure, no matter how badly things were going, but if his prospects didn’t start looking up soon, he was going to have to change path, possibly even returning to London—and that would bring with it a whole other set of problems.
Not that his father would see it that way.
He’d probably be delighted, having his wayward son brought to heel.
He’d find some soul-crushingly tedious job for him at the British Museum, down in the basement, cataloguing items that no one was interested in or, worse still, sifting through boxes of pottery fragments to see if enough of them could be pieced together to create something decent.
His brother would be equally smug, lording it over him with his stuffy but respectable position in academia, telling him that, if he worked extremely hard and proved himself reliable, he might have a chance of acquiring some minor lecturing placement at one of the provincial establishments.
No! It couldn’t be borne!
He’d rather offer himself as manual labor on someone’s dig site than go back to dreary Britannia and lead a life as dull as those unrelenting gray skies.
Not that I’m much more than that at present.
It was beyond his understanding why his uncle bothered to keep him on, since he was now forbidden access to any part of the temple.
Jack had a hunch it was purely for the pleasure it gave the cad to order him about, knowing he couldn’t refuse.
This trip to Cairo, for instance—where he was permitted to stay under the same roof in one of the hotel’s sad single rooms on the ground floor, but not to join his uncle and his rabble of guests to dine.
Not that he was tripping over himself for that honor.
The whole troop could take a flying leap off the top of a pyramid for all he cared.
Knowing how brazen most tourists were, walking roughshod where they had no business to be, that outcome wasn’t entirely beyond the bounds of possibility.
A glance at his pocket watch told him he’d better get on and make himself useful.
He was supposed to be supervising a supply run this morning, meeting the reis of the sailboat down at the dock before heading to the market.
Then he needed to check over the state rooms, making sure everything looked tip top.
He wasn’t even invited on the dahabeya, being relegated to the paddle-steamer for the journey south, where he’d be repeating his housekeeping supervision at the villa.
As if I’m chief bloody chambermaid!
He was making his way out when he was brought up short by a swish of pale-yellow skirts emerging from the breakfast room. Even from behind, there was no mistaking her, with that golden-red hair piled high, curled and pinned, topped by a dainty confection one could hardly call a hat.
Close behind was an older woman but she veered off to speak to the concierge.
Jack smiled to himself. He was feeling prickly himself right now, but that feisty piece had taken the biscuit last night.
Not that he entirely blamed her for how she’d treated him.
He ought to know better than to approach a woman who didn’t know him from Adam and start up with some flirting.
It wasn’t his usual style, but something about her made him want to talk to her more—even if for another tongue-lashing.
Sidling up behind, he bade her good morning and was rewarded by her visibly jumping in alarm. However, she quickly regained her composure, whirling about to glare at him.
“You again!” If the flashes she sent him were lightning bolts he’d be sizzled on the spot.
For a moment, he clean forgot what he’d been planning to say. She’d looked ravishing on the terrace, in a froth of pink, but lemon suited her better. The blush was high in her cheeks, presumably brought on by pique at having him accost her.
And those eyes!
He’d thought them regular blue in the evening light but saw now they were lighter.
Azure, or cerulean? He wasn’t sure there was a name for this hue, but it reminded him of a Scottish beach he’d once visited, where the sands were very white and the sun had momentarily breached the clouds to transform the water to a sparkling shade.
She was glowering at him, looking down her nose, as if daring him to utter one more word.
He almost faltered, his voice emerging slightly hoarse, obliging him to clear his throat. “On your own again? Be careful, this place is full of dodgy characters.”
“Is that right?”
He would swear her lips twitched.
“I hardly think I’ll come to much harm in the foyer of the hotel, but if you attempt to offer me beverages, or anything else…” she paused, “I have my parasol to beat you off.”
Jack couldn’t suppress a smile, nor the desire to keep looking at her. She was certainly worth looking at—taller than most women and slender, with an elegant neck and upright posture, haughty without a doubt, uppity and imperious and imposing.
But magnificent.
Instinctively, he imagined what it would be like to have her pinned beneath him, with all that glorious hair tumbled over a pillow, her lips and thighs parted, eager to receive his…
That thought was interrupted by a trilling from across the lobby. “All arranged!” The older woman bustled over. “That’s the telegram arranged. Though we really ought to send a postcard. Something with the pyramids, and the Sphinx, don’t you think? Perhaps two postcards and—”
“Aunt!” The young beauty spoke in a hushed whisper. “A quieter voice, please!”
He saw his chance and stuck out his hand to the older woman. “A pleasure to meet you. Jack Balfour, at your service. If you need help with anything at all, please allow me to be of assistance.”
“How very kind! I’m Miss Sullivan and I take it you’ve met my niece.
As to assistance, I believe everything is in hand.
I was asking the clerk to arrange the sending of a telegraph message, to inform my sister that we’ve arrived safely.
She does worry, you see, and very much wanted to accompany us, but isn’t in the best of health, poor dear.
Arthritis, you know, which comes to us all, and trouble with her chest. Nothing too serious, but her digestion is delicate.
A trip like this! Well, it would be risking the most inconvenient sort of—”
“Aunt Clodagh! I’m sure Mr. Balfour doesn’t want to hear about…any of that.” The younger woman winced. “In any case, we mustn’t detain him. He surely has some place to be.”
“Not at all. I’m perfectly at liberty.” It wasn’t true, but he could tell the offer was safely made. He could see full well that Miss Haughty would rather receive overtures from an over-amorous camel than spend a moment longer in his company.
“So charming!” Miss Sullivan cooed. “Isn’t he charming, Onora?” Her attention spun back to him. “My niece has been living with us. She’s frightfully clever you know; has been studying all sorts of ancient things at Lady Margaret Hall, in Oxford. Do you know it?”
Jack didn’t have a chance to answer before Miss Sullivan dove in once more. “We’re going down the Nile in a one of those quaint sail boats, all the way to Philae, although we’ll be stopping along the way, naturally.”
He glanced at…Onora, wasn’t it…She wasn’t looking particularly happy, nor had she the night before.
He was beginning to think the tension etched between her brows had nothing to do with him, contrary to her remonstrations.
Someone in her position, about to set off to see the grand sites of Egypt, ought to be in a more buoyant mood.
Miss Sullivan carried on, “Have you been down the Nile? I hear it’s a life-changing experience. All that history! It puts one’s own life, so uneventful and insignificant, into perspective, don’t you agree, Mr. Balfour?”
“I do.” He smiled, though his thoughts were wistful. “How can we not admire a civilization that lasted more than three thousand years and achieved so much? Despite the wonders of our modern age, I’m uncertain whether we shall be so well remembered, when several millennia have passed.”
He dared a surreptitious glance at Onora and was glad to see she was no longer glaring at him.
“I only hope our fascination for Egyptology, and the resulting flood of visitors, trampling blithely, shall not destroy what we revere.” Her voice was now soft, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “It would be so easy, would it not, to damage what has endured these thousands of years.”
“Very true.” It was a subject close to his own heart.
“I fear even at the highest level, things are not as they should be. Treasures are being lost, spirited away to private collectors as well as to foreign museums. A proportion is housed in Cairo but even then, the conditions are far from desirable. For every piece well-displayed, tenfold more crumble away.”
“Goodness me!” Miss Sullivan looked flustered. “I had no idea. I was thinking to buy some token artefact—a statuette perhaps. It hadn’t occurred to me to question the provenance.”
“It’s more likely you’ll be offered a fake antique than something originating from a tomb.
But, yes, anything authentic has undoubtedly been acquired illegally.
” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I sometimes don’t know what to think.
There have been grave robbers as long as there have been tombs, and many of the sites we unearth have long-since been raided.
Who is to say our excavations today are any less wrongful? ”
Miss Sullivan’s eyes lit up. “Are you working with one of the museums, Mr. Balfour? You speak so knowledgeably.”
He inclined his head in recognition of the compliment. “I’m with a dig, although I’m unsure—”
“How exciting! Do tell us more!” Miss Sullivan pounced again.
Jack scanned the foyer. It was frowned upon to share too many details, but he was almost past caring.
In likelihood, he wouldn’t be there much longer—though he didn’t know if his own patience would break in advance of his uncle dismissing him.
He sensed the old fox was enjoying tormenting him too much to do that prematurely.
“It’s a temple, partially uncovered by a sandstorm some years ago.
I’ve been helping survey the inner dimensions of the structure, drawing schematics, as well as recording hieroglyphs, of which there are a great many.
” He smiled tightly. “Undoubtedly there are more structures in the surrounding area, though to explore all would take decades…”
“Do you hear that, Onora?” Miss Sullivan squeezed her niece’s arm. “It sounds very like—”
Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the arrival of one who habitually had the effect of silencing those around him. Lord Seton had crossed the lobby on such silent feet that Jack hadn’t noticed him until he brushed his shoulder.
His lordship greeted the two women, then turned his icy gaze Jack’s way. “Still here, Balfour?”
He managed to make Jack feel as if he were back at Eton, caught loitering where he shouldn’t and coming to the attention of a disapproving master.
“You’ve errands to run, I believe.”
Jack clenched his jaw. It was bloody humiliating, being spoken to like a servant rather than Seton’s own nephew—even if the relationship wasn’t one of blood.
Seton slipped the flame-haired beauty’s hand through his arm. “Come now, ladies. The rest of our party has already set off. Our transport is waiting.”
It was a blow to Jack’s pride, but worse still was the realization that the woman he’d been admiring was betrothed to his uncle. Lord Seton had spoken little of his soon-to-be-bride, but Jack could see now what was obvious.
Her snappishness was likely nerves over her forthcoming marriage. She was about to become someone’s possession. Seton’s, in this case.
The thought made Jack feel faintly sick.