Egyptian Honeymoon (5 page)

Was she so poor an actress she could not have faked a response?

It was the mention of Hugh that had petrified her, as if like Banquo's ghost he had risen up between them. The ancient Egyptians believed in the
ka
or double, a sort of astral self that survived death. Had, in this haunted land, Hugh's
ka
come to claim his love? Noelle hurriedly dismissed this fantastic notion. Hugh was the last person to want to wreck her marriage, he would want her to be happy, but her husband was of another breed, proud, jealous, arrogant and unforgiving. He must be supreme, or nothing. That much she had learned about him. Now she had mortally offended him, and this honeymoon had become a farce.

Contrary to her former feelings about Steve, Noelle realised that she very much did want to please him, and the thought of him with another woman was painful to her, but she had not the faintest idea how to effect a reconciliation. Perhaps Steve would not want one, he would find his illicit lovers more satisfactory, and she would merely become a figurehead to entertain his guests, a collector's piece stowed away in a cabinet.

Noelle buried her face in the pillow and wept, feeling humiliated, inadequate and doubly bereft.

Noelle awoke to the bright sunlight of another day. No need to wonder if the brilliance of the morning would last throughout the twenty-four hours, as she might have done in England, for here at this time of year no rain would fall, and it was a rarity at other seasons.

The events of the previous night were blurred by sleep, and she was actually in Egypt where she had so longed to be. She jumped out of bed and ran to the window, pulling up the blind to gaze out at the Nile. It would be receding, for the full spate of that life-giving water began in July, though now it was controlled by dams and canals and no longer overflowed into the city. Inevitably she thought of Hugh. If only he were beside her to enjoy the view, but it was Steven who had brought her and to whom she belonged. Reminded of last night's violence, she glanced at her shoulders in the mirror and saw that they were bruised. Blushing, she picked up her negligee which had been thrown upon the floor by his impatient fingers and wrapped herself in its silken folds. The dreaded night had come and gone and she was alone, having failed lamentably in her duty. She was not entirely to blame, she thought resentfully. Steve should have made allowances for her innocence; she had never pretended that she loved him, and she had loved Hugh. Had he imagined that a few expert caresses could wipe out all recollection of her former love? In his arrogant male pride he had been confident that he could do so, and now he had gone off in a huff because she had lain passive in his arms. But not entirely so, and as she recalled his lovemaking, a shiver of excitement crept along her nerves. She was instantly ashamed of it, for she was not a sensual woman, and felt sexuality was a little degrading.

She looked at his unused bed beside her own. Should she rumple the covers so that it would look as though he had slept in it? No need to proclaim to the staff that they had spent their wedding night apart, but there was no need for subterfuge. The chambermaid would think that they had used only one because she had slept in Steve's arms. Again the quivering of her nerves, a flutter in her stomach. No, she was not frigid, and if he had been more patient, more considerate… but no, he had gone off to some other woman, and her pride lifted its head. She would not want him back after such an insult.

Noelle went into the bathroom, aware of loneliness. It was very early and Steve would still be with his inamorata, whoever she was, either in the city or in the hotel; but only one thing was certain, he was not in their suite, for when she had bathed and dressed, she went into his dressing room and saw his black and gold robe hanging on the door. So he had gone out, and she knew a moment's panic as it occurred to her that he might not return. But of course he would; though their marriage had not been consummated she was still his wife, and he would not abandon her however piqued he might be.

A maid brought her a tray of tea. The
effendi
had ordered it the night before, she said. There were two cups and saucers.

'My husband had to go out early,' Noelle told her, 'but he'll be back at any moment,' and hoped she spoke the truth.

The maid withdrew, and Noelle drank her tea seated by the window. She had dressed in tan-coloured slacks and a beige knitted shirt. It was low-necked and short-sleeved. She had no idea how the day was to be spent, but it seemed to be the sort of thing most girls were wearing. She did not intend to spend all morning in the hotel waiting for Steve to turn up, and if he didn't appear she would go out and explore after breakfast. She looked very young and girlish, the sunlight making her hair a gilt frame for her pensive face, her long legs curled under her as she watched the passing craft on the river. Feluccas with their tall distinctive sails mingling with modern yachts and motor launches. She was thinking she would go downstairs, when Steve came in. She heard the click of the sitting room door and his purposeful stride as he came to hers, and she caught her breath, aware her pulses had begun to race when he appeared in the entrance. He was wearing shorts, an open-necked silk shirt, and on his head an Arab headdress, the white draped cloth and braided band. She had yet to learn that they were on sale by every street vendor in the country, and she exclaimed:

'What on earth have you got on your head?'

'A bit of local colour, it's cool and protective. You can buy them for one dollar upwards. This model was two-fifty.' He spoke lightly, and he looked much younger than in his formal suits, seeming sleek and relaxed with no hint of the tensions of the night before. 'Did you sleep well?'

'Very well, thank you,' she replied conventionally, deciding not to enquire where he had spent the night. 'You must have gone out very early.'

'I wanted to watch the sunrise over the Eastern Desert.'

Forgetting their estrangement, she cried, 'Oh, why didn't you wake me? I'd like to have come too.'

'You were sleeping so soundly it seemed a shame to wake you.'

So he must have looked in at her while she slept, and she felt uneasy—suppose she had murmured Hugh's name in her dreams? Whoever Steve had been with, he had not lingered, the sunrise being a greater attraction. That gave her a momentary satisfaction.

'If you're ready, shall we go down to breakfast, or would you prefer to have it sent up here?'

Noelle chose the restaurant, not wanting to be alone with Steve. Though his manner was friendly and he did not seem to bear any rancour, there was a steely glint in his eyes. He had neither forgiven nor forgotten, and she wondered apprehensively what his next move would be.

Over breakfast he told her that he had ordered a taxi to take them out to Giza, for naturally she would want to see the Pyramids and the Sphinx before they left.

'Oh, are we leaving Cairo?' She had left the arranging of their itinerary to him.

'This evening. I've booked accommodation on a steamer up the Nile, it'll be cooler on the water, and you must see Luxor and Karnak and the Aswan Dam.'

'That will be lovely.'

Very deliberately Steve buttered a piece of toast.

'I've booked separate cabins.'

'Oh!' Noelle felt the hot colour flood her face, and said faintly. 'Did you… was that necessary?'

'I think it is.' He raised his head and looked at her severely. 'Perhaps when this trip is over you'll have come to regard me less as an ogre and more as a human being. Until then you'd better sleep alone.'

Noelle's eyes dropped to her plate, aware of conflicting emotions. Relief mingled with regret, shame that he had found her so inadequate, and a curious sense of flatness that he intended to keep away from her.

'You… you're very considerate,' she murmured.

He returned with suppressed passion: 'I won't descend to raping my wife, though I've every right to do so.'

It was still there, the leashed violence that had scared her. Noelle stirred her coffee with a trembling hand, looking anywhere but into those avid grey eyes that seemed to devour her.

'Afterwards… it may be different…' she said faintly.

He smiled cruelly. 'Don't try to force yourself to make it so. You're not indispensable.'

Her eyes widened in dismay. Did he want to be rid of her already?

'I… I suppose you have grounds for a divorce…'

Steve smiled sardonically. 'That comes well from a day-old bride! I assure you, my love, whatever happens there'll be no divorce. What I have I hold.'

No divorce, but no love either. She remembered the bronze monkey which he had long since ceased to bother to look at. She had been acquired, and though she might wither in neglect and indifference, he would never set her free.

Steve's face suddenly cleared, all trace of seriousness vanishing, as he said gaily:

'This is no holiday conversation. Let's be off to see the Pyramids.'

He sprang to his feet, holding out his hand to her, looking as youthful and carefree as Simon would have done. Gone was the urgent lover, the aloof business executive. His clasp of her fingers was warm and friendly as they went out of the restaurant.

Before they drove off, Steve insisted upon buying for her one of the white linen hats on sale everywhere for those tourists who had underestimated the heat of the sun. It was not exactly chic, but it did protect her eyes and nape. Steve continued to appear light-hearted, even boyish, and Noelle's spirits rose in response. After all, he had given her a respite, and she might in time come to love him. That seemed possible in his present mood; he had come down to her level offering her an undemanding comradeship which she accepted gladly. The trip up the Nile was going to be fun.

The taxi deposited them at an enclosure opposite to the Mena House Hotel. Noelle got out, looking about her in surprise. She could see the bulk of the Great Pyramid up ahead of her, but where they stood was a medley of tourists, saddled horses, open carriages and camels. Steve was giving some instructions to the taxi driver.

'Why are we stopping here?' Noelle demanded.

Steve turned to her with a broad grin. 'Because, my love, we'll approach these historic edifices with due ceremony on camel-back.'

'Ride a camel?'

She wished he would not call her 'my love' with that ironic intonation as if only too well aware it was a misnomer. She wasn't his love; she doubted she ever would be.

'Just so. Much more appropriate than a motor car.'

The camels knelt on the sand, eyeing their would-be passengers with the lofty disdain a camel can so well assume. They were saddled with what looked like red Turkey carpeting and were loud in their complaints when ordered to rise. They were attended by Arabs in djellabahs and turbans assisted by barelegged boys.

Steve made his requirements known to one of these gentlemen, who salaamed profoundly and assisted Noelle on to one of the humped backs. She was thankful she was wearing trousers, though she hadn't foreseen this exercise. He prodded the beast she bestrode, who staggered to its feet with grumbling protests. Steve was mounted behind her and they were off, plodding up the road, the camels' big splayed feet, designed for travelling on sand, making squelching sounds on the tarmac. Their guides ran beside them uttering encouraging noises. The road curved uphill and ended in level sand between the Pyramids. Here her camel knelt and amid grunts and protests allowed her to dismount. Steve was laughing as he settled with the owner.