Glenn Meade (4 page)

He said no more, as if the subject
were private. Stern was suddenly brisk again as he slapped a hand on Weaver's
shoulder.

'Right, we'd better get back to
work. I want to have everything finished before dark so that we can enjoy the
big party tomorrow night.'

'What big party?' Weaver asked,
and they all looked at the professor.

Stern smiled. 'A secret I've kept
to myself, but now it's time you all knew. Remember I told you last week I'd
stretched our budget to pay for cheap hotel rooms in
Cairo
and a meal for all the crew after we'd
finished our work here? Well, it's going to be rather better than that. What
work remains to be done at Sakkara will be completed by the Ministry of
Antiquities, of course, but they've judged our dig to be a complete success,
and a party's been organized at the residence of the American ambassador. It's
well known he has a keen interest in archaeology, and he's insisted on hosting
a gala evening in our honor.

There's to be a splendid buffet
meal, quite a few distinguished people have been invited, and from what I hear,
the ambassador's even arranged a dance band. All very kind of him, I thought.'

'Well, good for us,' Haider said,
more cheerfully.

'That's wonderful news, Papa,'
Rachel said. 'Isn't it, Harry?'

'The best I've heard in a long
time.'

'I thought it might cheer you up.'
The professor rolled up his sleeves. 'Now, let's get the equipment up the shaft
and packed away, and then we can all relax.'

The sun was going down, casting a
tangerine light over the desert. Dinner had been served by the Bedouin cooks -
kofta, saffron rice, and fresh bread - and because it was their last night
under canvas, Professor Stern had provided a large quantity of Egyptian beer
and wine at his own expense.

They sat around the campfire, but
there was little talk of the war, because nobody in the team wanted politics to
intrude.

One of the Frenchmen played his
accordion, accompanied by two young Englishmen with guitars, everyone joining
in with the kind of gusto only young people could muster, and by the time the
talking and singing was done it was almost midnight, the embers were dying, and
people started drifting back to their tents.

Haider was a little drunk as he
produced three more bottles of beer, and with a grin handed one each to Rachel
and Weaver.

'I thought I'd keep us a nightcap.
How about we say our last goodnight to Zoser?'

'Why not,' Rachel agreed, and the
three of them strolled over to Zoser's Step pyramid, in high spirits after the
alcohol they'd consumed, Weaver carrying a kerosene lamp to light the way. They
sat on the stone blocks at the base, as they'd done almost every night the
entire summer, still awed by the beauty and vastness of the
five-thousand-year-old tomb. 'So this is it,' said Haider with genuine sadness.
'Our last night at
Sakkara
.'

Rachel was down-hearted. 'I hate
the thought of leaving. It's been such a wonderful time here, and great fun.'
She looked at them both. 'And it's all been because of you, Jack, and you,
Harry. You've helped make it the most memorable time of my life. I want to
thank you for that.'

Haider said suddenly, 'Remember
that photograph Harry had taken? The one of the three of us together?'

'Of course. Why?'

Haider took a swig from his bottle
and gave a mischievous grin. 'You know, I've been thinking. We need more than a
photograph to commemorate our summer together. Something that will last for
centuries.'

'What exactly do you mean, Jack?'
Weaver asked.

Haider stood, unsteady on his feet.
'Wait here.'

He took the kerosene lamp, ambled
over to one of the tents occupied by the Egyptian workmen, and came back after
a while carrying a tattered canvas bag.

Weaver said, 'What the devil are
you up to, Jack?’

'Have patience. No speaking,
please. Not a word, or you'll distract me. And no looking until I tell you.'

He moved a distance away, further
along the stone base, put down the lamp, and produced a hammer and chisel from
the bag. He sat there working away intently in the lamplight, hammering at one
of the slabs of rock, and when he was finally done, he wiped sweat from his
face and smiled. 'OK. You can see now.'

He held up the lamp and they
joined him.

All along the base of Zoser's
pyramid there were inscriptions in the players of stepped rock, and on their
first day at
Sakkara
they had marveled at
them; hundreds and hundreds of names and initials carved over the centuries by
countless visitors. Even though illegal, it was a custom that no authority had
been able to prevent. Some of the inscriptions even dated as far back as Roman
times.

'Jack,'

Rachel laughed. 'You're not only
drunk, you're crazy. Papa will be horrified if he finds out you've defaced a
treasured monument.'

'Maybe, but now we're immortal.'
Jack smiled. 'Just like our princess. Years from now, people will come here and
perhaps, just perhaps, they'll wonder who we were. We're part of the mystery of
the pyramids.'

Rachel touched his arm fondly.
'You know something? I'm glad you chiseled our initials. We've had such a
special time here, it somehow seems appropriate. Don't you think so, Harry?'

'At least there'll be something to
remember us by, long after we're dead.' Weaver raised his beer. 'I'd like to
propose a toast.

‘To us. And to
Sakkara
.'

'To us. And to
Sakkara
.'

They chorused the toast and
laughed, then talked for a while, as they watched the lights burning all over
Cairo
in the dark
distance, until finally Rachel stood and dusted down her trousers. 'And now,
I'd really better get to bed. I'm so looking forward to the party tomorrow
night. You'd better both "S: promise me a dance.' She kissed them each on
the cheek, with genuine tenderness. 'Goodnight, Jack. Goodnight, Harry. Sleep
well, my loves.'

'Don't you want us to guide you
back with the lamp?'

'No, stay and finish your beer.
I'll be fine in the moonlight.'

She walked towards the tents, and
for a long time Weaver watched her go in the dim silver light as she faded like
a ghost, until he looked across and saw that Haider was watching her too,
almost in a trance.

'Are you thinking what I'm
thinking?'

'I don't know, Jack. Tell me.'

'That she's the prettiest, most
wonderful woman either of us has ever met.'

'You've read my mind, as always.'

'Let's be honest here, Harry. The
truth of it is, we're both infatuated with Rachel. So why don't we cut out all
that manly garbage of not showing our feelings and both say how we feel?

It's something we've avoided
talking about.'

'You want me to be truthful about
how I feel?'

'Very. Cards on the table. Promise
I'll do the same.'

Weaver looked away, towards
darkened
Cairo
.
'I couldn't sleep last night thinking about her, especially knowing that these
were the last days I'd spend in her company. And not a day's gone by since I've
met her that I haven't thought about her, wanted to be with her. Even just to
see her face. To hear her voice. She's the first real woman I've ever fallen in
love with.'

Haider was solemn. 'That bad, eh?'

'I guess so. And it won't seem to
go away.'

'But you never told her even
vaguely how you felt, did you?'

'You know I didn't. And that's the
crazy thing about it.

Something's always held me back.
Fear of being rejected, maybe, or of losing her friendship if she didn't feel
the same way and my admission complicated things.' Weaver shrugged.

'Or maybe it was something else.
I'm not really sure. So, what about you?'

For a moment, Haider looked
suddenly very young, like a little boy, uncomfortable confessing a secret, but
then the moment passed. 'I'd like to tell you something first. Something

I haven't ever told anyone. When
my mother was finally dying, she didn't allow my father to see her, to say his
last goodbye. Not because she didn't love him, but for the very opposite
reason.

She loved him so much. Saying
goodbye would have been too painful, too final for them both, and she knew
that.' He turned to Weaver. 'Theirs was a great love, Harry. And in a way I've
always wanted the same kind of thing. Truly deep, full of honest passion.'

'And how do you feel about Rachel?
Be honest.'

'Sometimes - often - I'd lie
awake, restless, imagining all the things I'd like to happen between her and
me. I'd picture us together. I'd picture her pregnant with my child, and happy
that she was my wife. I'd picture making love to her - not just sex, but real,
honest-to-God love. The kind of tenderness a man should feel for a woman he truly
loves. And so many times I really wanted to tell her.' Haider looked at his
friend. 'You know how foolhardy and impetuous I usually am, and I can't say I
wasn't tempted to tell her such things. But like you, I just couldn't.'

'Why not?'

'Probably for the same reason as
you. I really didn't want to upset the apple cart.'

'What do you mean?'

Haider placed a hand fondly on
Weaver's shoulder. 'There's another kind of love - not physical, but brotherly,
or deep friendship, call it what you will, and it's just as important. You
always were the best friend I've ever had. Maybe if one of us had made a pass,
it would have ruined everything. I don't just mean between us, because I
honestly think our camaraderie is stronger than that, but I mean the friendship
we've all had this summer.

And I didn't want that to happen.'

'I guess I know what you mean.
Besides, when you add it up, the three of us had a great time. And maybe that's
what's really important.'

'Still, Harry, we've both got it
bad. And there has to be a practical solution.' Haider's drunkenness was
suddenly gone and he allowed himself a playful smile. 'Friendship aside, what
if there's the remotest chance that Rachel might be in love with one of us?’

'What do you mean?'

'If it were so, wouldn't it be a
shame that we didn't let nature take its course? Otherwise, we could both spend
the rest of our lives regretting that we didn't tell her how we felt before she
leaves. At least one of us could be happy. And Rachel too. It would be fair all
round. How do you feel about that?'

'You really think she might be in
love with one of us?'

Haider smiled again. 'Either way,
tomorrow's our last chance to find out.'

The American ambassador's
residence was packed with international dignitaries, the cream of Egyptian and
European expatriate society, everyone from movie stars to diplomats, senior
military officers to academics. The party was in full swing, everyone in good
spirits, and as Weaver made his way through the dance-floor crowds, he
acknowledged the handshakes from the other members of the team saying their
goodbyes. The press had been invited, and a trestle table had been erected in
the foyer, two Egyptian policemen standing guard over some of the valuables the
dig had uncovered: gem necklaces, scarabs, gold amulets and stone cartouches.
As Weaver thanked his well wishers politely, others pressed in on him, and
suddenly he had a desperate urge to be alone. 'Would you excuse me, please? I
need some fresh air.'

He made his way through the
throng, crossed to a French window and stepped out on to a balcony. It was cool
outside, lotus and bougainvillea scenting the night air, the window boxes full
of flowers. The residency gardens were magnificent, a wooden pavilion in the
grounds was lit up with colored lights, and the majestic
Nile
lay beyond the walls. But that night there seemed an incredible stillness about
the city, the usual traffic noise the merest whisper.

As he stood there, enjoying the
solitude and the perfumed air, the door opened and Rachel appeared, wearing a
simple black dress that hugged her figure, Jack Haider behind her. He wore a
linen suit and held a bottle of ice-cold champagne and three glasses. As he
handed a glass across, he smiled. 'Quite a party, isn't it? But you look like
you've had enough dancing for one evening, Harry. We thought we might find you
somewhere quiet. Have another drink.'

'Why not.' Weaver took the
champagne, and when Rachel was handed hers she placed it on the balcony,
untouched, a sudden exhaustion showing in her face.

'Tired?' Weaver asked.

She smiled. 'I'm afraid you and
Jack have worn me off my feet.'

Haider said, 'By the way, before I
forget, there's a few important people who'd like to meet you, Rachel.'

'Who?'

'The ambassador wants to pay his
respects, and a fellow named Kemal Assan. He's the son of an Egyptian dignitary
who's an acquaintance of my father's. There's also a visiting professor from
the
British
Museum
who's had far too much to drink
and speaks like this-' Haider pinched his nose in a mock gesture, and imitated
a perfect upper-class English accent.

'They're a boring lot, my dear, so
I told the ruddy chaps you're tired and they can't keep you long. Shall I fetch
them in?'

Rachel giggled. 'Thanks, Jack.'

He went out and Rachel said, 'So,
this is our last evening together, Harry. I'll miss you.'

'You mean that?'

'Of course.' She looked into his
face, and said suddenly, 'You know what's strange? I know so little of your
background. Jack's is an open book. An American mother and a wealthy Prussian
father who's a well-known collector of Egyptian artifacts.

Languages and the classics at
Heidelberg
, and a year at
Oxford
in between.' She laughed. 'You can
tell - he does that funny, upper-class English accent so well. But you've never
spoken much about your past, except for the few things you've told me about.
You graduated in engineering in
New
York
, and you and Jack have been friends since
childhood.' She smiled. 'There has to be much more, unless you're keeping
secrets. Tell me how you both met. I'd love to know.’

Weaver sipped his champagne,
looked out over the balcony.

'There isn't much to tell. When I
was five, my father became the caretaker on the estate belonging to the family
of Jack's mother.

It's a big, rambling old place in
upstate
New York
.
We were the only two children, both only sons, and I guess it was natural we'd
either become rivals or friends. But we became friends, right from the very start.
Whenever we were together, we'd spend our time getting up to mischief on the
estate. The Troublesome Two, his father called us. Sure, his family were
wealthy, and mine were just ordinary folks, but Franz Haider always treated us
with respect, no matter mat we came from different sides of the tracks. He was
never a snob and he made sure his son wasn't one, either. Even as a small boy,
Jack was always good fun to be with, and a great companion. There isn't a
pretentious bone in his body.'

'What drew you to
Egypt
?'

'After I graduated last year, I
went to work for a civil engineering firm in
New York
. But to tell the truth, after a
couple of months I was beginning to find it boring. Jack's father liked to keep
some of his collection at the estate. As children we'd see the kind of exotic
things you'd come across only in books or museums - scarabs, ancient jewellery
- and it was all so wondrous we'd spend hours looking at them. When Jack wrote
and told me he was coming to
Egypt
to help with the dig, he asked if I'd like to come along. We'd hardly seen each
other in almost six months, he'd been so busy helping his father with family
business interests in
Germany
,
and besides, I was ready to jump at the chance to get away from a stuffy
Manhattan
office. It
seemed like a once-in-a lifetime opportunity. So I decided to scrimp together
what few dollars I'd saved, quit my job, and take up the offer.'

'No girlfriends left behind?'

'No one worth talking about.'

'And no regrets about what you've
done?'

'Not one. The only trouble is,
it's kind of spoiled me. I don't think I can go back to the kind of career I
had before. At least not until my money runs out. It's been more fun putting my
engineering skills to work on a dig like this, instead of building roads in
New York
.’

'You know what surprises me? That
Jack never became an archaeologist.'

'I think he's too restless to
commit himself to any one thing.

He says himself he'll always be
just a fanatical amateur, like his father. He brought him here on visits as a
child, but I guess you know that. And for as long as I've known him he's been
in love with this country, fascinated by it, and not only its history, but
everything about it - its culture, its people. I guess the fascination's sort
of rubbed off on me.'

'You like Jack very much, don't
you?'

'He's always been my best friend,'
Weaver answered honestly.

'He's like the brother I never
had. And I'm grateful for his friendship. Besides, if it wasn't for his father,
I probably never would have gone to college.'

'What do you mean?'

'Franz Haider paid for my
education. My own father could never have afforded it, though all he had to do
in return was to make sure he kept the estate gardens filled with white lilies,
the kind Jack's late mother loved so much.'

Rachel hesitated. 'Is that why you
didn't talk about your past? Did you feel beholden to Jack and his family?'

'Not a bit,' Weaver said with
conviction. 'They were simply good people who wanted to help me get a proper
education.

And I'll always be grateful. But
Jack's father isn't the kind to make you feel under an obligation. And nothing
like that would spoil the friendship between Jack and me, I'm sure of it. In
fact, nothing at all ever has. We've always got on like a house on fire.'

'You've never fallen out?'

'Not ever. I guess that's kind of
remarkable. Sure, we've had our minor differences, but nothing we couldn't
agree to disagree about.'

Rachel looked at him, and said
honestly, 'You know something?

I think you're both lucky. To have
met each other. To have become such good friends. I thought that from the very
start, when I first met you both. It's such a rare thing. Something to be
cherished. And I hope nothing ever comes between you.'

She smiled then, looked into his
eyes, but with an inexplicable sadness in her own, and on impulse took a flower
from one of the window boxes and placed it in his buttonhole, before leaning
over and kissing him gently on the lips. 'A small gift from me. Something far
less than a college education, but meant sincerely. I'm just so happy you came
to help on the dig, Harry. I can't imagine what it would have been like without
you and Jack.'

Weaver looked back at her, at the
striking blue eyes and pretty face. 'I'll miss you too, Rachel.'

'Will you, honestly?'

'More than I can tell. But I'm
worried.'

'About what?'

'We hear all this talk about
what's happening to the Jews in
Germany
.
If you ever go back-'

He let the sentence hang, and
Rachel said quietly, 'There's no chance of my parents or I returning to
Germany
. Not
until this war has blown over and the Nazis are no longer in power.

For now,
Istanbul
will be our home, and it'll be safe.
My father has a lot of contacts there and he's sure he can get a more permanent
lecturing post. But to be honest, it's Jack I'm more concerned about.'

'What do you mean?'

'He's bound to go back to
Germany
,
so it's likely he'll be conscripted. But he's being the optimist about how long
the war might last. He seems to think the whole thing will have blown over by
Christmas, once Hitler has his way and annexes
Poland
.'

'He said that?'

'I heard him mention it tonight.
And I suppose it's what a lot of people are saying. The optimists, mainly. But
me, I'm not so sure. I think if it carries on, it could be truly awful.' She
changed the subject, as if to lighten the mood. 'Still, at least we all had
this time together. It's something I'll treasure and remember. Always.'

Their eyes met, and something
passed between them, Weaver was certain of it, and he looked at her a long time
before he made to speak, wanting to tell her how he truly felt, but then he saw
her glance away, towards the party, and suddenly she seemed ill at ease.

'What's the matter?’

'Noth - nothing.'

Weaver looked back, through the
open veranda door, and noticed a thin-faced Egyptian with a hook nose, wearing
a pale linen suit, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a marble column. His
skin was pockmarked. He looked faintly sinister, and he directed a darting
glance towards them, but when he noticed Weaver staring, he disappeared into
the crowd. Weaver looked back at Rachel. 'That man - was he bothering you?'

She shivered. 'It seems like he's
been watching me all evening.'

'Maybe I should find out who he
is.'

She put a hand on his arm. 'No,
don't bother, he's probably harmless. He just made me feel a little
uncomfortable, that's all.

But he's gone now.'

Just then two men stepped through
the open door, led by Haider, one of them the American ambassador, tall and
distinguished-looking, the other a formal-looking young Egyptian in his early
twenties, wearing the traditional Arab robe, the djellaba, with gold and silver
thread.

Haider came forward with a smile.
'I'm afraid they're trying to sober up the visiting British professor, he's
completely plastered. But allow me to introduce the ambassador, and Kemal
Assan.'

The ambassador shook Rachel's hand
warmly. 'Miss Stern, it's a pleasure. I'm a great admirer of your father's
work. And Kemal has been looking forward to meeting you all night. He has a
keen interest in your excavations, hardly surprising when you consider that his
father is one of the most senior officials with the Ministry of Antiquities, not
to mention a close personal friend of King Farouk.'

Kemal Assan gave the Arab
greeting, touching his hand to his heart, then his head. 'A tremendous pleasure
to make your acquaintance, Miss Stern. My country owes you and your father's
team a great debt. You've done wonderful work. I'm certain King Farouk and the
government will want to thank you and your family for your efforts and that you
will always be honoured guests in
Egypt
.'

'You're very kind, Kemal.' Rachel
looked out at the lights and the city, aware of the powerful stillness. 'I've
never known
Cairo
to be so quiet. It's as if a storm's about to break.'

'There's a bad atmosphere in the
air, I'm afraid.' Assan shrugged. 'It almost seems as if the entire city is
waiting to hear what more unpleasant news the war will bring.'

Jack Haider glanced at his watch
and said diplomatically, 'And now, gentlemen, I'm afraid I must drag you away.
Rachel's got a train to catch to
Port
Said
early tomorrow, and she needs her beauty sleep.'