Song of the Nile

by Fielding, Hannah

  Alastair nodded pensively. Aida thought he was going to say something, but instead he smiled and moved on to different subjects.

  The desserts display was just as spectacular. There was om ali, a delicious Egyptian dish served hot and rather like bread and butter pudding, but with almonds, hazelnuts, raisins, pistachios and a lot of cream; large trays of baklava pastries, beautiful-coloured crystal bowls of kazandibi, baked custard with mastica served with pomegranate ice cream and morello cherry sauce; meyve tatlisi, pears poached with saffron, figs and apricots, served chilled with cardamon ice cream, huge gold plates of revani, a moist semolina and orange cake soaked in orange syrup and served with honey yoghurt sherbet; and finally, a bombe of dondurma, an ice cream made with milk, sugar, salep orchid flour, and mastic. Princess Nazek’s guests were spoilt for choice.

  Aida helped herself to a big bowl of om ali. It had always been her favourite pudding when Dada Amina made it from an old El Masri family recipe, though she had yet to find one that tasted half as good as hers.

  After dinner, the music in the ballroom started again for those who were not keen on local entertainment. To the delight of the Egyptian and Turkish guests, Kawkab Al Shark, Star of the East, were to take the stage – the Arabic singer Om Kalthoum, always known as El Sit, the Dame, and her male counterpart, Abdel Wahab – and this famous musical duo would be performing their greatest hits in the sumptuous reception room of the saraya.

  The prince gave his attention once more to Aida midway through dinner, to the irritation of the enthralled redhead beside him, and their conversation had become easier now that he had cordially introduced her to the other guests at the table. He accepted a liqueur from a passing waiter and turned back to her.

  ‘Are you fond of Egyptian music?’

  ‘Not really. It’s a little too repetitive for my liking and goes on for too long.’

  He laughed. ‘You surprise me. Om Kalthoum is the greatest female Arabic singer in the world. The variations in the intonations of her voice are quite extraordinary. Two years ago, King Farouk awarded her the Nishan el Kamal, one of the highest orders, a decoration normally reserved for members of the royal family. She usually refuses to sing at private parties, you know.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I know she’s a great star, but on the whole, I find Egyptian music monotonous. I must admit, we never listened to it at home, so my ear is not used to it, and that might be the reason I don’t understand it. But please don’t let me stop you from going to listen to the performance. I realise it’s a very special event. Anyhow, I should be looking for Camelia and Uncle Kamel.’

  This was true, she hadn’t seen them all evening.

  ‘No doubt they will be attending the performance.’

  Aida laughed. ‘Uncle Kamel maybe, but not Camelia. She shares my views. But please, don’t let me keep you, go ahead. No doubt Camelia and I will find each other eventually, especially now that the ballroom will be relatively empty.’

  He leaned towards her, a little too close for comfort. ‘I feel I’m deserting you,’ he murmured.

  Aida felt suddenly uneasy again. ‘Not at all … I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Will you keep the last dance for me?’

  The prince had been courteous and had more or less looked after her all evening and although Aida didn’t like to commit, there was no reason why she shouldn’t save it for him.

  She forced a smile. ‘Yes, of course I will.’

  ‘Thank you. So, à tout à l’heure then.’

  Aida wandered off towards the ballroom, where Alastair Carlisle immediately joined her.

  ‘Not a fan of Arabic music, Miss El Masri?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Well, that’s my luck. Care for a waltz, or would you prefer to be a spectator?’

  ‘Actually, I’d like a glass of water.’

  ‘So, let’s go and ask for it from one of those smart suffragis standing in attendance all over the place – though I doubt very much they’ll offer plain water. It’ll most likely be flavoured with rose or orange blossom.’

  ‘Actually, I quite like that.’

  They found a suffragi who was going around with a tray of sharbat ward, a cordial made of rose petals and lemonade, and a plate of Turkish delight. They each helped themselves to a glass and found a little bench outside the ballroom on the terrace, from where a few guests were still ambling back inside through rows of arched Moorish porticos to catch the performance. The air was beginning to cool, and here, at the back of the palace, the sculpted gardens were lit by lanterns among the shrubs and trees, creating little dancing shadows here and there.

  ‘I didn’t want to say anything over dinner, but I’m rather relieved that Prince Shams Sakr El Din is only a new acquaintance of yours,’ Alastair remarked as they sat down.

  Aida feigned surprise. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘A rather shady gentleman, our Bedouin Prince Charming.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘During the war, we suspected he was supplying arms to the Germans.’

  Aida’s brows shot up. ‘Arms? Surely not! How would he get hold of them?’

  ‘Oh, there are a million ways, my dear. One of them being bribery, of course. As you know, Egypt unfortunately is a very poor and corrupt place. Before the war, we knew that the prince was involved in another sort of trafficking, the nature of which I am not free to disclose, I’m afraid,’ he added, seeing her quizzical look.

  ‘Any proof?’

  ‘We have never been able to pin anything on him … He’s too crafty. A real desert fox, that one. I would avoid him if I were you.’

  ‘Well, the war has ended, so trafficking arms to the Germans doesn’t apply anymore,’ Aida said defensively. She didn’t like people meddling in her affairs, especially if they implied she was being hoodwinked and wasn’t capable of looking after herself.

  The consul paused. ‘It seems that he’s still up to something … He’s a big fish. We’re keeping an eye on him.’

  ‘You mean trafficking?’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘Hashish?’

  ‘Among other things … There could be antiquities involved.’

  Aida stilled. ‘Antiquities?’ Her mind immediately jumped to the stolen Nefertari statue that had been her father’s undoing. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘We have our reasons.’

  She hesitated, weighing up how much to say to Alastair at this point. ‘I’m sure you must know about the case of my father, Ayoub El Masri, just before the war. He was wrongly accused of theft of an antiquity.’

  Alastair’s face became suddenly guarded and grave. ‘Yes, I’m aware of your father’s trial, though I wasn’t working at the Embassy at the time.’ He gave her a knowing look. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. I know your father was a well-repected figure.’

  Aida’s gaze was scrutinising as she fixed him with her big blue eyes. ‘No doubt the statue my father was accused of stealing was a trafficked piece, and the Embassy would have some theory about where it came from or who else might have been suspected at the time.’

  He sighed. ‘I can’t tell you more, Miss El Masri, I’m sorry. Even if I had any information about your father’s case, I’m not at liberty to discuss Embassy business and I’ve already said too much. My intention was merely to warn you off the prince. He has quite a reputation with the ladies and he seemed rather taken by you. You’re a nice young woman, and with your uncle being a friend of Sir Miles …’

  Aida could see she would get no further with her fishing. She smiled graciously, ‘I appreciate your concern but you have nothing to worry about as far as I’m concerned.’

  Strange though, she thought, her mind returning to the suave Bedouin prince. This was the third person warning her off Shams Sakr El Din, and yet he seemed to have an army of male and female followers. It didn’t surprise her that he was at the centre of gossip – after all, he was a gentleman Bedouin, and Egyptian society was not without its pre
judices, a truth she had experienced at their hands eight years before for rather different reasons. Was his reputation really deserved, or was it all born of hearsay and disapproval? She had never been a person with preconceived ideas, she reminded herself, so she would find out for herself.

  Alastair and Aida sat a little longer on the terrace. The consul was interesting company and they talked about the war and their respective experience of it, and of this and that, but as time went on, it was getting chilly and so they decided to go back inside.

  They were soon joined by the prince, whose gaze flicked straight to Aida.

  ‘Ah, there you are! I’ve been looking for you. I see that in my absence you’ve been entertained by the lovely Alastair.’ His smile was slightly mocking. ‘Flowers and gardens and bees to honey, habibti. Come, let’s dance,’ he added, taking her elbow rather too possessively, she noted, which she didn’t like at all. ‘El Sit has finished her performance and I can listen to Abdel Wahab any time,’ he added, drawing Aida towards the dancefloor.

  As she turned her head slightly, considering how she could best extricate herself from the prince’s grip, with a sudden jolt she spotted two familiar men in the crowd, deep in conversation, both of whom shared the same proud, charismatic demeanour. One of them was Phares Pharaony.

  Aida blinked, for a moment disorientated by his sudden appearance. Her heart skipped a beat. So, he had come after all. She had almost resigned herself to not seeing him tonight but there he was, his dark unruly hair tamed into thick waves combed back from his forehead. He was standing talking to his father next to one of the French windows that led into the garden. Noticing that they were both looking at her, she felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Phares in particular was staring at her, seemingly sharing the same surprise and confusion. His gaze seemed to grow in intensity, and she found it impossible to read from across the room.

  ‘Anything the matter?’ asked the prince as he began to whirl her around the room, his mouth close to Aida’s ear.

  ‘No, no,’ she replied quickly, but more than anything now she wanted to twist out of the Bedouin’s grasp.

  As they swished past Phares, Aida saw his eyes flare at her. She drew in a ragged breath, scorched by the angry fire she read in their dark depths.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ the prince asked again.

  She kept her eyes fixed on his shoulder. ‘I’m starting to get tired, I suppose. It’s been a long evening.’

  ‘The waltz after this is the last one. It’s past two o’clock in the morning and the carriages will be arriving any minute now. You did promise me the last dance,’ he reminded her smoothly.

  Once again, they twirled round the room but when Aida looked again towards the French windows where she had spotted Phares, he wasn’t there anymore. Camelia had taken his place next to her father and was watching her friend with a half smile.

  The dance ended soon after that, much to Aida’s relief.

  ‘Will I see you again before you go back to Luxor?’ the prince asked, clasping her hand captive in both of his.

  ‘I’m afraid not. I’m not sure yet, but I might be leaving tomorrow evening if I find a place on the flight.’

  ‘If you don’t, do you promise to ring me?’

  She tried to pull away gently, but he held her hand fast. ‘I really …’

  He didn’t let her finish and pressed two fingers to her lips, a very intimate gesture which was quite risqué in such narrow-minded society. ‘Don’t answer now, have a think … I’ve given you my details …’

  Aida didn’t answer. She wasn’t really listening, and gave a distracted nod. Feeling smothered, she had only one thought in her mind: to get away from him.

  She had no doubt that the Pharaonys would reprimand her for letting herself be monopolised by one man all evening, particularly one like Prince Shams Sakr El Din. Clearly, in their eyes, Aida was still promised to Phares. Not only that, but her open fraternising with the prince linked their names together, and with no official engagement between them, any respectable Egyptian family would deem it unacceptable – only foreigners behaved in this dissolute way. Furthermore, the prince was a notorious womaniser, and a Muslim at that, whereas Aida was Christian; even if she was romantically interested in the prince, it was a hopeless situation which precluded any idea of marriage between them. In her reckless mood Aida had quite enjoyed herself, and even if she did feel largely uncontrite about her self-indulgence, now she was slightly exhausted by the dancing and the wine she had drunk with dinner.

  Finally, Sakr El Din disappeared into the crowd. She glanced around the ballroom, which was presently emptying as people lined up to take their leave of Princess Nazek. Kamel, Camelia and Phares were nowhere to be seen. Aida wasn’t particularly worried about that – they had probably gone ahead and she would meet them at the car. The queue of departing guests had lengthened tremendously in the last few minutes; it would take her almost a quarter of an hour to reach her hostess if she joined it now. Hot and light-headed, she decided to take some air and headed for the same French windows where she had spotted Phares earlier.

  It was one of those heavenly Egyptian nights, with a sky of velvet pricked by scintillating stars and a warm, caressing air. It felt good to be alone for a while. Aida stood leaning against the terrace parapet, taking deep breaths of the night air which was faintly scented by a flowering jasmine shrub whose delicate cream-coloured flowers hung down the wall.

  It took a few minutes for her to realise another scent had joined it – the drifting aroma of a strong but not unpleasant tobacco. An expensive brand. She recognised the distinctive fragrance immediately, remembering it from years ago, when it had always given away the presence of the smoker, making her pulse quicken as it was now. In an almost Pavlovian response, a hot tingle ran down her spine.

  Aida cast a look behind her to where the shadows were almost black, faintly discerning a tall shape and the orange glow of a cigarette as it was drawn upon, making the tip glow hotly. He approached her slowly with the lithe, elegant movement of a big cat.

  ‘Phares,’ she breathed.

  He was so handsome tonight in his conventional evening suit fitted superbly to his wide-shouldered, lean and powerful frame. He stood towering over her, relaxed, half smiling, yet exuding animal virility, the narrowed lids of his large burning eyes raking over her face. Everything about him spoke of brute strength, which only served to make her feel more vulnerable – a familiar sensation that sent her reeling back to that awkward teenager, caught in his devastating gaze.

  ‘So, Goldilocks, you are Aida El Masri?’ His eyes held hers in a long, almost intimate encounter and it was like the first clash of foils in a fencing duel – light, instantly withdrawn, but a clash all the same. Echoes of past confrontations filled Aida’s mind but this time it had a different edge that made her pulse kick madly. ‘I told you we’d meet again. Somehow I remember that teenage Aida differently. Funny, eh?’

  His tone was like the jab of a spur and Aida leapt recklessly to answer him. ‘I remember you exactly as you are, as you always were, Phares Pharaony,’ she said.

  He chuckled. ‘Touché! And how is that, might I ask?’ he taunted, his barely disguised mockery infuriating her.

  ‘Arrogant, haughty and narrow-minded.’

  ‘Is that how you see me?’

  ‘That is how you are.’

  ‘How do you know? You’ve been away for eight years.’

  ‘Leopards don’t change their spots,’ she answered tightly.

  His gaze softened, and his voice fell to a low purr. He smiled wistfully. ‘You’ve changed. I didn’t recognise you the other day.’

  ‘Obviously.’ She didn’t know whether to be irritated by this or oddly pleased that she was unrecognisable now from the sturdily built young girl who had secretly pined for him.

  Her eyes fell to his mouth as it blew out a long trail of smoke. He was watching her now through the faint film of blue haze and in spite of her unspoken resolve to remai
n at a safe distance from this man, something inside her was melting under the mingled amusement and sensuality of that look. If only she wasn’t still desperately attracted to him. How ironic that everyone was trying to protect her from Prince Shams Sakr El Din, while it was the man standing before her who represented a far greater danger.

  Aida ignored his comment. ‘Where are Uncle Kamel and Camelia? I lost sight of them.’

  ‘I guess you were too busy lapping up His Highness’s saccharine compliments.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Phares, spare me your sarcasm! Prejudice and bigotry … I certainly haven’t missed that in the last eight years.’

  Phares laughed lazily. ‘Well, I’ve missed the barbs on your tongue. In that respect you haven’t changed either.’ He exhaled smoke and his dark eyes dwelt pensively on Aida’s face, holding her mesmerised – so intense and prolonged was his look, she felt involved in the deepest intimacy.

  Why was it that whenever they had a conversation, without fail, she ended up being on the defensive? Even after all this time. It had always been that way with Phares; he had the knack of stirring her emotions and getting under her skin, and now that she was a grown woman, her physical reaction to him was even more potent.

  Nothing had changed.

  The quicker she rejoined the others, the faster she would end the perilous direction this tête à tête was taking. She had been here before, and more often than not her quick temper and ‘barbed tongue’, as Phares put it, had let her down. Tonight she didn’t feel she was up to fencing with him. She remembered those heated discussions which invariably ended with her being in the wrong, as far as Phares was concerned, and decided to change the subject.

  ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’ she said quietly. ‘I assumed you’d all gone before me and would be waiting for me at the car. The queue was long so I came out for a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Father and Camelia were the first to leave as he’s catching a plane for Alexandria early tomorrow morning and needs to get some sleep.’ Something sparked in his dark eyes. ‘So, I’m afraid you’re lumbered with me as I offered to wait and take you home.’