Song of the Nile

by Fielding, Hannah

  ‘I don’t!’ Her heart was thudding in wild sledgehammer blows against her ribs.

  ‘Don’t look so violated, Goldilocks,’ he murmured. ‘Why not be honest, and acknowledge that your body betrays you? It says you excite me.’

  The allegation scandalised her and his calm smile was infuriating. ‘Are you daring to imply I invited this assault?’ she stormed, wiping a shaking hand across her mouth. ‘If it was to amuse yourself, you’re more despicable than I thought.’

  ‘You find me wanting in a great many ways,’ he replied dryly. ‘It’s a pity, since I had high hopes for the future … Come, let’s go home before I do something we’ll both regret.’

  The stinging edge in Phares’s voice made Aida flinch away from him. She moved blindly towards the car in silence, filled with new bewildering emotions. She was bitterly conscious of his broad frame just behind her, watching her retreat. If she were honest, she would admit that when his mouth left hers she could have cried out. It was like being bereft, cut off from an essential life force. Electrifying pulses still throbbed through her.

  There was no wind tonight, yet at this moment there was a rustle, a sigh among the stones and the palm trees as a small eddy of sand drifted across the young woman’s face. A breath from the desert, no more. Yet an imaginative soul might have thought that the old gods had stirred, had softly laughed – that they had known what Aida did not know …

  The stars were still thick overhead; the thin crescent moon still smiling gallantly upon the three colossi, which rose majestically in the silvery beams. But Aida’s heart was heavy, tears of humiliation hovering behind her eyes as they drove back to Kasr El Ghoroub.

  Chapter 5

  Next day dawned brilliant. Kasr El Ghoroub sparkled in the sunshine, its climbing roses and jasmine hanging in heavy, drooping clusters, and in the surrounding gardens the pink petunias and purple orchids flagged somewhat in the glare of the new day. Out in the desert the sand shone like closely packed particles of gold. The air was hot and clear, with the peculiar soft freshness of the Egyptian early morning, and the distant pyramids were veiled in a purple mist, which lay like a faint bloom upon the austere stone outlines. The sky, blue and cloudless, the sand rolling away in endless yellow waves, the pink glow on the faraway dunes combined with an exquisite clearness of effect which enchanted Aida. For the past eight years, she had grown used to grey skies, faint colour contrasts, and an unvarying monotony of green and brown.

  She and Camelia had just come on to the terrace to have breakfast.

  ‘I really don’t understand why you’ve suddenly decided to leave for Luxor today,’ Camelia told her friend as she helped herself to a slice of roumi cheese and baladi bread, which had been made on the premises in an old-fashioned mud oven. ‘You said you were here for a couple of days.’

  ‘I promised Uncle Naguib that I’d be back immediately after the ball,’ Aida answered in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘There’s a lot of work to be done and I have no excuse to let it pile up more.’

  ‘I’m sure all this has to do with Phares bringing you home last night.’

  Aida did not look up from buttering her toast. Involuntarily, her mind filled with the memory of being with Phares in the desert the night before … of his powerful body against hers … the wild thrill of his insatiable kiss … the way he had revealed her vulnerability with such shocking ease …

  ‘You’re reading too much into this,’ she lied.

  ‘No, I’m not. I haven’t seen Phares this morning. He left very early for the hospital, but I heard you come in last night and I’m sure you didn’t come straight from the ball. It was very late.’ Camelia eyed her friend curiously. ‘Where did you go?’

  Aida felt herself blush. Under the pretext of wiping her mouth, she used her napkin to hide her telltale guilty expression.

  ‘We went for a drive to the pyramids.’

  ‘What were you doing out there?’

  ‘Phares was fooling around, as usual,’ Aida mumbled as she bit into the slice of toast without looking at her friend.

  ‘Phares does not fool around. I have a good idea why he took you out there.’ Camelia’s voice bore an edge. ‘Why do you insist on looking at it that way? A romantic setting, a handsome man in playful mood, and what do you do? You sneer.’

  ‘I’m being honest. Besides, he ignored me all evening. How could he expect me to fall into his arms at the snap of his fingers?’

  ‘He hadn’t recognised you, and when I pointed you out, at first he didn’t believe me.’

  ‘As the saying goes: out of sight, out of mind.’

  ‘Hardly. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you and was in a shocking mood for the rest of the evening because that Bedouin was monopolising you.’

  ‘What was stopping him from coming up to me if that was the case?’

  ‘As I said, he hadn’t recognised you earlier and so you hadn’t been introduced.’

  We hadn’t been officially introduced, but we had met, Aida thought to herself, recalling their brief encounter on that sunny morning at Kasr El Shorouk not so long ago.

  ‘You’ve changed, Aida. It took me a few seconds to place you when we bumped into each other at Shemla. Eight years is a long time. When you left, you were what the British call a “bonnie lass”. Look at you … you’ve come back a stunningly beautiful young woman, elegant and sophisticated. Men at the ball were devouring you with their eyes. One by one, through the evening, they came up to my father, asking who you were. I’m sure your uncle will have them queuing to ask for your hand after yesterday.’

  Rather than being flattered, Aida glared at her. She was about to say something, but Camelia raised her hand. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I know what you think of girls who see a prospective husband in every male on their horizon, but my point is that I also think my brother’s feelings for you run much deeper than any of us imagined. Seeing you again has triggered something in him that he’s ignored up until now.’

  Aida helped herself to a cup of coffee and tried to ignore her friend’s last comment. The idea that Phares might harbour deep feelings for her penetrated her poise, sending her thoughts in directions that were far too dangerous. ‘You’ve changed too,’ she smiled wryly. ‘You used to be very down-to-earth. While I devoured Delly’s romantic novels, you were much more interested in Agatha Christie’s murder mysteries. Now it seems you’re a real romantic.’

  Camelia shrugged. ‘It’s just that I know my brother well, and his reaction to seeing you yesterday was out of character. It was also very revealing. Even my father noticed it. He was quite pleased when Phares offered to bring you home.’

  Aida sighed and sipped her cup of strong coffee, lost for a moment in a chaos of conflicting thoughts. If ever the time came when she needed a confidante, Camelia would be that person, but Aida was not yet ready to talk. There were emotions which she had to understand, had to come to terms with. How she had imagined her return was very different from reality. Nothing was turning out as she had expected. Besides, she felt like a beetle under a microscope. She didn’t like the way everyone had been plotting and planning, putting pressure on her since she had come back to Egypt. Maybe it was time to make her own position perfectly clear once and for all.

  ‘I think you should all stop scheming, because nothing’s going to happen between your brother and me. No marriage, no Pharaony-El Masri alliance, and I’ve no intention of giving up my land.’

  Camelia paused, gazing at her friend speculatively. ‘Want to talk about it? I can be very impartial, you know?’

  Aida looked up sharply to frown at her friend. ‘No, Camelia. And I do not want to talk about it anymore.’

  ‘All right, no need to get upset.’ Seeing the look on Aida’s face, Camelia immediately backed down. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

  The two women were silent for some moments.

  ‘How was it with the prince?’

  ‘He’s a very charming and interesting man.’

  ‘He stuc
k to you all evening.’ Camelia’s tone was carefully neutral.

  ‘I know, and I realise how that must have seemed. Believe me, I did look for you, but I couldn’t see you.’

  ‘It was a real crush. One of us caught a glimpse of you from time to time, but you were either dancing or already seated for dinner. After dinner, Papa and Phares went to listen to Om Kalthoum.’

  Aida glanced at Camelia over her coffee. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I just went for a stroll in the grounds.’

  ‘Anyway, I also met one of the British consuls, Alastair Carlisle. I sat next to him at dinner. Do you know him?’

  Aida felt her friend stiffen. ‘I’ve met him a few times. He’s an English spy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Frowning, Camelia cut up another slice of roumi cheese into small pieces. ‘They’re all spies, these diplomats – you know, the socialite types who move from party to party, making so-called polite conversation, while all the time they’re trying to extract sensitive information that might give insight to our country’s affairs. Then they spend the next day on their typewriters reporting what they’ve heard.’

  Aida raised an eyebrow. ‘You never struck me as being anti-British.’

  ‘I’m not, I’m just telling you the facts.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s a bit of a generalisation? Besides, a year ago the world was still at war, and allegiances among the Egyptian population, as I understand it, were quite ambiguous. It seems a lot of Egyptians were pro-Germany.’

  ‘The local support for the Germans was not a reflection of their embracing antisemitism or European fascism,’ Camelia said, her voice gaining fervour. ‘They were simply voicing a protest against the British occupation. A lot of us hold them responsible for the absence of autonomy in our country. When Rommel landed in the Western Desert and engaged the Allies at El Alamein, we viewed that battle as the first step in Egypt’s liberation from British control. That is all.’

  ‘We? You’re speaking as though you share those views.’

  ‘I certainly do.’ Camelia’s large eyes flicked downwards. ‘But I speak for myself. Papa and the rest of the family have a different view. As you know, he thinks Egypt is better off under the British, even if they are responsible for keeping our weak king in power for their own ends. He doesn’t trust that Egypt is capable of self-rule.’

  Aida put down her coffee cup, regarding her friend thoughtfully. ‘You know, that’s another way you’ve changed, Camelia. You were never interested in politics.’

  Camelia stirred her coffee slowly. ‘Mounir was extremely nationalistic. He was an interesting and passionate man who taught me a lot about the history of our wonderful country.’

  ‘So really you are anti-British.’

  Her friend looked up. ‘It’s not that simple. Throughout the war, Egypt made an important contribution to the Allied effort. Now the British are in debt to us for the first time. We were hoping to be rewarded for our support by a British declaration of complete independence when the war ended. Instead, we have been sorely disappointed by their refusal to change the status of our country, despite all the best efforts of Prime Minister Sidqi. All the talk of independence was nothing more than a sham, so is it any surprise that the British have forfeited what little goodwill they had left?’ Camelia’s large eyes had grown even more expressive. ‘It’s no wonder there have been massive strikes and demonstrations, people dying.’

  ‘Is Phares of this opinion too?’

  Camelia sighed and shook her head. ‘Nothing has any importance for Phares apart from his patients, his operations, and his hospital – he is totally dedicated to his work.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful thing.’

  ‘Yaany, maybe, but it’s not a healthy way of living. That hospital, El Amal, is his life. Do you know, he makes a habit of turning up unexpectedly in various departments – the kitchens, laundry, path lab, X-ray room – quietly watching what’s going on for a few minutes, then leaving without speaking to anyone?’

  Aida nodded approvingly. ‘That just shows he has a passion for efficiency. It’s good that he keeps everyone on their toes.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I agree, habibti. But he’s not getting any younger and there’s more to life than work.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s thirty-four. At that age he should be married and know the joys of raising a family. All his friends are married. Their children adore him.’ Camelia flashed her friend a sideways look. ‘He’s very good with them, you know. He’d make an excellent father.’

  Aida’s heart turned over; she tried not to dwell on the thought of having children with Phares. ‘You’re saying that he has no other life than his work? No girlfriends?’

  ‘Of course he has girlfriends … foreigners, you know. But none whom he would actually think of marrying. They’re just a pastime for him.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because he believes that he must marry someone min toboh.’

  Aida nodded. Min toboh – marrying someone cut from the same cloth. She knew the expression well; it was popular in most Egyptian circles, rich or poor, Christian or Muslim. Sticking to someone from the same race, religion and social background was paramount for an Egyptian. Aida’s father had ignored this golden rule by marrying a foreigner and had suffered the consequences. But there was a whole other community in Egypt, one drawn from half the races of Europe. French, Italians, Maltese, Greeks and Armenians … Unlike the real Egyptians of the Coptic and Muslim communities, these big families frequently intermarried until all trace of their original ancestry was hopelessly confused; a happy, wholesome, polyglot crew, speaking half a dozen languages fluently, and none correctly.

  ‘There’s no shortage of nice Coptic girls,’ Aida pointed out. ‘You’ve said yourself that your Aunty Halima has been introducing Phares to a string of suitable young ladies, yet none seem to please him.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps your brother is just a misogynist?’

  Camelia burst out laughing. ‘I would say quite the reverse. He genuinely likes the company of women – and they’re all over him. You should see the nurses at the hospital.’ She wiped her mouth with her napkin and waved it dismissively ‘It’s quite embarrassing really, all of them mooning over him whenever he walks into a room. I know he’s had plenty of mistresses, although he keeps very quiet about it. He has some sort of garçonnière, a bachelor’s apartment next to the hospital in Gezireh. And there’s the cottage on the estate in Luxor. I think he takes his women friends there too. So, you see, Aida, my brother has no problem with women.’

  A shadow passed over Aida’s heart. For the second time that day she recalled the three bears’ cottage at El Shorouk – so it was Phares’s private little love nest. How very ironic. She managed a nonchalant smile. ‘From what you say, there isn’t much difference between your brother and Prince Shams Sakr El Din, whom you all criticise for just that reason.’

  Camelia laughed. ‘Ah, habibti, you’re trying to score points now …’

  ‘Maybe,’ Aida conceded thoughtfully, and they left it at that. She poured herself some more coffee. ‘When are you going back to Luxor?’

  ‘I have a few jobs to finish here,’ Camelia answered, sitting back in her chair, ‘but I’ll be back before the end of next week. I have to organise the big annual Sham El Nessim party we’re giving, in shah Allah, God willing, at El Shorouk. You’ll come, of course.’

  Aida nodded, smiling. ‘Yes, of course.’

  She remembered those huge Sham El Nessim parties the Pharaonys held on the banks of the Nile at their estate. The celebration always fell on the Monday following Easter Sunday. Aida and her parents used to attend every year. Originating from the Ancient Egyptians’ agricultural spring festival, known as the feast of Shamo, this celebration of the ‘renewal of life’ coincided with the vernal equinox, the date of which was not fixed, but determined by looking at the direction of the light at sunrise over the pyramids. The ancients marked it with a feast at the foot of the Great Pyrami
d, imagining this day represented the beginning of creation. When the festival and its fertility rites were later attached to Christianity and the celebration of Easter, its Coptic name, Tshom Ni Sime, was used – tshom meaning gardens and ni sime, meadows – before finally adopting its modern name, which literally means ‘smelling the fresh breeze’. After the seventh-century Arab invasion, Sham El Nessim became a non-religious festival celebrated by all Egyptians regardless of faith.

  Nowadays, with winter behind them, families in their summer clothes flocked to the countryside early in the morning to enjoy the fresh breeze and celebrate spring with a picnic consisting of coloured boiled eggs, spring onions and strong-smelling, salted melouha; seer, a freshwater fish considered a delicacy in Upper Egypt and in the north; and feseekh, a grey mullet found in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and prepared in the same way. In Cairo, Egyptians crowded the open green spaces to enjoy the spring air, even if that meant sitting on grassy verges next to the road.

  The few times when the Pharaonys spent the Easter holidays in Alexandria, Aida had stayed at the San Stefano Hotel with her parents, not far from the Pharaony house in Ramleh. It had its own private beach, and so the early morning picnic had taken place on the seashore. Aida gave a wistful sigh. Those happy-go-lucky times seemed so far away now.

  After breakfast, Aida went up to her room and packed, then came back down again to say goodbye to her friend. Camelia walked with her to the grand front door, already open to the view of the tall acacias lining the long drive. A cheerful-looking man with a greying moustache dressed in a beige suit took Aida’s case, carrying it down to the Bentley parked at the foot of the steps.

  Camelia kissed Aida on both cheeks. ‘Osta Fathi will accompany you to the airport.’ She paused. ‘Can’t I persuade you to change your mind?’

  ‘No, trust me … much better if I leave today.’

  ‘Did you and Phares have a quarrel?’

  Aida levelled a stare at her friend.

  ‘Drop it, Camelia, please.’