The Master's Wife

by Jane Jackson

  Once again, Caseley was surprised by Antonia’s lack of understanding. It couldn’t be deliberate rudeness. She wouldn’t want to jeopardise her friendship with Sabra or Sheikh Imad. Perhaps because they were at ease in European company, she had never thought it necessary to learn what Egyptians or Bedouin considered polite. How could she not realise, that far from excusing bad manners high rank made courtesy imperative, not least because it set an example.

  As the remains of the meal were quickly packed away, one of the servants helped Sabra onto her camel then turned to assist Antonia. Another approached Caseley. He bowed then bent forward, linking his fingers. She put her sandaled foot into his cupped hands and he boosted her up onto the saddle.

  She quickly hooked her leg around the post and slid her other foot into the stirrup. She was still adjusting her robes when the great beast lurched to its feet, with a sound between a bray and a roar. She grabbed the front saddle post and nearly dropped her stick.

  ‘You need to be quicker, Caseley,’ Antonia called from her own camel. ‘There are no doctors here if you fall off and hurt yourself.’

  ‘I’ll remember next time.’

  ‘She has a gift for stating the obvious,’ Jago said as he came to Caseley’s side.

  ‘It is a fair point. I’m sure she means well.’

  ‘Don’t count on it. The heat isn’t too much for you?’

  ‘No. I’m so grateful to the Sheikha for making sure we were – are – properly dressed for it.’

  ‘I would have liked to ride and sit with you, but –’

  ‘You and Sheikh Imad have much to discuss. It’s a blessing you have Mr Pawlyn to translate. The Sheikh has beautiful manners, but I don’t think he would have been comfortable with me as your interpreter. Everything has worked out for the best. You need not worry about me.’

  His gaze held hers, intent. ‘You ask the impossible.’ Summoned by Pawlyn’s shout, he returned to his camel.

  Watching him go, Caseley waited for her heartbeat to settle. He did care. She wanted to believe it. But doubt whispered: with such an important task to fulfil he will not want distractions.

  As soon as the men were mounted the party set off.

  The wadi wound between tall rocky cliffs that crowded in on both sides. They walked from deep shadow to glaring sunlight and back. The heat was like an oven. Conversation became too much effort.

  Moving easily with the swaying gait, Caseley changed both rein and stick to her left hand and raised her bent leg to free wadded layers of cotton. She was instantly more comfortable. Her gaze fell on the tasselled blanket with its diamond pattern of red, black and gold covering the padded saddle. Who had made it? How long had it taken to weave?

  Her camel smelled warm and musty, like hemp rope. It was the colour of caramel. So, too, were Antonia’s and Robert Pawlyn’s. Sheikh Imad and Sabra’s camels were pale cream, and Jago’s golden brown.

  As her camel turned its head she saw its eyelashes were over an inch long. She really would have so much to tell Rosina and Liza-Jane. Shying away from thoughts of home, she looked at the rocks. In a deep, damp crevice the green leaves of a tiny plant provided an unexpected flash of colour in a landscape of grey, ochre and brown.

  Her camel swung its head again. She tapped its shoulder with the stick, then held her breath. Its ears twitched then it stalked on, facing forward. She smiled to herself and felt ridiculously proud.

  Soothed by the rhythmic swaying her mind drifted. It was a relief not to think, to simply be. Hours passed.

  Eventually, the narrow ravine widened. Behind the rocky hills she could see higher crags and peaks. Wide shallow channels of grey sand and gravel that reminded her of streambeds marked the wadi floor. As the sun sank lower, the harsh quality of the light softened and the furnace-like heat began to diminish.

  At last Sheikh Imad called a halt. Caseley waited while a servant made her camel kneel. She slid down with a groan of relief and arched her back.

  Returning from a much-needed comfort break among the rocks, she saw a fire had been lit and the last of the riding camels was being unsaddled then hobbled so they could not stray.

  The servants unpacked fodder from the nets and poured water from large clay jars into a bowl, taking it to each camel in turn.

  ‘What about us?’ Antonia complained. ‘Surely the camels can wait?’

  ‘No, they are always tended first,’ Sabra said. ‘We treat them well because without them we would die. We could not walk to safety. It is too far and there are few wells in this part of the desert. Besides, these animals are from Sheikh Imad’s own herd and very valuable.’

  As the servants started unloading the pack camels, Antonia hurried across to supervise the removal of her camera boxes and tripod. Suddenly Caseley was aware of Jago beside her. Though she had spent the afternoon looking at his back, seeing his bearded face beneath the loosely draped white head cloth sent a jolt through her. Meeting his gaze she felt a tug of attraction all the more startling because for an instant she was seeing, not her husband, but a stranger.

  ‘Caseley? Is the heat –?’

  ‘No, no.’ She pulled herself together. ‘I’m glad we’ve stopped, though. Have you got used to your camel?’

  ‘You were right. It does feel like being on board a ship.’

  Caseley saw Sabra beckon. ‘I think it’s time to eat.’

  As they walked towards the fire she saw two woven striped blankets had been laid on the ground a short distance apart. The Sheikh and Robert Pawlyn were sitting cross-legged on one. Sabra stood by the other, speaking to one of the bodyguards.

  ‘It seems we are to be separated again,’ Jago murmured.

  ‘Sabra wants to make us familiar with Bedouin customs so we will feel more comfortable.’

  ‘And do you? Feel comfortable?’

  Seeing his concern she answered honestly. ‘I am beginning to, though everything is very new and strange. I’m glad I came. I won’t let you down, Jago.’

  His features tightened as if in pain, then he smiled. ‘I hope I may see you later. But –’

  ‘I won’t expect it. How are you getting on with the Sheikh?’

  ‘He wears courtesy like armour. Yet his questions show an open mind and make me hopeful he will be able to persuade the elders to our side.’

  ‘Surely the gold will help?’

  Jago shrugged. ‘The tribe is already wealthy, so who knows? Pawlyn is invaluable and not only for interpreting. Without his knowledge of Arab manners and the way they do business I might have caused grave offence.’

  Looking past him she touched his arm lightly. ‘You should go. The Sheikh is waiting.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Without waiting for her response, he left.

  Caseley watched Antonia try to place herself near Sheikh Imad but Sabra diverted her. As Caseley lowered herself to the blanket she could hear the two servants muttering their disapproval. Should she warn Antonia? No. Rather than taking heed, she would be more likely to take offence.

  One of the servants came over with a water jar and a small bowl. Caseley watched Sabra rinse her dusty hands, press them to her face and the back of her neck, then use the edge of her scarf to dry her fingers. When he came to her she did the same.

  Sitting cross-legged and leaning in to take food from the large platter in the middle, she glanced across and saw Jago watching her. He raised an eyebrow. Touched by his concern she nodded to reassure him.

  Unlike Antonia she did not mind separation from the men. With so much still unresolved between her and Jago, sitting apart eased her turmoil. Yet she found his presence reassuring.

  The lavender sky deepened to purple. Dusk was brief and darkness sudden. Beyond the dancing firelight the blackness was dense. The moon rose, almost full, and in its cold, pale light the gritty dust glistened like powdered diamonds.

  The temperature had dropped sharply and she shivered.

  ‘You are cold,’ Sabra said.

  ‘You did warn us,’ C
aseley smiled. ‘I just didn’t expect the change to be so sudden.’

  One of the servants came over with the three cloaks and laid them respectfully between Sabra and Caseley.

  ‘Shukran,’ Caseley said, smiling her thanks as she reached for hers. Startled, the man nodded and melted into the darkness.

  ‘I didn’t know you spoke Arabic,’ Sabra said, sounding surprised.

  Caseley stood, shook out the folds and wrapped the cloak around her before sitting down again. ‘I don’t. Well, only a little. Hardly anything. After we picked up Mr Pawlyn at Gibraltar I asked him to teach me a few words.’

  ‘Why?’ Antonia demanded. ‘You’ll only be in Egypt a few weeks.’

  ‘I know. But it seemed only polite to be able to say please and thank you. I didn’t know then that I would have the privilege of attending a Bedouin wedding. So I’m even more glad I made the effort.’

  Caseley was offered mint tea or coffee. Knowing the coffee would be thick, strong and gritty, she chose tea. After the heat and dust of the day’s riding she would have loved a bath. At home she took such comforts for granted. Here water was precious and never wasted. She could not even unpin her hair. That reminded her of Jago wielding the comb with slow, soothing sweeps. I’m glad you’re here.

  The meal finished, they settled down for the night using the camel saddle blankets as pillows. Two guards moved away to take the first watch.

  The ground was hard but that wasn’t what kept Caseley awake. Wrapped in her cloak she lay on her back, gazing up at a black velvet sky strewn with countless stars.

  Reliving the day’s journey through bare rocks, stony paths, dry river beds and desert heat, she thought of small fields of long grass or golden wheat bounded by stone hedges; moors of yellow gorse and purple heather; wooded valleys, soft breezes and the sparkling waters of the Carrick Roads.

  In the early years of their marriage she had sailed with Jago to other countries. But pressure of schedules meant there had never been time to venture beyond the ports. This journey was different. Not only because of all she was seeing and experiencing, but because here, away from all the reminders, the pain was not so raw.

  For months grief had ripped at her with sharp, jagged teeth. Tonight it was a dull ache, a deep bruise. But with relief came guilt. It was too strong to fight. All she could do was wait. A constant background presence, it surged and ebbed like a tide. While her attention was engaged it would build unnoticed then suddenly break over her, leaving her abandoned, devastated, castaway.

  With a lifetime’s practice of hiding tumultuous emotions behind a calm façade, she did her weeping in the privacy of her bed. There was no privacy tonight. Her eyes burned and her throat ached. But she could not, must not, weep tonight.

  Jago had asked for her help and she had promised it without reservation. But Robert Pawlyn’s language skills far surpassed hers. The Bedouin women would speak Arabic, not French, so she would have no idea what they were saying.

  I’m glad you’re here.

  Working together when they were first married they had learned much about each other. Life had changed after the boys were born. New joys gained had been countered by a loss of closeness, due to frequent separations and the demands of their busy lives. She yearned for the man she married, but not at any price.

  It was tempting to regard any intimate connections he formed outside their home as not her concern. Plenty of women took that view. But she couldn’t. If she did, she would lose part of herself.

  Eventually, exhausted, she slept.

  The next day followed a similar pattern. Using her stick, she guided her camel away when it crowded Sabra’s and was warmed by the nod of approval. When they stopped for the midday meal Jago came over.

  ‘Have you noticed how quiet it is?’ she asked.

  ‘You mean apart from the camels growling and Antonia’s prattle?’

  Caseley’s giggle surprised them both. ‘Yes, apart from that. The camels’ feet make no noise, not like horses’. The saddles creak a bit. But mostly there’s just the sound of the wind.’

  ‘Quite a contrast to Cairo and Alexandria.’

  ‘It reminds me of Cygnet at night. The wind in the rigging, the hiss of water against the hull.’

  ‘Why at night?’

  ‘Because during the day Martin is crashing pans in the galley shack, you or Nathan are calling sail changes, and Hammer and Jimbo bicker like a couple of old women.’

  Jago’s eyes gleamed as he laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m so used to it I don’t notice.’

  When they set off again, Sabra moved her camel to ride beside Sheikh Imad. Antonia would have joined them but one of the bodyguards positioned himself between her and them. With Jago and Pawlyn already deep in conversation, Caseley urged her camel up to Antonia’s by tapping its rump gently with her stick.

  ‘Have you ever visited a Bedouin camp before?’

  ‘No. Why would I? Sheikh Imad’s life is not in the desert, it is in Cairo and Alexandria.’

  ‘Surely he will make visits to his people if only to take them news of political developments?’

  Antonia shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But I doubt he would stay long.’ After a few beats of silence she turned to Caseley with barely-suppressed excitement. ‘I am hoping to be introduced to some of his relatives.’

  ‘It is a great honour to be –’ About to say invited, Caseley remembered that their journey was being made at Jago’s request. ‘Allowed to attend such an important family occasion.’

  ‘This is my chance to show Sheikh Imad how well I would fit into his life.’

  ‘Might you not find it difficult to adjust to constant travel without the conveniences you take for granted in the city?’

  ‘Surely you cannot imagine he lives as a nomad?’ Antonia’s expression reflected her astonishment. ‘Of course he doesn’t. But even if he did have to spend some time in the desert, he would have a luxurious tent and scores of servants to take care of domestic details. I was my father’s hostess for years, until Maud Williamson got her claws into him. I am perfectly aware of the demands of protocol.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment. You could probably host a dinner party of English diplomats and their wives with one hand tied behind your back. But didn’t the Sheikha tell us that in Bedouin society the lives of men and woman are more separate?’

  Antonia didn’t try to hide her impatience. ‘Sheikh Imad is highly educated. He speaks several languages and moves in government circles. Naturally, he will attend family weddings and such. That he takes time to do so reflects well on him. But he will be more comfortable in the city than the desert. You must take my word for this, Caseley. I have a great deal more experience than you, who knows nothing of Egypt.’

  Caseley realised further discussion was pointless and might cause a quarrel. She would not risk embarrassing Sabra or Sheikh Imad.

  ‘You’re right. I know very little. I am learning more each day, but there is such a lot to take in. If I offended you, I am truly sorry.’

  Her irritation dissolving like morning mist in sunshine, Antonia smiled. ‘Perhaps I spoke hastily. I confess I am a little nervous. Sheikh Imad has been very different since we set off, not himself at all.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Caseley said gently, anxious not to provoke. ‘Until he has spoken to the elders he won’t know if they will accept the British Government’s proposal, or what demands they might make if they do.’

  Antonia thought this over. ‘You could be right. May I ask how long have you been married?’

  ‘It will be eight years in December.’ During those years she had changed from a girl into a woman; been blessed with countless joys and suffered devastating loss. She and Jago had shared thoughts, concerns and secrets in total trust. His betrayal had rocked her world.

  Antonia nodded. ‘That’s a long time. So you may have forgotten what it feels like to be in love.’ The sympathy on her face told Caseley she was serious.

  Torn between laug
hter and tears, tempted to retort that she had known love Antonia could not even begin to imagine, Caseley lowered her gaze. ‘Oh, I think I can remember.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Late that afternoon they reached a small oasis with date palms, scrubby bushes and a well protected by a rough wall.

  The riding camels were quickly unsaddled. Using a leather bucket on a rope, one of the servants drew enough water to fill a shallow basin in the rocks. The camels crowded round and the basin was refilled several times.

  When they had drunk their fill they were led away and their halters tied to a rope between two of the trees, where a mix of scrub and fodder had been tossed down.

  Two guards remained on watch. The other two watered the pack animals. Robert Pawlyn carried Antonia’s camera boxes to a flat space away from the well and the animals. She set up the tripod.

  A fire had been lit and Caseley breathed in the scent of wood smoke.

  A servant brought over a full water pot. Watching Sabra rinse her hands, face and feet before replacing her sandals, Caseley did the same. Though the palm trees and well indicated a permanent source of water, it was still used sparingly.

  She had just replaced her sandals when she saw Sheikh Imad and two of his bodyguards disappearing around a bend in the wadi, all three carrying rifles.

  ‘Where are they going?’ she asked Jago as he joined her.

  ‘Hunting. How are you?’

  ‘Hot, tired and I would love a bath. But I am comfortable on my camel now.’

  ‘I’m going to see if I can find some wood. I need to find my land legs. Would you like to come?’ As she nodded, Jago continued, ‘Miss Collingwood wants to take photographs and requires Pawlyn to carry her tripod.’

  ‘I don’t think he minds.’ Caseley bent to pick up a lumpy, desiccated chunk.

  ‘Here, let me.’

  She passed it to him, then found another piece among the rocks. ‘Sabra told us that when there is heavy rain it carries a lot of debris. But –’ She looked back down the wadi.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She also said water is scarce here in the Eastern Desert. There aren’t many wells. So those that there are will be visited regularly, by Bedouin passing along on their way to wherever they are going.’