"I'll close up downstairs and then I'll be off. Anything else you need before I go?"
"No, that will be all, Stefan. Thank you. It looks sublime. Enjoy the afternoon," replied Gerhard, smiling.
Stefan raised his eyebrow quizzically at Gerhard but withdrew without further comment.
After distributing the tea, Gerhard sat down. Studying his hands, he outlined, in acute yet succinct detail, what he'd seen. "The scent was overwhelming, so exotic and strange. The odour of heat and dust, yet also with a hint of spice and the sweetness of apples. Unlike anything I have ever smelt before," he said.
"It's the smell that made sense,” Ellie murmured. “I grew up with it wafting from every coffee shop and street café and rising at night from the garden as my father pondered his finds of the day. It's shisha - an apple tobacco smoked in a water pipe. In fact, everything was familiar - the Nile, the deserts of Fayoum. And yet, it showed things that no longer happen, like the inundation of the delta, where the Nile flooded great swathes of land. That hasn't happened since they built the dam."
"Are you sure, my dear?" Gerhard asked. "It was projecting scenes of Egypt?"
"Positive. I was born and bred in Egypt. I've lived there my entire life. I only left four years ago. My parents and grandmother were Egyptologists of some repute. It was definitely images of Egyptian life."
"But what the hell was it? Did we imagine it? Was it real? Things like this don't happen. I'm a scientist – I work with facts and figures. So far, nothing makes sense," Ben said, rubbing his face with his rough hands.
“No, it doesn't. It's extraordinary and unexplainable, but you've made a valid point. We need to examine what happened to us in, how do you say, forensic detail. Check we experienced the same thing, try to work out what it was and why just the three of us saw it. I assume Stefan didn't, or he would have reacted differently, and I only saw you two within the sphere. So, did either of you see anything different or any details I missed?"
Ellie shook her head.
Ben said, "Nope, but I experienced something like the energy shock at the end but far less intensely when I first met Ellie."
Ellie swiveled her head and looked at Ben. "Yes, I did too. When we shook hands, there was a snap of energy, like a static shock." Ben nodded and scrubbed his hands through his hair.
Gerhard considered this, eased himself from his chair, and with a soft smile, said, "Then I suggest we shake hands to simulate the same result. If you don't mind, Fraulein?"
As their fingertips neared each other, an arc of blue energy sparked from each hand, meeting in the middle.
"Wow! That was considerably stronger than last time. Ben?" she said, stretching her hand towards him. Again, as their hands neared, another arc bridged the gap.
"Jeez!" Ben said, flinching away from the contact. "That's a hundred times more powerful than the first time."
Gerhard moved over to his desk and picked up a leather-bound notebook and well-used fountain pen. He returned and settled back into a burgundy Queen Anne chair. Peering over the top of his glasses, he said, "I suggest we note this all down and try to find connectors that may help us understand what precisely is happening here. Can we start with how you know each other? Ben, you said you are attending a course at Ellie's school. Sorry, may I be so bold as to address you by your given names?" They nodded their consent, and he continued, "Ben, how did you first hear of Ellie's school, and what made you go there?"
"I'd applied for a fellowship with the Egyptian Department of Antiquities, and I coloured my application a jot by saying I was fluent in Arabic, which I'm not. I figured I didn't stand a bat's-chance-in-hell of getting the fellowship. It's prized and strongly contested, so I didn't think the overstatement would matter. I was both astonished and mortified when they gave me the fellowship. I asked an Egyptian buddy of mine, Sam - who studied with me at Berkeley - for a recommendation for a teacher, and he pointed me towards Ellie. He said if anyone could get me talking in Arabic in four months, it would be her."
Ellie blanched. "Sam! Sam who?"
Somewhat startled, Ben replied, "Sam Gamal. He's an archaeologist of some repute, as you'd put it. He specialises in the funerary rites of Ancient Egyptians. You may have heard of him, if your family are Egyptologists."
"Oh, yes... I've heard of him. He's my ex-husband!"
Three Months Previously
Scarab’s Rest, England
With a deep sigh of relief, Ellie Bendall closed the door on the latest batch of students. As the battered old minibus bounced down the drive, she turned and studied the mill around her. She didn't notice the ancient grandeur others commented on when they first entered her house. Instead, she saw cracks wide enough to absorb a king's ransom. The gentle creaks and rumbles of the old mill reminded her of the endless chatter of a cash register. She flexed her shoulders and marched into the kitchen, armed herself with the last dregs of coffee, and opened the mill’s accounts.
"Get a grip, Ellie. It'll work somehow. You know that!" she muttered to herself.
"Watch out, m'dear. Keep talking to yourself, and you'll get an express ticket into The Priory. So, you packed off the gang."
"Oh, my God, Charlie, you frightened me half to death!" Ellie said, clutching her chest. "I wish I could afford The Priory, but it'd be the national health psych ward for me. Did you see them leaving as you arrived?"
"See them? They almost drove me off the bloody road. Ellie, it's time to find a new minibus company. They're cheap, but that's all they have going for them. A false economy is what it is!" she said as she put her apron on and gathered the cleaning tools from under the sink.
With a big sigh, Ellie replied, "Well, that's redundant for now as we don't have a solitary booking. To be honest Charlie, I'm more than a bit worried about it. We may need to slow the restoration programme." She pushed back her long titian hair impatiently and poked her finger at the accounts. "You know, no matter how often I study these figures, I can never make them add up. It's so frustrating."
Charlie put her arm around Ellie's shoulders. "Hon, you shouldn't have to face this on your own. Scarab's Rest is a family estate. If it were me, I'd be onto my parents super quick-like. You’ve carried the weight of this around your neck for three years, and it's consuming you."
Grimacing, Ellie pushed away from the large farmhouse table. She paced to the window, cradling her coffee between both hands and stroking the side of the cup. "You know I can't do that, Charlie. They wanted us to 'dispose of it'. Scarab's Rest means nothing to them. Mind you, other than the damn funerary rites of the Ancient Egyptians, I'm not certain what they care about. Not me or my happiness, that's for sure." Looking back at Charlie again, she took a deep breath and said, "If I mention I'm experiencing problems, they'll try to force me to sell up, and that's something I will never, ever countenance. Nope, something will turn up, and if it doesn't, we will just need to tighten our belts."
"Hmm, tighten them much further, and we'll be singing an octave higher. Anyhow, standing here gassing won't get those beds stripped, so I'll get started. Try not to worry, hon," she said and patted Ellie's shoulder as she bustled past.
Watching her go, Ellie thanked the powers-that-be for nudging Charlie into her life, like a blazing comet across her personal sky. She was always brutally honest, always supportive, and infinitely practical. Although only eight years older than Ellie, Charlie soon become her mother figure. Knowing she had someone in the country to turn to was deeply reassuring when she was used to having no one. Charlie had long ceased to be Scarab's Rest's cleaner in Ellie's mind.
Grabbing her waxed jacket and shoving her feet into her muddy Wellingtons, she shouted up the stairs, "I'll be in the garden. I want to check on the stable conversions." She unlatched the door and took the path to the left, stopping to deadhead the lavender bushes as she studied the house that had been in her family since 1086.
She'd loved the mill for as long as she could remember. The castellated turret, the golden limestone walls, the lead
ed windows which sparkled like facetted diamonds, and the stone humpback bridge that provided the only access to the house. The mill and its surrounding gardens and outbuildings had felt like an enchanted, picturesque playground to her. She'd swum in the river that originally powered the mill with her grandfather, and they'd often used the derelict water wheel as a diving board.
Since inheriting the building in a state of near collapse from her grandmother, Ellie had been fighting every day to stop its accelerated slide into ruin. Her predecessors extended the tiny watermill over the generations, adding on larger living quarters, storage barns, and more land. At its peak, the estate had grown into a resplendent house with over a thousand acres of land. In just three generations, that all changed.
Scarab's Rest had deteriorated until just ten acres remained. The mill had fallen into a gentile shabbiness, many of the outhouses and barns were in ruins, and the estate provided no income to cover the increasing maintenance costs. Ellie poured every penny she had into regenerating the house: the inheritance from grandparents, her life savings, her divorce settlement, and the earnings from her residential Arabic courses. Despite this, although she'd re-roofed the house, she still needed to find the capital to renovate the West wing and finish converting the outbuildings into accommodation.
Ellie skirted the house and entered the rear courtyard. "Shannon," she called. "Shannon, are you in there?" She slammed to a standstill and stared open-mouthed at the keystone reinstated above the main barn door.
"Hey, Ellie. I was just cleaning up for the day," the builder answered, drying his hands as he came out from the scaffold-wrapped building.
"Shannon, you genius. I could kiss you! The keystone’s amazing. Where did you get it? It matches the others perfectly."
He tilted his head to one side and peered through his windswept grey fringe, his blue eyes alight with a wicked twinkle. "Hmm. I'd not be stopping you, should you so wish."
"Shannon..." she warned.
"Oh, Ellie, don't be fussing yourself. I am only joshing with ye. I found the stone in the wee river when I was excavating the wheel base. See the golach, just like the others?"
"Golach?" she asked.
"Um, the wee creepy crawly your family's so fond of," he replied.
Staring up at the large bug in its prominent position, she said, "It's the scarab beetle from our coat of arms. We always have it in the keystone above the door of our buildings. Not sure why, but it's tradition. Thank God you found it. I was wondering how I would afford a stone mason to carve a new one."
The wind picked up, and with a shiver, Ellie moved inside and peered around the immaculate building site. Shannon always left it clean and tidy at the end of the working day.
"How are we doing, Shannon? Are we on schedule? I'm worried about cash-flow. There're no courses booked, so we may need to call a halt at the first fix stage, or we complete half the units. That might be more sensible as I could then rent them out and get cash to fund the others. What do you think?"
"Aye, there's pros and cons to both, to be sure. I dinnae think it makes sense to stop in the middle, so probably better to finish half, but let me have a wee think t'night."
They moved around the five units, each designed with two bedrooms and an open-plan kitchen and lounge. Ellie planned to convert one barn into a refectory that would double as a large conference room for the language school. She hoped to rent out the accommodation suites as holiday lets when not in use by the school to bring in some much-needed cash.
After discussing other building logistics, she left Shannon and returned to the mill.
"Is that you, Ellie?" called Charlie from upstairs. "I might have found a solution to some of our financial woes."
Sweeping down the spiral stone staircase like a modern-day Scarlett O'Hara, she stopped dramatically just short of the bottom and presented her hand to Ellie.
"Why, Miss Ellie, I do believe you owe me a large kiss. I've just booked a GEN-U-INE Yankee gentleman for a four-month intensive course," she said in the worst Southern American accent Ellie had ever heard. "Before you throw a hissy fit, I know that the minimum course size is six people, but we are desperate, and he's willing to pay for all ten places for four months. That's full occupancy! Our costs would be miniscule as we'd have one person to feed and no need for the minibus," she said. "Go on, admit it. I am a genius!"
Ellie turned her back on her friend and said, "Damn it, Charlie. The rules are not just for profit but also to protect my privacy. They stay in my home, and one-on-one is way too intimate. Other course partners enable them to spend their off-time with each other and give me some peace. I appreciate the gesture, truly, but I can't be on my own in this house for four months with a strange man. Do you have his number? I'll call him and cancel or ask him to round up classmates since he's paying for the places."
Charlie stuck out her chin. With a determined glint in her eye, she said, "Ellie, aside from showing a decidedly bad grace, you are being stubborn and timid. I'll not let your pathological fear of men stop you from grabbing this offer. It's bloody lucrative, and God knows we need the money. I knew you'd be like this, so I told him to wire the full course payment to the school's account. It's probably there already. He's arriving the day after tomorrow, and in the meantime, see if you can round up any other students to fill the free places!"
Ellie pivoted away, walking towards the kitchen. Charlie prowled after her and grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop. She lifted Ellie's chin, forcing her to make eye contact.
"Ellie, we don't have a choice! The school needs his dosh. Maybe we could use some of the cash to finish one of the accommodation units and then he won't be in-your-face. You might be mad with me now, but you will thank old Charlie in the morning, once you've had time to think on it."
"Don't bet on it," Ellie grunted, slamming the kitchen door behind her.
Aftermath
United States of America
Putting the phone down, Ben smiled. Sam saved my bacon, which isn't the best expression to use for a Muslim, he thought.
When was he going to learn to think before he did something so stupid? Why on earth had he written on his application form he was fluent in both written and spoken Arabic? How could he pick up a language in only four months?
His only consolation was that Sam thought if anyone could help him, it would be Ellie. Her assistant, Charlie, had negotiated a damn hard deal, stating that Ellie never did one-on-one courses. It'd taken all his negotiation skills, a bucketful of flirting, and a huge amount of cash to get the deal approved, but approved it was – with the proviso he didn't answer a call from the UK until he arrived. Odd clause, but frankly, he'd have agreed to anything at that point.
Nothing could be worse than getting the prestigious Hawass Fellowship only to be caught as a liar and cheat.
England
Charlie may think she's smart, but I'm smarter, Ellie thought as she dialed 1471 to get the last incoming caller ID. There's no amount of money that would make me live with a strange man for four months. What was Charlie thinking?
She'd had enough of men to last her an eternity. Her job meant she had to work with them occasionally, but she never willingly spent time on her own with one. Retrieving the number, she jotted it down on a pad and then, with a deep breath, dialed it. The number rang and rang, unanswered. She dialed again and again, repeatedly, with no success.
"Damn it all to hell!" she shouted at the phone as she slammed the receiver down. The American was coming whether she liked it or not.
Ben's Arrival
Ben studied the passing scenery from the taxi's window - lush pastoral scenes, green and glowing in the hazy afternoon sunshine. He'd been to England many times before but always to the urban bustle of London, to the museums and theatres, so this was new.
Everything buzzed with life and energy. Roadside verges were a blaze of colourful daisies and poppies, whilst the neighbouring woods swayed with an ocean of ferns and splashes of pink foxgloves. Grassy fie
lds were home to black-and-white patched cows chewing the cud. A patchwork of thick hedgerows interspersed with intricate walls, held up by the genius of the farmer's stone selection, which negated the need for mortar. The air smelt warm and fresh, richer than in his hometown of Greenwich Village in New York City.
"Your first time to this part of the world, is it?" asked the taxi driver.
"Yeah, I've never been outside London before," Ben answered.
"Argh, London isn't real England. I can't stand the place m'self - full of tourists and foreigners. No, you need to come here to the West Country to get the best of England. Can't beat Somerset. We've got top-notch food, you know, what with our cheeses and our cider. And we're a darn sight friendlier too. Ah, lookie here," he said, turning into a wide gateway bordered by large pillars topped with finials of a shield embellished with beetles. "Scarab's Rest."
The taxi bumped its way along the cobblestone driveway and through a colonnade of magnificent mature oaks. They approached an ancient stone bridge skirted with the largest weeping willows Ben had ever seen. As they crossed the bridge and turned to the right, Scarab's Rest came into view, glowing gold in the dappled sunlight.
"That's quite some place," said the taxi driver.
"Isn't it just," Ben replied, staring up at the large building with an imposing tower to the rear. The front of the house was moated by the river and had dormer windows pointing up into the aged terracotta roof. At some point in history, a romantic soul had added a dramatic oriel bay window that came straight from the pages of a fairy tale.
Ben thanked and paid the driver, then walked up to a double-sized, oak-studded door. As he lifted the heavy cast iron knocker, the door swung open to reveal a cherubic woman with a mass of uncontrolled curls and rosy cheeks.
House of Scarabs Page 2
