by C J Turner
They had seen the dagger for only a moment before the avalanche had swept down on them. It may possibly have only been caught in Ahmed’s clothes then and not actually penetrated his body. It could then have been jerked from the folds of cloth and been smashed to fragments by the avalanche or could even be still out there, hidden deep under the rocks.
In those moments when Max was concentrating on his aim and Amunet was running for her life, who knew what Blake might have been doing?
To Max, Blake was the only person who had the motive and opportunity to kill Ahmed. It would have appealed to his sense of justice to use the dagger, that had been the cause of so much tragedy in his old friend’s family, to put a stop to Ahmed once and for all. The deaths of Na’ill and Ghalida would have been reason enough, but Ahmed had also attempted to shoot Amunet as well, apart from the not minor consideration of cold-bloodedly giving the order for Blake’s own execution.
On the other hand, Max just could not see Blake making such a deliberately melodramatic gesture and thereby attracting unwelcome attention, which would be the last thing he wanted. Unless expediency had given him no choice, a spur of the moment improvisation using the only weapon he had to hand and with no alternative but to throw the dagger in a desperate attempt to save Amunet’s life. Of course, this would mean that he must have been carrying it at the time and Max would swear that this was not the case.
Those last confused minutes had been so crowded that Max could not be certain that Blake had not seized his chance to get rid of a dangerous enemy; he certainly had the nerve, the incentive and the audacity to carry out what he would surely have seen as a legitimate execution. This still left the vexing question of where Blake had found the cursed thing in the first place. Sighing, Max suspected Blake was playing a deep game, and was ever one to keep his cards very close to his chest, more especially if he believed that it might endanger his friends by telling them more than they needed to know. Max was intrigued and more than willing to let events take their course. Blake had never disappointed him yet – he would wait with commendable patience until the end of the game, but he would take care to keep his own powder dry and ready to use!
Amunet had also decided that it must have been Blake who had thrown the dagger at Ahmed, as he was the only one who could have actually had it in his possession! For it was undoubtedly the identical artifact that Hameeda had given Amunet and which she had posted to Blake when she had first arrived in England so many months ago!
Safely back in Luxor and still shaken by recent events, she had told Blake all about her arrival in England, and how she had mailed the dagger to him, but he had indignantly denied ever receiving it. Now she thought she knew why he could not admit to ever having had the artifact in his possession. Amunet knew that it would be impossible for her to raise the subject again, but she was saddened and angry that he had not felt he could trust her with the truth.
Quite independently, she and Max arrived at the same conclusion, and both decided that Blake had very good reason for denying what they had all seen that night. As they had the utmost sympathy for his wish to dispose of Ahmed, each now decided that the less said about the matter the better. Consequently, they both started to downplay the episode. For what did it matter, Amunet argued to herself, how Ahmed died – the fact that he was dead and Hameeda and the family was now safe from his dangerous machinations, was the only thing that really mattered.
When he returned to the hotel, Blake was surprised to find his companions in a far more sympathetic and amenable mood than when he had left them. He was, of course, immediately highly suspicious, but as he had his own reasons for wanting to play down the disturbing events of the last twenty-four hours, he went along with this new spirit of neutral non-contentiousness.
The knowledge that Amunet seemed determined to implicate him in this business by announcing that she had sent the dagger, last seen sticking out of Ahmed’s back, to the Professor when she had first arrived in England was enough in itself to put him on his guard. She may be exploiting the appearance of the dagger to draw off attention from some deep plot of her own, regardless of the questionable light her statement threw on him personally, and anger began to build again with the knowledge that she was still playing a double game.
Confused and angry, relations were strained between them, and as too much was left unsaid and unexplained, their distrust of each other grew, and rancour flourished.
On their return to Luxor, they had reported the landslide and possible casualties but nothing more, and as there were signs of illicit excavations, the authorities had moved in to investigate the site. The Professor’s party were fully authorised, he and Sir Max were well known figures, and their story had been accepted without question. Amunet, of course, had to keep an extremely low profile as she was technically in the country illegally. For the moment then, Blake had to shelve all his suspicions and decided to tackle the most pressing and distasteful of his problems first.
Consequently, after a short, uncomfortably frank conversation with Max earlier, Blake found himself later that evening sitting at a table in the hotel dining room, waiting impatiently for Amunet to appear.
It could be seen from his scowling demeanor that his thoughts were not happy ones. Max’s scathing remarks still rankled in Blake’s head, he had protested in vain but Max was adamant; Amunet’s safekeeping had been entrusted to Blake, and it was his responsibility to make sure that she emerged from this affair safe and sound. At the moment her position was too precarious, something had to be done, and it was Blake who had to do it!
At last, he saw her enter through the double doors where she was met enthusiastically by the headwaiter, immediately engaging him in an animated conversation as he deferentially guided her to their table. Blake scowled blackly into his drink.
When she arrived, her sunny spirits seemed to evaporate somewhat, as she cautiously looked round for Max and queried where he was.
‘Why, does that cause a problem?’ Blake drawled acerbically, and could have kicked himself when Amunet’s own face hardened and her brows snapped frowningly together. This was not an auspicious start! He wondered if he had been suffering from insanity when he had agreed to conduct this interview without Max to support him!
The waiter was still anxiously holding her chair out, and with the very slightest suggestion of flounce, she sat down and drew the menu towards her with a dazzling upwards smile, as he settled her in. Happily, the young man started to spread her napkin over her lap, when he became aware of her companion’s jaundiced expression. Catching his eye, Blake dispatched him with an abrupt jerk of his head.
Blake was feeling entirely out of his depths and was not happy about it. He poured a glass of wine for Amunet and took another delaying swallow from his own glass while he wondered how to begin.
By now Amunet had noticed that the table was only laid for two. ‘Where is Max, he said nothing about not joining us for dinner when I saw him earlier,’ she asked with concern. ‘He is not ill, is he?’
‘No, he’s fine. Look, Amunet there is something I have to discuss with you, and Max and I thought it would be better if it were on a one to one basis.’
He had her full attention now and she stared at him in dismay. Unable to meet the intensity of her gaze, he looked wildly round the practically empty dining room seeking inspiration, but there was no help there and he was forced to continue.
‘The thing is, when I last spoke to Alice she told me that the police are very interested in why your fingerprints were found in old Bentley’s house when you claim in your statement that you had never been in there. What with that and the fact that my own house was subsequently broken into and you appear to have vanished from the scene, they are very anxious to have a word with you,’ he stopped and frowned at her, one brow lifted enquiringly.
‘I don’t suppose you feel like filling that little detail in, do you? No, I didn’t think so. Well, anyway, Alice told them that she is only the hired help and does not know wh
ere exactly I am, or what arrangements I made for you when I had to leave on an unexpected business trip. We cannot say that you were out of the country at the time for obvious reasons, and it leaves us in a bit of a hole, but Max, that is to say both of us, think we may have come up with a possible solution.’
Discomposed by the frowning intensity of her gaze and ominous silence, he cleared his throat and struggled on.
‘If we return to England immediately, you can collect your passport and kit and we will take you down to Swallowhill, that’s Max’s place in the West Country. We can tell the police that Max and I had to go over to Egypt for urgent business reasons, and that we left you safely down at Max’s house in Cornwall to recuperate, and while we were away, you recovered from your amnesia. There is a small cottage there on the edge of the estate, very private, which he lends out from time to time to friends, so no one would know whether you were there or not.’
He was watching her face intently to see how she was taking this and now he stopped to let her comment. She said nothing however, her expression impassive, and he was forced to continue without any help to the next and much more difficult part of their plan.
‘I think we need to keep things as simple as possible at this stage. If we start trying to explain your connection with gangs stealing Egyptian antiquities, smuggled artifacts and undiscovered tombs, we could raise a number of hares and end up deep in the mire ourselves.’
He saw her frown at the unfamiliar mixed metaphors and, not feeling up to embroiling himself in an explanation of the eccentricities of the English language, ploughed hurriedly on.
‘The point is, all we need to do is inform the police that you have now remembered that you did in fact go into the house after the men had left but were so frightened when you discovered Bentley, as you thought at the time, dead, that you were too afraid to own up. Perfectly reasonable, after all. There you were, sick, frightened and confused, easy enough to believe, we think.’ He fancied her stony regard turned even colder at this point and hurried on. ‘We have also thought of another way of putting you in a stronger position and one that gives us … me … more clout to protect you, should any complications arise.’
Amunet’s eyes narrowed in perplexity at the unfamiliar word and she opened her mouth to speak, but Blake forestalled her.
‘No, damn it - you might as well let me finish now that I have come this far! The idea is that we should get married, purely a ‘marriage of convenience’ I can assure you. Max thinks that it would put you in a stronger position as my wife, and allay any suspicious notions that the police may be entertaining about you. Of course, after a suitable interval, when the dust had settled, we can arrange a divorce and go our separate ways. No harm done. Now, don’t look like that …damn it, I told Max it was a stupid idea but he is convinced that this is the only way to keep you in the clear! He is desperately concerned about what could happen to you and he, that is I…. Ah, thank God, here he is!’
‘I thought you would make a mess of it,’ Max remarked crossly to Blake, but he was looking at Amunet’s white face. He drew up a chair and motioned to the waiter to lay another place for him at the table.
‘Good evening Amunet, I trust that Blake has not bungled our proposal to such an extent that you won’t even consider it?’
Amunet looked from one to the other, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry. She felt as if she had just received a heavy blow to the heart, and totally unable to cope with the situation, she stood up, gave a little shake of her head, and stumbled blindly out of the room.
‘Now what?’ exclaimed Blake in exasperation.
‘You’re a fool, that’s what!’ Max declared flatly, ‘I will have to go after her, I suppose, poor little thing, and explain matters to her properly.’
‘But I have just done that!’ Blake protested indignantly.
Max stood up again. ‘So I see!’ he said dryly and went off in search of the distraught girl.
He assumed that he would find her in her room and tapped tentatively on the door.
‘It’s only me, my dear. Might I come in for a moment?’
After a pause, she opened the door to him. Her eyes were full of tears and had a curiously blind look. She seemed to be in deep shock and he wondered what on earth Blake could have said to produce such a devastating effect. Then suddenly, he knew.
They sat down in silence on the edge of the bed. A small hiccup escaped her and Max put his arm around the slight shoulders and felt her relax against him with a sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob. He let her cry for a few minutes, and when the sobs had subsided to small sniffs that tore at his heart, presented her with a clean white handkerchief.
‘Would it be so dreadful to fall in with Blake’s suggestion?’ he inquired mildly after a moment or two, as she dried her eyes. ‘I honestly think it will stop a lot of awkward questions, and I feel very badly about putting you in this untenable position, we should never have brought you out here.’
Wordlessly she shook her head.
‘You love him, don’t you?’ Max asked very gently. ‘I’m sorry, I did not know how much.’
Amunet looked at him for a long moment, attempting to swallow what felt like a football caught in her throat, before turning away, the tell tale colour rising in her cheeks.
‘From the beginning,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to, I didn’t want this to happen.’
‘I’m afraid people who fall in love usually have very little say in the matter,’ Max commented dryly, ‘And you first met him at the hospital under the most extraordinary circumstances, when you were very vulnerable.’
‘I met and fell in love with him long before then, Max,’ Amunet smiled sadly at the surprise in his face and walked over to where a man’s dark green silk dressing gown was draped over a chair. Rummaging in the pocket, she drew out a small photograph and handed it to him.
Max looked curiously at a group of smiling people sitting round a campfire. He recognised Blake immediately, a younger, carefree Blake with shaggy hair thrown casually back, laughing directly into the camera. Sitting cross-legged on the ground between him and the Arab workmen, was a young girl leaning against his chair, a thin little thing with enormous eyes that stared adoringly into his face over her face veil.
‘After my parents were both killed in an explosion I went to live with my Aunt Hameeda and Uncle Na’ill. They were very kind but I was still suffering from shock and was very withdrawn, and they were worried. Blake visited us one evening and I supposed they talked and he felt sorry for me. After that he would always go out of his way to talk to me and draw me out. Alice told me stories of England, and Brendan showed me how to draw, I had never met anyone like them before.
I was brought up in the traditional way, which meant that young females are often ignored. Blake would talk to me as if we were contemporaries, about anything and everything that interested him. He really loved my country, and would get so angry about things he saw as injustices, I remember, and Alice would try to shush him, but he did not care. He made me feel that my opinion actually mattered to him. I loved my parents and they me, but I knew that they had desperately wanted a son … I think I always felt a little second best. Blake made me feel that I could have an opinion that was worth listening to. He made me aware that I was a unique person in my own right. I was nearly fifteen and he was in his early twenties but in my country, the age difference was nothing, girls are often affianced to grown men as children. I fell in love with him then and did not know that in his world he could not possibly see me in any other light than that of a child, to whom he was kind, because he felt sorry for her.’
Amunet paused in her narrative and Max, enthralled, saw her gentle mouth curve in the tenderest of smiles. ‘I was his shadow during the whole of his visit. I remember my little cousin Ghalida was quite jealous because I preferred to talk to Blake than play with her. She thought our conversations boring, but through him, I saw that there was a whole new world to discover of which I knew
practically nothing. I made the decision there and then that one day, I would find out everything I wanted to know and be a part of it. He encouraged me to believe there was nothing I could not achieve, if I wanted it badly enough. And he never once treated me like the importune little nuisance that I must have been.
After he left, I was heartbroken, but I started to study the books he had left me - I was convinced he would come back one day and I desperately wanted him to find the grubby, funny little girl had changed into… well, that is where fantasy cut in. As I grew older, none of the boys I met measured up to the standard he had set – I was just not interested. I studied hard and at last my Aunt agreed that I could go to university. She said if I was not going to get married, I would just have to get a good education! Ghalida thought I was mad but I was happy to go. Blake’s passion for protecting my country’s artifacts made such a impression on me that I – well, that is another story, but when I got my memory back I knew immediately who he was and – Oh Max, he has changed so!’
‘Good heavens, what an extraordinary thing! I had no idea,’ Max gasped, trying to take it all in, ‘But that was twelve years ago, my dear, we have all changed a great deal since then and Blake has had some rather unfortunate experiences, which while I am not condoning his behaviour, has…’
‘It was not his fault,’ she rose swiftly to Blake’s defense, ‘I have brought this on myself. He has never… he did not, even in the cave when we stayed out the other night, I thought perhaps … But since then he has been so cold, he has never given me any reason to think that he feels anything …,’ she broke off, her voice suspended and Max interrupted firmly.
