April and May Page 3

  It was no surprise when Aunt Emily and Helena became fascinated by the Rosetta Stone that had recently been placed on display in the British Museum. And when Sir Philip announced that he and his friend, the explorer Max Kendal, were setting up an expedition to travel to Cairo, Rose knew she would rather endure the heat and dust than return to the bleak life of her father’s home. Indeed, the whole journey until recently had been an amazing adventure for them all. Cairo was a fascinating city and in spite of the heat and discomfort, even Rose had been awed by her visit to the pyramids at Giza. And it was a matter of pride that all the sketches she made for her uncle and aunt really were invaluable to them.

  But the ladies had been forced out of Egypt and now here they were, completely out of their way in Constantinople, with Aunt Emily so ill. It seemed quite likely that Uncle Philip, Max Kendal and the other members of their group were in danger also. To crown it all, she thought bitterly, by some malign fate, the English official they met at the Embassy in Constantinople was the one man above all others that she did not want to see. Rose gritted her teeth and rubbed her tired eyes.

  A shadow moved behind her and she swung round. It was Latife Hatun, the younger sister of Kerim Pasha. This beautiful and elegant lady had welcomed them graciously and installed them on the top floor of the enormous mansion on the hilltop overlooking the sea. It was Latife Hatun herself who had prepared a medicine for Aunt Emily.

  ‘How is she?’ she whispered, nodding towards the bed.

  ‘Sleeping at last,’ whispered Rose in reply. ‘Your bitter drink has brought her fever down.’

  Latife nodded. ‘Of course.’ Her almond eyes considered Rose’s weary face. ‘But you have not slept. And now you have a visitor from your Embassy.’

  Rose jerked her head up. ‘Surely it is too early in the day…’

  Her hostess lifted her chin in that negative gesture. ‘Our day begins before the dawn. Come, my dear, he is impatient to speak with you.’

  ‘Can I not send a message?’

  ‘It is best if he sees you, I think. It will reassure him,’ her eyes crinkled in a smile, ‘although maybe not when he sees that you are dressed in harem clothes.’

  Rose cast a glance at the yellow tunic and loose trousers she was wearing. She gave an answering smile.

  ‘Take a shawl and go down to the selamlik. Fatma will show you the way. I will take good care of your aunt, have no fear.’

  Rose draped the white silk shawl over her shoulders to cover the low neckline of her flimsy tunic. She grimaced as she ran a hand over her hair, pulled back in a long, thick plait. But no, she was not going to cover her head. That would give the messenger the wrong impression and cause alarm at the Embassy. Feeling weary and cross, she followed Fatma down two floors to the reception room. She padded silently over the soft rugs that were spread everywhere. The elderly maidservant led her across a wide central hallway and pushed open the double doors at the far side.

  ‘Salon,’ she said, giving Rose’s bare head a disapproving look as she stood aside for her to go in first.

  A tall figure Rose recognised at once was pacing back and forth in the opulent room. His hands were clasped behind his back. His face seen in profile was rigid. Sudden alarm made Rose forgot all the awkwardness of confronting Tom again.

  ‘H-have you had bad news from Cairo?’

  At the sound of her voice he whirled round and stood as if turned to stone. For a long moment he simply stared. At least it gave her time to find her composure. Her unruly heart was beating at a terrible rate. It must be due to her bitter anger at having to see him yet again. Rose kept her head high and stood straight and still. She forced herself to inspect him in the same way he was examining her.

  There were subtle changes in him from the eager young man he had been. This was a man who had faced danger many times and triumphed, a man who carved his own path through life’s hazards. And the years had made him even more handsome, his face so chiselled, his hair bleached blonder by the hot Mediterranean sun. His dark eyes, always expressive, were scorching her as he looked her up and down and down and up. His face darkened.

  ‘So they have they put you in the harem!’ he growled at last.

  She raised her brows. ‘If you are referring to my garments, our kind hostess has given us fresh clothes while our own are laundered.’

  ‘Yes but…’ he opened his hands in an impatient gesture. He glanced around and seemed to listen. His gaze came back to her. Rose understood. Of course, someone was listening to their conversation. She did not think that Fatma understood a single word of English, she was simply here for propriety.

  ‘We have two rooms at the top of the house for ourselves. Remember that my aunt is ill.’

  ‘How is Lady Westacote?’

  Rose’s lips twisted. ‘Still very unwell. She passed a restless night but is sleeping now. Latife Hatun has made her a medicine which seems to be helping a great deal. Have you any news from Cairo?’ Her voice trembled slightly.

  ‘There has been no time yet.’

  She dipped her head, thinking what would happen if the news was bad when it came. At last she looked up. He was watching her from under those thick brows.

  ‘I thought that maybe a Turkish ship had arrived and someone had heard something…’ her hands fluttered.

  Tom shook his head firmly. ‘The only ship to come in from Egypt was the one you arrived on. You can be certain that Kerim Pasha has already sent word that the members of your expedition must be protected.’

  She nodded. ‘I see.’

  There was a long pause. She stared at a cypress tree through the window opposite. At length, Tom seemed to recall why he was here.

  ‘I have come to convey to you the Ambassador’s concern. He regrets he only learnt of your arrival after you had already gone to a Turkish home. Not,’ said Tom honestly, ‘that we could offer you anything to compare with this.’ He glanced at the rich furnishings and costly ornaments. ‘But he asked me to discover if you have any requests that we can fulfil?’

  Mindful of the hidden listener, Rose spoke clearly. ‘Pray thank the Ambassador. We have been most warmly received here. Thanks to our kind hostess, my aunt is already much better. But if you will excuse me, I must return to her.’

  She inclined her head briefly and turned away. She had not gone two steps when his voice checked her.

  ‘No, wait…The Ambassador has instructed me to call each morning to discover how you all go on.’

  She half turned her head, just getting a glimpse of him as she nodded again. She slipped out of the room. On the other side of the door, she had to stand still briefly until her knees stopped trembling so violently. She made herself draw a deep breath and move forward again. Her back was ramrod straight. She had done it. She had looked him in the eye and not shown any emotion.

  But he had been discomposed. Not that it was any pleasure to discover that she could still read Tom’s thoughts as clearly now as when they had been such good friends in that other life long ago. Now she was so utterly weary that it was an ordeal to climb two flights of stairs. But she knew that Latife Hatun was waiting to be sure that the English embassy staff did not think the ladies had been kidnapped. Rose set a smile on her face as she began to follow Fatma one slow step at a time.

  Chapter Four

  Left alone in the salon, Tom unclenched his fists and shrugged his tense shoulders. He dashed a hand through the hair that was tumbling over his forehead. God, she was so lovely. He rubbed his aching head. Last night he had not slept. He had thought his busy life of intrigue and adventure had stifled the memories of the girl he loved. But one glimpse of her had let those memories flood out. And she was married!

  Fool, he told himself, of course she was married. What other outcome could there be, especially for a beautiful girl? He gave an impatient gesture, as if shutting out the past. Drawing in a painful breath, he made for the door, flung it open and, squaring his shoulders, crossed the hall to the entrance door. It was open and tw
o menservants were bowing low. A tall figure strode in. Tom halted, face to face with Kerim Pasha.

  ‘My young friend!’ Kerim Pasha’s eyes were keen but he spoke smoothly. ‘I can guess your errand,’ he went on, a note of amusement in his voice. ‘I trust all is well.’

  Tom bowed. ‘Thank you, Your Excellency, I am able to take a promising report to the Ambassador.’

  ‘Splendid! But please, before you do so, be so kind as to spare me a moment.’ The Turk indicated that Tom should go with him back into the salon. ‘You have not been offered refreshment? That must be remedied.’ He snapped his fingers and one of the servants scurried away. He then spoke to another, who bowed and disappeared in another direction.

  Now what was happening? The last thing Tom wanted at this moment was refreshment. It would choke him. He needed to vent his frustration in movement. But there was no escape. Gritting his teeth, he followed his host. Kerim Pasha led the way out onto the terrace and then to a white painted wooden kiosk in the centre of the garden. They climbed the two steps and sat down facing each other on the low padded benches.

  Flowering shrubs made a fragrant dapple of shade but there was nowhere for anyone to hide within earshot. Almost as soon as they were seated a man came hurrying up with a book. Kerim Pasha placed it on the bench beside him.

  ‘First, the coffee,’ he said, ‘I find it stimulates the mind when important matters are to be discussed.’

  ‘A wonderful beverage, sir,’ replied Tom, wondering what was in that book and what matter needed such earnest discussion. Surely he was not going to offer to buy the girls. Tom gave his host a quick glance. He had seen the man’s eyes light up when he saw the two beauties the previous day. And how smoothly he had spirited them away into his home. The Ambassador had been incandescent when he found out. And here was Tom, caught in the middle of awkward negotiations as usual.

  The coffee arrived. The aroma was mouth-watering and a couple of sips helped to clear Tom’s throbbing head. He admired the kiosk and the garden. Kerim Pasha was graciously pleased. There was a gleam in his almond eyes. At last he set his cup down and his manner changed.

  ‘Business,’ he said. ‘I regret the need for it on such a pleasant morning but you and I are busy people, Mr Hawkesleigh. First let me assure you that I have sent word to Cairo. Whatever the situation at present – and let us hope this brave band of scholars and enthusiasts is large enough to deter possible thugs and evildoers – they will be under the protection of our officials and escorted by our soldiers so long as they remain in Egypt.’

  Tom nodded. ‘Thank you, sir. That will reassure the ladies.’ He frowned, ‘provided, of course, that nothing has happened so far.’

  Kerim Pasha made a dismissive gesture. ‘No Egyptians will hinder them from digging in the sand.’ His shoulders shook slightly. ‘It is more likely to be the French who object to English antiquaries making important discoveries or acquiring treasures. And there, Mr Hawkesleigh, I hope they understand each other’s tactics.’

  There was a short pause, then he resumed: ‘Speaking of tactics, I have informed His Majesty, Sultan Selim that the plan he is impatient to see will soon be ready. However…’ he stopped and picked up the book, opening it at a certain page. He leaned over and held it out to Tom. Tom saw a gilded and painted picture of an Ottoman army marching to war. It was very detailed and bright with colour. Men, horses, weapons, even the plants by the side of the road, everything was delicately observed and quite clear.

  Tom stared at the picture. He felt his face going red. At last he looked up.

  ‘I cannot draw like that. Sir.’ he added.

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Kerim Pasha with a wry smile, ‘I did see your er… sketch yesterday.’

  Tom sighed. ‘I cannot find anyone able to do the drawings, sir. As you said, nobody must know what is being planned.’

  Kerim Pasha leaned forward. ‘No indeed. We must plan in secret. It will be a bloody business when the time comes. The old guard will never accept these changes and they will strike in anger and revenge. This is something that could put the lives of all foreigners in the city in danger.’ His eyes were keen as lances. In that moment Tom saw just how vital the matter was.

  Here was a proud general who could see how desperately his country’s army needed reform if they were to hold on to their empire. And at the same time he was a diplomat and a man of vision with a wide culture.

  Tom looked at him with renewed respect. He sincerely wanted to help. ‘I have been most careful, sir. You now have the only copy of my report. I destroyed all my notes.’ He hesitated. ‘I –er- even destroyed all those sketches I made yesterday.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I shall try again.’

  Kerim Pasha gave a chuckle and gripped Tom’s shoulder. ‘Aha, Ingiliz! You are a man after my own heart. Such a pity that you are not a Turk.’ He indicated the book of paintings. ‘But I fear we must have more detail in the drawings. His Majesty will expect it.’

  Tom nodded glumly. It was hopeless. Then a memory struck him and he raised his forefinger, his eyes brightening. ‘Perhaps one of the young ladies could draw them. They are often skilled in painting. And they are well protected from curious eyes while they are here in your home.’ With so many guards round the place, all bristling with weapons.

  ‘Hmm. I wonder…’ Kerim Pasha mused while he delicately sipped his coffee. ‘I will ask my sister to enquire if they draw.’

  Tom only hesitated for a moment. ‘Actually, sir, I know that one of them draws very well. I – knew her –slightly- in London some years ago.’ He was talking too fast. Why could he not be cool about her, dammit! And why should he care. She was a stranger now. Anyway, he was not revealing very much.

  ‘I see.’ Kerim Pasha stroked his chin. Just how much could he see, the cunning devil? Tom tried not to squirm as the grey eyes dwelt on him.

  Kerim Pasha put down his coffee cup at last. ‘And which one is it that you knew and who draws well? Such beautiful young ladies but I only saw them so briefly.’

  ‘The blonde one, sir. Mrs Charteris.’

  ‘Very good. Perhaps when you make your duty call tomorrow morning, the ladies will be rested and the aunt in better health. Then you can discuss the drawings with Mrs Charteris. I regret to press the matter so much but time is short.’ Kerim Pasha rose as he spoke. The interview was over.

  Tom was glad to escape from the well-guarded yali. He strode out with his head high and marched off up the road with his usual long stride. But he was distinctly uneasy. True, Kerim Pasha had seen that he could not draw and he had admitted it. But he should not have involved Rose in this army business. Even if she had spurned him and married another man, he did not want to bring danger upon her.

  How would she react to the request about drawing uniforms? He gritted his teeth. She was going to be furious that he had discussed her with the Pasha. But if she agreed to do the drawings, they would enhance the report marvellously. Tom remembered -too well- how delightfully she had sketched the various members of their group of friends, that autumn in London.

  Had he done wrong in drawing Rose and her drawing skills to Kerim Pasha’s attention? If he had, the next few days were going to be difficult. Rose had a temper and he expected to be on the receiving end of her fury. He had nearly reached the Embassy but then he changed his mind and turned aside into the street that followed the downward curve of the hill, towards his own lodgings. Why he felt a sudden need to make sure that all was well he could not say. Instinct, born of many adventures, told him something was wrong.

  He entered his rooms very quietly, on the alert for an intruder. There was nothing obviously wrong, nothing missing. But a careful examination of his table showed him that someone had been through his papers. Tom was meticulous about keeping everything in a certain order and he could tell that the papers and books had been moved.

  The old man who owned the house had seen nothing. No visitors had called, he said. Why would anyone come looking for him here when it was known that the Engli
sh effendi spent his days at the new palace in the main avenue.

  Chapter Five

  Rose awoke from a troubled dream in which she was fleeing armed men in the darkness. Since the terrifying time they had lived through in Cairo, this dream often troubled her sleep. She sat up with a jerk, heart thumping. She was bathed in sweat and her throat was dry. The room was unfamiliar. Had they kidnapped her? Then she remembered. They were in a safe haven in a mansion in Constantinople. She leaned her head on her knees while her heartbeat slowed. Then memory came back. Her aunt…?

  She leapt off the divan and at once saw Aunt Emily, lying on a bed close by the window. She was propped up against a mass of cushions. Rose took a step closer. Lady Westacote opened her eyes and smiled at her.

  ‘Rose, dear,’ she said in a feeble tone, ‘at last you have woken up. Poor Helena has been looking after us both all day.’

  ‘I was too tired to sleep,’ said Rose, rubbing her face. ‘It took ages for me to settle down. And now I need to wash.’ She took her aunt’s hand. ‘But first, I am so glad to see you looking better – even if only a little. That drink has certainly reduced your fever.’ She looked at the empty jug. ‘Our hosts seem to know a lot about such illnesses.’

  ‘We are greatly in their debt.’ Lady Westacote blinked away a tear. ‘Helena has told me that the gentleman who offered us this hospitality – I fear I cannot recall his name -’ she frowned, ‘so remiss of me.’

  ‘Dear ma’am, you were very unwell at the time. His name is Kerim Pasha,’ Rose told her, rearranging the cushions behind her aunt’s head as she spoke.

  ‘Well, Helena says he has sent orders to Cairo to help protect Philip and Max and all the team. You can imagine how that has relieved her mind. She was in such despair…’

  ‘It is a huge relief to all of us, dear ma’am. But I am not surprised that he should do so. He seems powerful enough to command anything he wishes.’ She felt her aunt’s forehead. ‘Do not talk any more now, Aunt Emily, you are tired. I will come back and sit with you when I have washed.’ She pulled at her sweat-dampened shirt and grimaced.