Sands of Time (Out of Time #6) Page 6

  As they descended the grand staircase into the main hall, they passed two life-size bronze statues of bare-breasted women with ancient Egyptian headdresses, holding up electric lamps. Thick columns topped with lotus flowers led to an enormous octagonal Moorish hall with a sixty foot ceiling. What appeared to be a canopy of glass was the centerpiece of wildly detailed and adorned walls, floors and ceilings. Grand pointed Coptic arches, intricate latticework and mosaics evoked the lavish feeling of the great Cairo of centuries past for the European traveler. Divans, rattan chairs and tables were scattered on and around ubiquitous oriental carpets. Among the potted palms and trays of champagne were princes and marquis, generals and titans of industry. Europe’s elite called Shepheard’s home. As he understood it, it was more of a social club than a hotel really. A place to see and be seen. Simon could only hope Mason was one of the latter and not just the former.

  As they walked through the long hall and toward the front desk, Simon absently tried to place the tune the small orchestra in the loggia played. Anything to take his mind off last night. The memories of those long hours, not knowing, imagining the worst shadowed him still.

  Reflexively, he reached out to touch Elizabeth. His hand landed lightly on the small of her back. Just a small reassurance, but one he needed.

  Jack had suggested they stop at the front desk and make an inquiry before dinner. Simon let Elizabeth precede him through a knot of British soldiers. The hotel and the rest of Cairo wasn’t dominated by their presence the way it surely had been during the war years, but they and their uniforms were still omnipresent.

  “Hello,” Jack said to the clerk, as he casually leaned against the front desk. He pointed to Simon and Elizabeth. “We’re friends of George Mason. He’s also staying in the hotel. We tried his room, but there was no answer. Did he change rooms?”

  The slender clerk bowed his head slightly and quickly consulted a ledger behind the counter. “Mr. Mason is still in room 226, but I believe he is away at the moment.”

  Jack turned to Simon. “I told ya.” He looked at Elizabeth for confirmation. “Didn’t I tell ya? And he knew we were coming.”

  He sighed and addressed the clerk again. “You don’t know when he’ll be back, do you?” Jack leaned in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “We have some business and it’s getting a little…urgent, if you know what I mean.”

  The clerk nodded again and smiled. “I understand, sir. I am afraid I am not privy to Mr. Mason’s schedule. But perhaps Professor Whiteside can help you. They spent a great deal of time together.”

  Jack snapped his fingers. “Whiteside. Right. Mason mentioned him. Is he around?”

  Simon was impressed. Wells didn’t miss a beat. His lies sounded more natural than his truths. He’d not only managed to find out Mason’s room number, but a contact as well.

  “I believe the professor and his daughter are in the dining room.”

  Jack pointed in one direction and the clerk corrected him by pointing in the other.

  Jack rapped the counter with his knuckles. “Good man.”

  He turned to Simon and Elizabeth with a grin. “Shall we?”

  The dining room was large, holding at least fifty tables, elegantly set with white linens and silver service. Like the entrance hall, it too had an enormously high ceiling and was decorated in classic Moorish design with embellished columns patterned with green diamonds, an emerald carpet and large gilt mirrors.

  A dozen or so waiters in white robes with wide maroon sashes about their waists and matching fezzes, or tarbooshes as they were known locally, lingered around the edges of the room ready to meet a diner’s needs. Simon stopped one of them and asked for the professor’s table. The man bowed and directed him to a table near the cascading, tiered fountain at the far end of the room.

  The table next to Whiteside and his daughter was empty giving them the perfect opportunity to meet them both. Whatever Mason wanted with Whiteside, it had something to do with the missing watch. At least, that was the logical conclusion. It could simply have been part of his cover, but Simon’s instincts told him it was something more.

  Simon pulled out a chair for Elizabeth, and then he and Jack took their seats. Whiteside was perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties. His hair had gone mostly white and what there was left of it sprouted off his head in unruly short curls. He was slightly disheveled, not from lack of money, but lack of care. His suit was well-made and expensive, but wrinkled in a way university professors’ often were. He looked to be the sort who would perpetually have chalk dust on his forearm and neither notice nor care.

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said with a vague hint of a Lincolnshire accent. “I simply must meet Jouvet tomorrow at the museum.”

  The young woman, presumably his daughter, teetered between childhood and womanhood, probably no more than eighteen. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose and looked at her father with alarm.

  “But, papa!” she started in an excited voice, before regaining her composure. “I can go alone. I don’t need George to escort me. Really.”

  “Don’t be absurd, dear.”

  The girl chewed on her lip and tugged nervously on a tendril of blonde hair that had escaped from her bun as she furiously searched for a counter-argument.

  Whiteside looked up from the book he was reading and patted her hand. “I’m sure you can amuse yourself here for the day.”

  The girl continued to fret, but in silence, and Simon took advantage of the opening. “I’m sure Mason will be along before too long,” he said, somewhat loudly.

  Jack grunted. “It’s just like George to do this.”

  “I’m sure he had a good reason for running off,” Elizabeth said, joining their little play. “I hope he’s all right.”

  Whiteside cleared his throat and turned toward them. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but did you say something about George Mason?”

  Simon shifted in his chair to face him. “Yes, we did. Do you know him?” Simon glanced back to Jack and Elizabeth. “We’re a little concerned.”

  “As am I,” Whiteside said with a frown. “Forgive me,” he stood and stuck out his hand. “Arthur Whiteside. This is my daughter, Christina.”

  Simon stood, shook his hand and bowed slightly toward the girl. “Simon Cross. My wife, Elizabeth, and Jack Wells. So, you know George Mason?”

  Whiteside’s forehead creased in worry. “Yes, we share common interests.”

  From the short dossier Travers had given them, Simon knew Mason’s areas of expertise. While they varied from ancient literature to philosophy, combining his clear love of antiquity with their current location, it was hardly difficult to guess. “Egyptology?” Simon asked.

  “Yes,” Whiteside said with a broad, dreamy smile as if he were thinking of a lover and not a field of study. He came back to himself and said, “Mason was an avid collector. Very well versed on the subject.”

  “Cross here is no slouch himself,” Jack said winning a quick glare from Simon.

  He had studied the subject, of course, both at university and in his own pursuits, but… “Compared to Mason and yourself, Professor, I’m merely an amateur.”

  Whiteside was pleased at the compliment and his smile broadened. “Won’t you join us?” He gestured to their large, empty table. “We have plenty of room, as you can see. The Everetts seem to have disappeared as well.”

  Christina rolled her eyes and shook her head in obvious exasperation with whomever the Everetts were. “They’re probably drunk again.”

  Whiteside laughed uncomfortably and shot his daughter a surprised and confused look as though he didn’t realize she knew what drunk was. He cleared his throat and looked back to Simon who saved him from further embarrassment and steamrolled right over the awkward moment, thanking him profusely for the offer.

  “You mentioned that you were worried about George, too,” Elizabeth said as she settled into her seat at the new table. “Do you have any idea where he went?”

&n
bsp; Whiteside summoned a waiter with a wave of his hand. “Not the foggiest, I’m afraid. Mason’s a bit of an odd duck.” He laughed and then clapped Simon on the forearm. “But then I don’t need to tell you, do I? And not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course. I’ve been called far worse.”

  The waiter appeared at their table and Whiteside tapped his own Old Fashioned and raised a finger, signaling for another, before casting his glance around the table. “What would you like?”

  They placed their orders and the awkward silence that always followed an interruption settled in around them.

  “So, Christina,” Jack said. “Is this your first time to Egypt?”

  “Oh no,” she said, with a shake of her head. “Daddy and I come every season. Except for that one year we spent in Singapore. It rained so much nearly all of my books were ruined. But then I suppose that’s to be expected in the rain forest, isn’t it? But I still miss my copy of Songs of Innocence and Experience. Keats, you know.”

  The girl seemed to suddenly realize she’d wandered far off topic and blushed prettily. Elizabeth smiled kindly at her.

  “Egypt is wonderful,” Christina said softly, but there was a twinge of wistful sadness in her voice. “I’d rather be here than London or Paris.”

  “Well, you’re way ahead of me,” Elizabeth said. “This is my first time and I want to see everything.”

  Simon sighed dramatically. “She means that quite literally, you know?”

  Whiteside chuckled.

  “Mason was supposed to show us around the museum, but…” Simon let his bait dangle in the air.

  “Cairo Museum?” Whiteside said. “I have an appointment there tomorrow, but it won’t take long.” He ignored the look his daughter shot him at that remark and pushed on. “Perhaps, you’d join me? I’d be more than pleased to stand in for Mason, as it were.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Professor Whiteside,” Simon said.

  “Arthur,” Whiteside said. “Any friend of George’s and all that.”

  Simon felt the familiar warmth of Elizabeth’s hand as she slipped it into his under the table and gave it a “well done” squeeze.

  Jack sighed. “Museums.” He held up his hand in apology. “No offense, Professor. I was kind of hoping to see a little of the city. Poke around a little.”

  “We can meet up later,” Simon said and then added with a conspiratorial whisper in Whiteside’s direction. “He’s not the academic type.”

  Whiteside smiled in understanding.

  “Speaking of, is that Budge?” Simon asked, nodding down at Whiteside’s book.

  “Yes!” he said, pleased and obviously not realizing Simon could read the author’s name at the top of the page. “It’s quite good. Really quite good. Have you read his Legends of the Gods?”

  “No,” Simon said. “I—”

  “Fascinating!” Whiteside said as he ran his finger over the text and read with dramatic flair. “The legend of Heru-Behutet begins with Horus holding the hippopotamus-fiend with a chain and spear! Behind him stand—”

  “Father,” Christina admonished. “Not at dinner. Remember the rules?”

  It took Whiteside a moment to stop the freight train of his enthusiasm, but when he finally did, his face filled with chagrin. “You’re right, of course, my dear. Forgive me?”

  She smiled kindly at him. The shy child was gone, and a lovely, compassionate young woman appeared.

  Whiteside put his hand over his daughter’s. “Her mother, God rest her soul, made me promise not to bring my work to the table. Said the sand got into everything.” He smiled and laughed lightly, but it was clear to everyone that the thought of his late wife still grieved him deeply. Simon did not blame him for that. He cast a quick glance at Elizabeth. He did not blame him at all.

  Dinner was surprisingly good. The food wasn’t quite up to the level one would find in the finest French restaurants in Europe and New York, but it was still excellent. Both Whiteside and his daughter were pleasant enough company and, as far as Simon could tell, genuine. There was always the risk that anyone they might meet could be an agent of the mysterious Shadow Council Travers had mentioned. However, Simon found that highly unlikely in the Whiteside’s case.

  They spoke openly and freely of their lives in England where the Professor had retired from teaching and his position as curator for the Ashmolean, a venerable and well-respected museum at Oxford. Representatives from every major museum in the world were in Egypt for the season, all vying for the best artifacts to send back home.

  “A nest of vipers,” Whiteside called them. “Don’t let Winlock’s winsome good looks fool you,” he added with a nod toward the excavator from New York’s Metropolitan Museum, who was anything but handsome. “Beneath that broad smile and broader mustache lies the heart of a brigand. Mata Hari in tweed.”

  Whiteside’s eyes flashed with humor and he couldn’t contain his smile.

  “Oh, father,” Christina chided him gently.

  “In all seriousness, it is nasty business—acquisitions. There’s a great deal of money at stake.”

  “And no small measure of pride,” Christina added with a sly smile.

  His eyes glittered. “It is quite the dangerous game.”

  “Don’t believe everything my father says. He’s prone to exaggeration.”

  He might have been overstating things a bit, Simon admitted, but considering the money involved in antiquities, he might not be far off. Had that been why Mason befriended Whiteside? Was the watch mixed in with other collectables?

  “Are you here to acquire for the museum?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Oh, I’m retired. Although a little business, a little pleasure.”

  “And speaking of,” Christina said, ignoring her father’s glare. “I don’t see why I can’t go to the Bazaar alone. I’ve been dozens of times.”

  “Never alone,” he said. “This is a wonderful country,” he said and then grew serious. “But you’ll be hard pressed to find a man who won’t try to cheat you.”

  “Father!”

  Simon wasn’t surprised by Whiteside’s attitude. His was typical of the British of the day. The occupier always thinks the people he conquers are better off by his occupation than they were before. Of course, the occupation of Egypt had little to do with improving the life of its citizens and far more to do with unfettered access to the lucrative Suez Canal.

  Whiteside’s expression was unashamed. “Well, it’s the truth, my dear. And the gyppos at the Bazaar are the worst of the lot. It’s not at all safe for a young lady alone.”

  Christina sulked, but only for a moment. Her eyes lit up and shifted to Jack. “What if I had an escort?”

  Whiteside’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

  “Mr. Wells,” she said brightly. “He’s new to Egypt and wants to see some of the city. The least I can do is to show him around and he can be my protector.”

  Whiteside frowned. “I’m not certain that’s entirely proper, Christina. You understand, of course?” he added to Jack.

  But before Jack could say anything, Christina jumped in. “Diana will be back in the morning. What if the three of us go? She can chaperone.”

  Whiteside considered it.

  “I would like to see the Bazaar,” Jack said. “And I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

  “Yes, of course,” Whiteside said quickly, embarrassed to be seen questioning his guest’s honor. “Of course. If you can make arrangements with Diana,” he said as his daughter beamed in response.

  “And we three shall go to the museum,” Whiteside continued. He lifted his glass. “Quite the day!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Do you want my coat?” Simon offered. The night was cool, but not cold. Elizabeth’s green silk halter dress didn’t afford much in the way of warmth, but she didn’t mind. The air felt good.

  She shook her head and leaned into him as they walked. The grounds were lush and large. Paths lit with tiki torches wound their way through
the palms and flowers and fountains. Fairy lights lined the edges of the hotel and looked like fireflies winking on and off as they went deeper into the garden.

  Simon was quiet as they walked, which wasn’t all that unusual. He was comfortable with silence. But Elizabeth could feel the slight tension in his body, in the way he held his shoulders. This wasn’t the easy silence of an evening at home reading or sitting by the fire, this silence was hiding something.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She squeezed his arm. “You’re all tense.”

  “Fine,” he lied.

  She frowned, but didn’t press him and leaned back into his side as they walked along a path. “I think things are going pretty well really.”

  Simon looked down at her about to argue the point, but didn’t. “We did make progress,” he conceded. “It is a daunting prospect though, isn’t it? The watch could be with anyone, anywhere in the city. Assuming it’s still even in Cairo.”

  “True, but Mason went out of his way to befriend Whiteside. He only would have done that if he thought Whiteside could help lead him to the watch.” Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip. “Or thought that Whiteside had the watch himself.”

  Simon nodded. “Possible, but it seems unlikely. Mason didn’t seem the sort to play games. Why not simply take the watch and leave town?”

  Elizabeth thought about it for a moment. “Well, even if Whiteside doesn’t have the watch, I don’t think Mason would have gotten close to him if he didn’t believe he needed him to get to the watch.”

  “Mason was quite paranoid on the train,” Simon agreed. “And that fellow who lost the watch in the first place, his simply disappearing without a trace does complicate things immeasurably.”

  Elizabeth tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “I understand why Mason was so cagey with the details of what he found out, the fewer people who know and all that, but it does make our job a lot harder.”