In the Eye of the Storm

  It was when I looked down from the stars that I noticed the people for the first time.

  Oh my God… Please, let me die! Let me die now!

  People. Hundreds of them. And not just any kinds of people - high society, as high as you could get! Ladies in exquisite dresses, bedecked with jewellery, gentlemen in sleek black tailcoats, with golden watches and monocles tucked into their eyes. They were all sitting around tables, chatting, laughing, and… feasting. There really was no other word for it. The meals looked delicious. The platters, cutlery and glasses twinkled in the candlelight, shining with jewels and precious metals. If there had been a few camels and djinns, it would have looked like a scene from the Arabian Nights!

  ‘How much did a reservation in this place cost, exactly?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth, my eyes wide.

  ‘Too much,’ came the dark reply from Mr Ambrose’s direction. ‘Don’t remind me. Keep walking. And smile.’

  I smiled as sweetly as a fairy godmother with a sugar addiction.

  ‘Yes, Dick, my dear. Of course, Dick, my dear.’

  A noise came from the back of his throat. It was somewhere between a volcano rumbling and a breaking iceberg. ‘When this is all over, we’re going to have a long talk, you and I!’

  ‘I look forward to it, Dick, my dear.’

  ‘Walk! And smile!’

  We reached the top of the staircase. Talk down in the dining room sank to a murmur, and faces turned towards us. Only a few at first - but the moment the first female caught an eyeful of Mr Ambrose, her jaw dropped onto her plate. Without bothering to fish it out of her soup, she tapped her friend on the shoulder, and as she turned, so did the lady beside her. The ripple spread through the great hall. By the time we were halfway down the stairs, most of the women in the room were staring at us, and a goodly portion of the gentlemen.

  The wedding ring on my finger was like a burning brand. I held my breath, waiting for someone to scream ‘Imposter!’ - but nothing happened. Well, nothing except most of the women in the room undressing Mr Ambrose with one look and wishing me dead with the next.

  I leaned towards Mr Ambrose. ‘Congratulations. So far we seem to be very inconspicuous. I think the entire room is staring at us, with the possible exception of that old lady in the corner, who is probably deaf and half-blind.’

  ‘Lillian, my love…’ The words were ice shards, his eyes threatening maelstroms of dark colour. ‘Hold your tongue and smile, will you?’

  Why the heck did that make me want to grab him by the ears again and kiss him senseless?

  ‘Why, certainly, Dick. Oh, by the way, my friends call me “Lilly”. You may, too. We are married, after all.’

  He cocked his head, and regarded me like a lion ready to swallow me whole. ‘Thank you - Lillian.’

  A waiter appeared in front of us, and bowed deeply enough for the Emperor of China.

  ‘Welcome to the dining room, Mr and Mrs Thomson.’

  Who the bloody hell was he tal-? Oh, right! I was Mrs Thomson! Straightening, I clutched Mr Ambrose more tightly and lifted my chin in the air, trying to look as married as possible.

  ‘Do you wish a particular table, Sir, Madam?’

  Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod. ‘On the terrace, if there’s one free.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir. Please follow me, Sir, Madam.’

  Unbending himself, the waiter started across the dining room, weaving through the tables with ease. We followed, until we came to a large set of ornate double doors, opening on a luxurious terrace from which one could still see the sun, sinking in the distance over the ocean. The play of fiery colours upon the waves was a sight to see.

  ‘Your table, Sir, Madam.’ With a flourish, the waiter indicated a table right beside the railing, where the view was even more spectacular. Stepping up to the stone balustrade, I could see the lights of the ancient city of Alexandria glowing beneath me. History was thick in the air, an atmosphere that vibrated around us.

  ‘Do you wish a menu?’ the waiter enquired.

  Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Two please. One each, for me and the lady.’

  ‘Certainly, Sir. I won’t be a moment.’

  He disappeared, and Mr Ambrose stepped up to the table, drawing back a chair. I was still looking at the city, trying to make out the pattern of streets in the glowing lights. When I looked back at the table, Mr Ambrose was still standing there like a statue, holding the chair.

  I stood there, watching him.

  He stood there, the back of the chair clutched in his hands, his eyes growing darker. I frowned.

  What’s the matter with him?

  It was only then that I realized.

  He’s pulled the chair out for me!

  Slowly but surely, a grin spread over my face. This ‘being married’ business might actually be some fun - for a while.

  ‘The city looks beautiful, doesn’t it?’ I sighed, demonstratively leaning on the balustrade.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ the cool voice of Mr Ambrose drifted to my ears. ‘I cannot see it from where I am standing.’

  ‘Really? What a pity.’ I sighed again. ‘Why don’t you come over and see?’

  His hands twitched around the wood of the chair. ‘I can’t. Wouldn’t you like to sit down, my dear?’

  ‘No, thank you, Dick. I’m fine where I am for now.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. The sea is so beautiful in the sunset.’

  I could almost feel his cold stare drilling holes in my neck. Acting as if it didn’t bother me in the least, I took out my fan and began to wave it lazily, stirring up a breeze in the hot evening air. When I sneaked a peek at him out of the corner of my eye, he was still standing in exactly the same place, rigid as a column of marble, holding out the chair for me - the vision of a perfect gentleman.

  I waved my fan again, just for the fun of it, and thought I heard a low growl from behind me, out of Mr Ambrose’s direction. But maybe I was mistaken.

  ‘Sir? Madam? Your menus.’

  The waiter had returned, holding two leather-bound menus with golden cursive script on the covers. They already looked good enough to eat. Water ran in my mouth at the thought of what the actual food would taste like.

  ‘What do you say, Dick?’ Graciously wandering over, I gave Mr Ambrose one of my most charming smiles. ‘Should we sit down to eat?’

  His dark eyes met mine, and there was the promise of cold-blooded murder in them. ‘I think that would be wise, love.’

  ‘Oh, all right. If you insist…’ Giving my fan another casual wave, I slowly sank onto the chair he was holding out for me, and he shoved it forward with enough force to squash my stomach against the table. How rude! I had to work hard to suppress a smirk.

  ‘There! I hope you sit comfortably, my dear?’

  ‘Why of course.’ Pushing back, I rubbed my aching stomach muscles. ‘Thank you! You are always so concerned about me, Dick, my dear. It’s really touching.’

  Folding himself onto the chair opposite me, Mr Ambrose met my gaze with cool, unfathomable eyes. ‘Nothing more than what you deserve, my love.’

  Taking a seat, Mr Ambrose held his hand out. The waiter reached out to both of us, wanting to hand one menu to Mr Ambrose and one to me, but Mr Ambrose snatched both away from him.

  ‘We’ll need a little time to decide,’ he informed the man briskly. ‘Come back in a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Um… Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’

  Once the waiter had disappeared again, I nodded to the two menus. ‘So hungry that you need two menus to decide, are you, Dick, my dear? You’ll have to watch yourself so you don’t gain too much weight. We don’t want you coming back from our honeymoon looking all puffed up like a football, like you did that time you came back from Monte Carlo.’

  Lowering the menus far enough so he could stare at me over the top he said, in an icy voice too low for anyone else to hear: ‘What are you talking about? I’ve never been to Monte Carlo.’

  I shrugged.
‘Just keeping up the pretence, my dear. We are a happy married couple with a lot of history, after all.’

  ‘And married people talk like that, do they?’

  ‘So far as I know.’

  His dark eyes bored into me. ‘Then I am devoutly grateful that this is only a charade.’

  I returned his dark look with a bright smile. ‘A feeling which I sincerely return.’

  Casting a quick look around to see if anyone was listening, I leaned forward and whispered: ‘So, what are you doing with two menus?’

  ‘This.’ Sliding the menus off the table, he shoved them under the tablecloth. There was a rustling sound, and a moment later, the menus re-emerged. He handed one me one.

  I frowned, turning it around. It looked exactly as it had before.

  Hm…

  Holding it up, I tapped on the side. Maybe there was a hidden compartment somewhere, or a latch, or…

  ‘Open it!’ came a low hiss from Mr Ambrose.

  My heart made a leap. Had he hidden something inside? A secret document, maybe? Well, there was only one way to find out. With a cautious glance around to make sure nobody was looking, I let the menu fall open.

  ~ HOTEL LUXOR ~

  Live Like a King on the Nile

  List of Appetizers

  By golly! Now that was some impressive secret document! I could see why Mr Ambrose would make such a fuss about this. What did we have here…?

  Winter Salad marinated in French Dressing

  Crab Puffs with Chives

  Potato Salad

  Cucumber Basil Sandwiches

  Caviar on Toast

  Cranberry Sauce

  Cream Cheese

  Oh my gosh! That was so… amazing! I hardly knew the words to express how impressed I was - not.

  Looking up at Mr Ambrose, I raised an eyebrow. ‘Yummy! I love cream cheese.’

  His little finger twitched.

  ‘Turn the page,’ he growled, glaring suspiciously at an elderly couple who were passing not very far from us. They looked about as likely candidates for spies as Mr Ambrose did for a loving husband.

  I turned the page.

  ‘Seafood,’ I read aloud. ‘Lobster, crabs, oysters…’

  ‘Again! Turn the page again!’

  Rolling my eyes, I did as he said, and started to read aloud again. ‘Map of the peninsula of-’

  Then I realized what I was seeing. And the sharp kick from Mr Ambrose under the table a moment later brought it home with force. I glared at him.

  ‘That wasn’t necessary!’

  ‘I’d say it was very necessary,’ was his cool reply. ‘Read. But not aloud.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I got that.’

  I lowered my eyes to the menu again. There, nestled between two pages of the ornately printed lists of dishes, was another piece of paper. One that most certainly did not belong to the Hotel Luxor.

  Under the caption Map of the Peninsula of Sinai, it showed a roughly triangular stretch of land, surrounded by water nearly everywhere, and only attached by thin strips of earth to the rest of Egypt in the west and Arabia in the east. Over the peninsula, snaky dotted lines wound from one end to the other.

  I looked up at Mr Ambrose. ‘The lines?’

  ‘Caravan routes.’

  I frowned. ‘Why are they so roundabout? Why aren’t they straight?’

  ‘Because most men prefer to ride around mountains rather than to the top and down again, my dear. There’s also the little issue of not dying of thirst. Oases seldom have the good manners to be arranged in a straight line.’

  The arrogant son of a…! I was tempted to kick him under the table but, with admirable self-control, refrained from doing so. Instead, I looked down at the map again. There were dozens of crosses all along the dotted lines. What were those? Cities?

  But then I saw the caption beside one of the crosses.

  Robbery site

  A cold shiver went down my back. So many… and at least twenty men dead for every cross on this map. This was going to be one heck of an adventure - more than I had bargained for.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I asked, my voice unusually quiet.

  ‘We’ll be starting our enquiries tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Enquiries?’ I looked up. Mr Ambrose’s face was hidden behind his menu. For anyone who looked over, it had to appear as if he was intently studying his choice of seafood.

  ‘Yes, Miss Linton. You don’t think I intend to simply charge off into the desert, do you?’

  No. I hadn’t thought that. There were always plans with him, and plans behind the plans.

  ‘There are agents of Dalgliesh in this city, remember? If we can find one of them, maybe encourage him to talk…’ One of his hands let go of the menu and, picking up a knife from the table, whirled it in a manner that said more than a thousand words. ‘If we can find out where the bandits are operating, our task will become much easier. That is when we will set out eastwards.’

  My eyes flitted across the map, confused.

  ‘Why? Aren’t we supposed to be going south?’

  ‘Not from Alexandria, no. Most of my goods came in through another coastal city, Damietta. Since we want to retrace the caravans’ tracks as closely as possible, that’s where we’re going to start out.’

  Blimey! This was like half a geography lesson! I found the word Damietta printed beside a big fat black blob on the map. Most of the dotted lines ended there - or started, depending on your point of view.

  ‘I see. And then?’

  ‘We’re going to follow the caravan how about the lobster, dearest? I thought you loved lobster.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘We’re going to follow a lobster through the desert?’

  ‘Or the oysters,’ Mr Ambrose continued, kicking me under the table. His eyes darted to the left, and only then I noticed the waiter who was walking past close by, a tray of caviar in his hand. He was well within hearing distance.

  ‘Um… well, yes, I do like lobster. So much. At home, I eat lobster all the time, as you know. Breakfast, dinner, supper, - always lobster for me. Yummy! Lobster tastes so…’

  Another kick hit my shin.

  I glared at him. All right, maybe I had slightly overdone it, but that was no reason for domestic abuse!

  ‘I like oysters, too. But tonight I would prefer something less slippery. What about you, Dick?’

  Ha! Now the ball is back in his court! Let’s see what he does with it…

  ‘I think that I’ll have crab puffs with chives for starters,’ Mr Ambrose invented, effortlessly. ‘And after that, maybe a route from Damietta southwards until we reach Ras Sedr.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Mr Ambrose gave me a look. One of those looks that said he knew perfectly well his intelligence was infinitely superior to mine, but did I have to demonstrate it all the time?

  ‘I said, we’re going to follow the caravan route from Damietta southwards until we reach Ras Sedr.’

  Oh. Of course. The waiter was out of hearing range again.

  ‘What in God’s name is Ras… whatsit?

  ‘Ras Sedr. An ancient desert town at the end of the Gulf of Suez.’

  My head started to whirl from all the names. ‘What’s the Gulf of…?’

  I bit my tongue.

  No! You’re not going to ask this time! You’re going to find out by yourself!

  Pulling myself together, I stared down at the map. There it was! The Gulf of Suez. It was a little patch of ocean: where the Red Sea met the southern tip of the triangle of land that was the Sinai Peninsula, the sea split in two, creating the Gulf of Suez in the west, and some other gulfy Gulf in the east. And there, right at the end of the Gulf of Suez, was the town of Ras Sedr, just as Mr Ambrose had said.

  I traced a one of the dotted lines down from Damietta southwards to the other city. It seemed to be pretty much the shortest route.

  ‘How long do you think it will take us to find someone who knows where the ban
dits are? When do you think we’ll be able to leave?’

  ‘That is difficult to say. Anything from the lobster is really delicious, darling! I tried it when I was last here, and I tell you, it was food fit for the gods!’

  ‘Wha-? Ouch! Oh!’

  I didn’t need the kick on the shin this time to realize what was going on. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw our waiter, returned to take our orders, approach the table.

  ‘Have you decided yet, Sir, Madam?’

  ‘I, um… I…’ Hurriedly, I tried to cover up the map with my elbow. But it was too bloody big! In desperation, my eyes flitted across the pages of the menu, looking for something to order. ‘I, um… would like the potato salad, please, and a robbery on toast.’

  Deathly silence descended over the table. My words echoed in my own ears, slowly sinking in.

  ‘Caviar! Caviar on toast, I mean! Not the other stuff I said! That would be ridiculous, right? Ahahahah! Caviar. That’s all. Caviar on toast, please!’

  More silence. Slowly, I dared to look up. The waiter stared at me as if I had grown a second head. A green one, with horns. And as for Mr Ambrose… I did not even want to look around to see how he was looking at me.

  ‘I,’ I heard his voice, colder than the very heart of the arctic, burning into me like frostbite, ‘will have toast, too, please. But without the caviar’

  He closed his menu with a snap. As the waiter buzzled away, his dark, sea-coloured eyes found, me, and there was a storm brewing in them.

  ‘We two,’ he whispered, ‘must have a discussion on how to properly act our roles.’ His hand reached out, brushing against mine with a feather-light touch. ‘A very detailed discussion.’

  Oh dear…

  In Dark Alleys

  Caviar on toast didn’t actually taste very well. A bit salty, and not more. But maybe the fact that I didn’t enjoy my meal didn’t actually stem as much from the meal itself, as from the fact that Mr Ambrose’s frozen dark glare bored into me the entire time. It’s hard to enjoy your food with that kind of evil force focusing on you. The minute I was finished with my meal, I sprang to my feet and began to hurry back to our suite. I wasn’t going to stick around for wine and desert and give him a chance to glare at me some more!