“Mademoiselle Bing should stay at home, I think,” Berry suggested. “It would be best if you were to appear vulnerable and bereft.”
“I will notify her,” Hattie agreed, wondering what he was up to; he knew better than most that she could no more appear vulnerable and bereft than she could fly to the moon.
“Have you seen Mr. Hafez?” Robbie asked, taking a quick look around. “I am to arrange for a meeting with Mr. Drummond but he has not left word of his whereabouts.”
“He did not join us for dinner,” Hattie volunteered.
“Perhaps he has been detained,” suggested Berry in a neutral tone. Hattie shot him a look but he did not meet her eye. Maddening man, she thought again, and watched him drink his wine, her gaze on his throat as she wondered in exasperation when he was ever going to kiss her again—there would be no opportunities tomorrow, certainly. When he lifted his eyes to hers, she was made aware he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“We must be patient,” Berry said aloud, setting down his glass.
“Well, I hope he makes an appearance soon,” said Robbie, oblivious to any byplay. “I need to buttonhole him.”
“The sooner the better,” agreed Hattie with fervor.
Chapter 35
The next morning Hattie, dressed in yellow, stood before two Egyptian men who sat on a crude bench before a small market stall, smoking hookahs and regarding her with unreadable dark eyes. Berry addressed them in Arabic, but the two men made no reply. With a gesture, Berry indicated Hattie and said something further. One of the men took one last draw on the hookah, and then stood to disappear behind the fruit stalls.
Berry turned to report to Hattie and Robbie. “We are looking for a certain man—it may be a few minutes before he is located.”
Hattie tried to avoid eye contact with the remaining native, who drew on the smoking tube and continued to regard her unblinkingly. “Who is the man we seek?”
“One of the porters who was with your parents on the site. I have indicated that you particularly desire to speak with him.”
Hattie nodded. “And what are my lines?”
“Appeal to his chivalry, perhaps—that you are now alone in the world and need his help. You seek to bury your parents with the rituals of your religious beliefs.”
“Be careful you don’t offend him,” warned Robbie. “They are sensitive about certain protocols—keep your veil down.”
“Unless it is necessary to lift it,” suggested Berry. “We shall see.”
Hattie sincerely hoped she would not have to offer a glimpse of the god-king’s daughter to obtain assistance; she wasn’t certain how one would go about it. They were once again on the west bank, only this time they had traveled past the ruins and into the small cluster of white-washed huts nestled against the hills that provided housing for the native laborers who worked the excavations. The accommodations were very basic, and the open air market seemed to serve as a general meeting place—although it seemed unnaturally quiet for a market, and around her Hattie observed turbaned men and veiled women watching them from shadowed doorways. She lifted the hem of her best yellow from the dusty pathway and was regretfully aware the dress would be the worse for wear after this excursion. It was more an evening dress than a day, but if it was favored by Berry, she would wear it morning, noon, and night with pleasure; she was pleased to think that he took notice of such things.
The man returned, and gestured silently for them to follow. Berry indicated Hattie should proceed, and she stepped between the stalls to follow the Egyptian, unable to resist glancing behind her to confirm that Berry followed.
“I will stay close,” Berry assured her quietly so that Robbie would not overhear. After several twists and turns, they arrived at a makeshift café—hardly more than a lean-to—which consisted of a curtained doorway dividing a kitchen from a small dining area, the floor nothing more than hard-packed earth as the flies buzzed in circles in the center of the room. At one of the crudely-built tables sat an Egyptian man, his gaze resting for only an instant upon Hattie before he watched Berry come toward him. He did not look at Robbie.
Berry indicated that Hattie should stand slightly behind him. “He will not speak directly to you, because you are a woman. You must not address him, but communicate only through me.”
Hattie thought the protocol ridiculously stilted, so she cut to the heart of the matter. “Tell him I have come to bury my parents.”
Berry translated, and the man sat for a moment, expressionless, and then spoke in Arabic. Hattie had the impression he knew English, but was using the translation process to stall and so put them at a disadvantage.