Читать книгу: «Whispers in the Sand», страница 7

Anna bit her lip. An hour’s cheerful socialising in the boat’s lounge bar talking to Ben and Joe and Sally had relaxed and distracted her. She had not forgotten that the bottle would still be here in her cabin, but had been able to put it to the back of her mind. Leaving the door open behind her she went over to the suitcase and knelt down. Opening it, she looked in. Only a small bulge in the side pocket showed where the bottle was hidden. Taking a deep breath she took it out, still carefully wrapped in its scarlet silk. Not stopping to think she left the cabin, hurried down the short corridor to the main staircase and ran down to the reception desk at the foot of the stairs on the restaurant floor. There, behind a panel in the wall was the boat’s safe where they had all lodged their passports and any other valuables they didn’t want to leave lying around in cabins or bags. The desk was empty and in darkness. Taking a quick, jerky breath, she punched the brass bell which lay on the otherwise empty polished surface. The sound resonated round the reception area, but the door behind the desk which led towards the crew’s quarters remained closed. Agitatedly she put out her hand to strike the bell again, then she changed her mind. A glance at her watch had reminded her that it was nearly midnight. It wasn’t fair to expect anyone to be on duty at this hour. Except for Omar. He had told them he was there for them at any time of day or night if there were any problems. But he had meant appendicitis or murder, not a forgotten trinket. That could wait until morning. Or could it?

Turning she hurried back towards the stairs. His cabin was on the same level as hers, at the far end of the corridor.

Outside his door she stopped. Was she really going to wake him at this hour of the night to ask him to put something in the safe? For several seconds she stood there, undecided, then turning away she walked slowly towards her open cabin door.

On the threshold she hesitated. She had only been away a few minutes but something in the cabin had changed. Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the small silk-wrapped bundle in her hand as she stood in the doorway peering in. The suitcase was still lying where she had left it, the lid thrown back, in the middle of the floor. She stared at it. It was empty but something was different. The obliquely slanting light from the bedside lamp threw a wedge-shaped black shadow across the empty case, a shadow in which something was lying. Something which hadn’t been there before. Her mouth dry, her heart beating fast, she forced herself to take a step nearer. A handful of brown crumbled fragments of what looked like peat lay in the bottom of the case. She looked down at them warily, then slowly she crouched down and reached out her hand. They were dry, papery to the touch. When she drew her fingers over them they disintegrated into fine dust. Frowning, she glanced round the room. Nothing else had changed. Nothing had been moved. She rubbed the dust between her fingers then slowly she bent to sniff her fingertips. The smell was very faint. Slightly spicy. Exotic. For some reason it turned her stomach. She dusted her hands together and slammed the suitcase shut. Swinging it back onto the cupboard she rubbed her hands several times on her towel then at last she shut the cabin door and turned the key.

She undressed and showered in nervous haste, her eyes constantly searching the corners of the room. Wrapping the small silk parcel in the polythene bag in which she had packed her film she tucked it into her cosmetics bag and zipping it up tightly she put it on the floor of the shower. Then she closed the door on it.

For several minutes she stood in the centre of her cabin, every muscle tensed, listening intently. From the half-open window she could hear a faint rustle from the reeds. In the distance for an instant she heard the thin piping call of a bird, then silence fell. Turning off the main cabin light at last she climbed slowly into bed and lay there for a moment in the light of the small bedside lamp, listening once more. Then she reached across and picked up the diary. She did not feel in the least bit sleepy now and at least she could lose herself for a while in Louisa’s story and see if she could find any references to the bottle and its fate. Leafing through the pages she found herself looking at a tiny ink sketch, captioned ‘Capital at Edfu’. It showed the ornate top of one of the columns in the courtyard she had seen only that morning.

‘The Forresters decided yet again that it was too hot to do anything other than stay in the boat, so Hassan procured donkeys so that he and I could ride towards the great temple of Edfu …’

Anna glanced up. The room was quiet. Warm. She felt safe. Settling herself a little more comfortably, she turned the page and read on.

The donkey boy who had brought them to the entrance to the temple retired to the sparse shade of a group of palm trees to wait for them while Hassan led the way across the sand. He had commandeered two other small boys to carry the paintbox and easel and sketchbook, their basket of food and the sunshade. They set up camp in the lea of one of the great walls, Louisa sitting on the Persian rug, watching as the boys set down their burden and, rewarded with a half-piastre, scurried away.

‘Come and sit by me.’ She smiled at Hassan and patted the rug. ‘I want to hear the history of this place before we explore it.’

He lowered himself on the edge of the rug, sitting cross-legged, his back straight, his eyes narrowed against the sunlight. ‘I think you know more than me, Sitt Louisa, with your books and your talks with Sir John.’ He smiled gravely.

‘You know that’s not true.’ She reached for the small sketchbook and opened it. ‘Besides, I like to hear you talk while I draw.’

Every second the sun rose higher in the sky. She wanted to capture the elegance and power of this place before the shadows grew too short, to record its majesty, the beauty of the carvings which had a delicacy all their own in contrast to the solidity and sheer size of the stone they were carved from. She wanted to reproduce the strength and wonder of the statues of Horus as a falcon, remember the expression of those huge round eyes surveying the unimaginable distances beyond the walls of the temple. Unscrewing her water jar she poured some into the small pot which clipped on the edge of her paintbox and reached for a brush.

‘The temple has only recently been excavated by Monsieur Mariette. Before he came the sand was up to here.’ Hassan pointed vaguely at a spot about halfway up the columns. ‘He cleared so much away. There were houses built on the temple and close round it. They have all gone now. And he dug out all this.’ He waved towards the high walls of sand around the temple on top of which the village perched uncomfortably over the remains of the ancient town. ‘Now you can see how huge it is. How high. How magnificent. The temple was built in the time of the Ptolemies. It is dedicated to Horus, the falcon god. It is one of the greatest temples in Egypt.’ Hassan’s low voice spun the history of the building into a legend of light and darkness. The sands encroached, then receded like the waters of the Nile.

Louisa paused in her work, watching him as the pale ochres and umbers from her palette dried on the tip of her brush. His face was one minute animated, intense, the next relaxed, as the web of his narrative spun on. Dreamily she listened, lost in the visions he was conjuring for her, and it was a moment before she realised he had stopped speaking and was looking at her, a half-smile on his handsome face. ‘I have put you to sleep, Sitt Louisa.’

She smiled back, shaking her head. ‘You have entranced me with your story. I sit here in thrall, unable even to paint.’

‘Then my purpose has failed. I sought to guide your inspiration.’ The graceful shrug, the gentle self-deprecating gesture of that brown hand with its long expressive fingers did nothing to release her. She sat unmoving watching him, unable to look away. It was Hassan who broke the spell. ‘Shall I lay out the food, Sitt Louisa? Then you can sleep, if you wish, before we explore the temple.’

He rose in a single graceful movement and reached for the hamper, producing a white cloth, plates, glasses, silver cutlery. Then came the fruit, cheeses, bread and dried meats.

He no longer questioned her insistence that he eat with her, she noticed. The place settings, so neatly and formally arranged, were very close to each other on the tablecloth.

Washing her brush carefully in the little pot of water she dried it to a point and laid it down. ‘I have such an appetite, in spite of the heat.’ She laughed almost coquettishly and then stopped herself. She must not get too friendly with this man who was, after all, in her employ; a man who in the eyes of the Forresters was no more than a hired servant.

She slipped off the canvas folding stool upon which she had been sitting before her easel and sank cross-legged on the Persian rug, fluffing her skirts up round her. When she glanced up he was offering her a plate, his deep brown eyes grave as they rested for a moment on her face. There wasn’t a trace of servitude in his manner as he smiled the slow serious smile she was growing to like so much.

Taking the lump of bread he offered she put it on her plate. ‘You spoil me, Hassan.’

‘Of course.’ Again the smile.

They ate in companionable silence for a while, listening to the cheerful twittering of the sparrows which lived in the walls high above them. Another party of visitors appeared in the distance and stood staring up at the huge pylon. The woman was wearing a pale green dress in the latest fashion and Louisa reached for her sketchpad, captivated by the splash of lightness in the intensity of the courtyard. The figures disappeared slowly out of sight and she let the pad fall. ‘We look like exotic butterflies one minute, and like trussed fowl the next,’ she commented ruefully. ‘Out of place in this climate. So uncomfortable, and yet for a while, beautiful.’

‘Very beautiful.’ Hassan repeated the word quietly. Louisa looked up, startled, but he had already turned away, intent on the food. ‘Some of the ladies in Luxor wear Egyptian dress in the summer,’ he said after a moment. ‘It is cool and allows them to be more comfortable.’

‘I should like that so much,’ Louisa said eagerly. Then her face fell. ‘But I can’t see Lady Forrester tolerating me as a guest on her boat if I did anything so outrageous. I have gowns of my own which would be more comfortable than this,’ she gestured at her black skirt, ‘but sadly they are bright colours and the Forresters would not approve and so I decided I could not wear them in their presence for risk of offending them.’ Janey Morris’s gowns had, she noticed, been folded away by Jane Treece amongst her nightwear.

‘Perhaps on our visits away from the boat we could arrange somewhere for you to change so that Lady Forrester need not be made unhappy.’ This time there was a distinct twinkle in his eye. ‘I can arrange for clothes for you, Sitt Louisa, if you wish it. Think how much more comfortable it would be for you now.’ Although he barely looked at her she had the strangest feeling he could see through to every stitch she had on – the tight corset, the long drawers, the two petticoats, one of them stiffened, beneath the black skirt of her travelling dress, to say nothing of the lisle stockings, held up with garters and the sturdy boots.

‘I don’t think I can bear it a moment longer.’ She shook her head. The tight wads of her hair, her hat, suddenly everything stifled her. ‘Can we buy some things for me to wear here in the village, on the way back to the boat?’

He shook his head. ‘We need to use discretion. I shall arrange it before we reach our next destination. Have no fear, you will be comfortable soon.’

Setting one of the boys to guard their belongings they strolled a little later through the colonnaded court into the hypostyle hall and stood gazing around them at the massive pillars. ‘You feel the weight of the centuries on your head here, do you not?’ His voice was almost a whisper.

‘It is all so huge.’ Louisa stared up, awed.

‘To inspire both men and gods.’ Hassan nodded, folding his arms. ‘And the gods are still here. Do you not feel them?’ In the silence the distant cheeping and gossip of the sparrows echoed strangely. Louisa shook her head. It was the sound of English hedgerows and London streets where the birds hopped in the road to scavenge between the feet of dray horses. Out here, amidst so much grandeur they were incongruous.

‘Shall we go on?’ Hassan was watching her face as the shadows fell across it. Ahead of them the second hypostyle hall was darker still. He was walking slightly ahead of her, a tall stately figure. On this occasion he was wearing a blue turban and a simple white galabiyya, with embroidery at the neck and hem. The shadows closed over him as he moved out of sight. For a moment she stood still, expecting him to reappear, waiting for her to follow him. But he didn’t. The silence seemed to have intensified around her. Even the birds were suddenly quiet in the unremitting heat.

‘Hassan?’ She took a few steps forward. ‘Hassan? Wait for me!’

Her boots echoed on the paving slabs as she moved towards the entrance where she had seen him disappear. ‘Hassan?’ She spoke only quietly. Somehow it seemed wrong to call out loud, like shouting inside a cathedral.

It was too quiet. She couldn’t hear him. ‘Hassan?’ She reached the entrance and peered into the darkness, suddenly frightened. ‘Hassan, where are you?’

‘Sitt Louisa? What is wrong?’ His voice came from behind her. She spun round. He was standing some twenty feet away in a ray of light from an unseen doorway. ‘I am sorry. I thought you were still beside me.’

‘But I was. I saw you go in there …’ She spun round towards the dark entrance.

‘No. I said we would go and look at the room of the Nile. It is the room from where the water was brought each day for the priests’ libations.’ He came towards her, his face suddenly concerned.

‘I saw you, Hassan. I saw you go in there.’ She was pointing frantically.

‘No, lady.’ He stopped beside her. ‘I promise. I would not frighten you.’ Just for a moment he put his hand on her arm. ‘Wait. Let me look. Perhaps there is someone else here.’ He strode towards the darkened entrance to the hall of offerings and stood peering in. ‘Meen! Who is there?’ he called out sharply. He took a step further in. ‘There is no one.’ He was shading his eyes to see better. ‘But there are many chambers further in. Perhaps there are other visitors here.’

‘But I saw you. You.’ Louisa moved forward until she was standing beside him. ‘If it wasn’t you, it was someone as tall, as dark, dressed the same …’

She leant forward on the threshold of a small inner chamber within the thickness of the wall and her arm brushed his. She felt the warmth of his skin, smelt the cinnamon scent of him.

‘See, it is empty.’ His voice was close in her ear. Usually when she came close to him he moved deferentially away. In the narrow doorway he remained where he was. ‘Without a candle there is nothing to see. I shall fetch one from the hamper –’

‘No.’ She put her hand on his arm. ‘No, Hassan. I can see it’s empty.’ For a moment they stayed where they were. He had turned from looking into the darkness and was gazing down at her with a look of such love and anguish that for a moment she found herself completely breathless. Then the moment had gone. ‘Hassan –’

‘I am sorry.’ He backed away from the door and bowed. ‘I am sorry, Sitt Louisa. Forgive me. There is much to see yet, and we have need of light for the inner sanctuary. Istanna shwaiyeh. Please, wait a little. And I will fetch it.’ He strode away from her, his face impassive once more, leaving her standing where she was in the doorway.

She glanced back into the darkness. Her heart was hammering under her ribs and she felt hot and strangely breathless. Turning slowly to follow him she found her fists clutched in the folds of her skirts. Firmly she unclenched them. She took a deep breath. This was nonsense. First she was having visions, imagining she saw him when he wasn’t there, then she was reacting to him as though … But her thoughts shied away even from the idea that she was attracted to him. This could not be.

He had not waited for her. She saw him stride once more into the shadows and then out into the sunlight of the great courtyard in the distance. This time he stayed clearly in sight, and now she could see too, the other group of visitors. She could see the woman in the green dress, gazing up at something their guide was pointing out to them in a frieze far above their heads. She was bored, even from so far away Louisa could see it. And she was hot and uncomfortable in her chic flounced gown with its fashionable slight train dragging in the dust behind her. She could see the dark patches of perspiration showing beneath the woman’s arms, the broad tell-tale stripe of dampness between her shoulderblades and suddenly she longed again for the loose clothing Hassan had promised or the soft cool fabric of the dresses folded beneath her nightgowns in the drawer on the boat. Wasn’t that what she had come to Egypt for? To be free. To be in charge of her own destiny. To be answerable to no one now except herself. Not to her husband’s family in London. Not to the Forresters. Not to their maid. With a sudden leap of excitement she picked up her skirts and ran after Hassan. ‘Wait for me!’ She smiled at the other woman pityingly as she whirled past and wondered with a gurgle of amusement what she thought of this vulgar, hurrying baggage who had emerged from the holy of holies in pursuit of a tall, handsome Egyptian.

4

Thy servant hath offered up for thee a sacrifice and the divine mighty ones tremble when they look upon the slaughtering knife …

I see and I have sight; I have my existence; I have done what hath been decreed; I hate slumber … and the god Set hath raised me up!

In the silence comes the sound of scraping, faint and far away. It is an intrusion, a sacrilege in the thick heat of the dark where no whisper of movement, no breath, no pulse sounds inside or outside the linen that wraps the bodies.

On the walls the sacred texts spin their legends into the firmament. For those two men the prayers were hasty, they were quickly copied. The net of prayers to speed them on their way, to protect their souls, to direct their spirit is written in pigment, not carved upon the rock. In the corner, hidden, powerful, commanding, written by an acolyte, one single prayer begs for their spirits, if they lie ill at ease, to reappear in the world they left so suddenly. ‘I hate slumber …’

Anna was awoken by a knocking on her cabin door. She stared up at the ceiling blankly for a moment, then squinted at her watch. It was eight-thirty.

‘Who is it? Wait a minute!’ Leaping out of bed she shook her hair out of her eyes, trying to defog her brain. ‘Serena? I’m so sorry. I should have set my alarm.’

Turning the key she pulled open the door. Andy stood there, wearing an open-necked shirt and chinos. He grinned at her. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d missed you at breakfast because you were an early riser.’ His gaze took in her wild unbrushed hair, her short nightshirt and the long, bare legs and his grin widened. ‘You were planning to come to Kom Ombo?’

‘Yes!’ Anna ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Oh God, yes! I’ve overslept! What time are they leaving?’

‘Ten minutes.’ He stepped away from the door. ‘I tell you what. Would you like me to fetch you some coffee from the dining room while you get dressed?’

‘Would you?’ She shrugged – impossible to stand on one’s dignity dressed in crumpled pink cotton and nothing else.

She whirled into the shower, grabbed a dress and a cheesecloth shirt to use as a jacket, shoved her feet into sandals and was just placing films and camera into her bag when he reappeared in her doorway with coffee and a croissant wrapped in a napkin. ‘Ali even spread it with strawberry jam for you!’ He handed them to her. ‘He seems to be quite a fan of yours. And there’s no need to choke yourself. Omar said we could just follow them on down the track towards the temple. It’s half an hour’s walk, I gather, but we can’t miss it. You can see the ruins from here.’ He gestured at the window.

‘You’ve saved my life!’ Taking the coffee she sat down on the bed and sipped it gratefully. She was feeling awkward suddenly, having him standing there watching her. Then the ludicrousness of the situation hit her and she gave a burst of laughter. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not used to entertaining men in my cabin. Please, sit down. I’ll only be two minutes.’ The croissant was warm, oozing butter and jam. Not a thing to eat with dignity either.

He watched her, his eyes alight with amusement. ‘You could have another shower before we leave,’ he said after a moment.

She laughed again. ‘Nothing so drastic. I’m sure a quick wipe round with a flannel will do! I’m normally quite house-trained.’ She drained the coffee gratefully and turned to the bathroom. Her washbag was still on the floor where she had put it when she turned on the shower earlier. In such a tiny space there was nowhere else to store it. She glanced down at it, and froze. It had been fastened. She remembered. Only moments before she had opened it, forgetting the little bottle and rummaged for some lipsalve. Her fingers had closed over the polythene in the bottom of the bag. She had left it there, pushing it back, letting it nestle under the unused cosmetics and spare lotions. And now the bag was open and shreds of polythene were hanging out. For a second she was too paralysed by fear to move. She stared at it, her stomach lurching into her throat. Then common sense kicked in. She had been in a hurry. Andy had been at the door. The polythene had caught in the zip. There was no more to it than that. The bottle was still there. She could see where the shreds were sticking out between the metal teeth. Calming herself with an effort she reached for the flannel and wrung it out under the cold tap. Seconds later she was ready.

A cheerful crewman pointed the way along the river’s edge where in the distance they could see their fellow passengers in a tight group, clustered around Omar as he gesticulated wildly ahead, and stood watching them with unashamed interest as they set off beneath the intense blue of the morning sky.

‘Do you want to catch up for the lecture?’ Andy glanced at her.

‘Jog, you mean?’

‘It’s the only way.’

‘I don’t think so.’ She grinned at him companionably. ‘You go on if you want to. I’m happy to explore on my own.’

He shook his head. ‘No, running is not for me. At least not in this heat. But I did read up on Kom Ombo last night. I’ll fill you in, if you like.’

By the time they reached the crowded, colourful stalls clustered near the entrance to the temple, he had covered thousands of years of history, from its prehistoric origins, to its rebuilding in the Ptolomaic period. ‘It’s much older than Edfu; a double temple. Split in two down the middle. Half is dedicated to Haroeris or Horus the elder and half to Sobek, the crocodile god,’ he instructed her as they walked. ‘It was a temple of healing. People came from all over the place to consult the healer priests and it’s far more ruined than Edfu. It’s so close to the river, the water has damaged it, and then there was an earthquake not so long ago.’

The place was crowded with tourists and once more they found themselves shuffling forward in a queue of slowly moving visitors to present their tickets.

‘I thought you must have decided to give this one a miss.’ Toby was suddenly there beside her as Andy, distracted for a moment, and glancing from one side to the other at the temple, had drifted out of earshot. ‘Dallying with our antique dealer, I see.’ He raised an eyebrow in Andy’s direction. ‘Serena is looking for you, by the way. Do I gather that you decided to speak to her as I suggested?’

Anna nodded. ‘She was most helpful. You’re right. She knows a lot about mystical stuff and Egyptian history.’

‘Enough to set your mind at rest?’ He gave her a quick glance. They were walking slowly across the forecourt now, between the stunted remains of its stout columns towards the facade of the hypostyle hall.

‘Set your mind at rest?’ Andy had veered back towards them. ‘About what? Is something worrying you, Anna?’

She shrugged and shook her head. ‘Nothing serious.’ Omar was close in front of them now, talking about the temple’s position at the crossing of the caravan routes from Nubia and the roads from the desert where they brought in the gold, and pointing out winged sun discs over the two doorways. She moved closer. Omar was knowledgeable. Worth hearing. It was stupid to ignore the built-in lectures which came with the tour. Trying hard to concentrate on what he was saying, her eyes followed his pointing hand to look at the bas-relief carvings, but almost at once she found her attention straying. She was trying to imagine what this great temple had been like in the past. To sense whether any of its atmosphere was still there.

She had always done this, even as a child; felt the need to block out distractions, even when they were interesting and informative, so that she could concentrate on the atmosphere. Facts could come later. It was the feel of a place which brought it alive. That was what mattered, what would remain with her long after her visit was over; that was what counted, far more than finding out the date its walls were built. And that was the part of Egypt which she would take home with her. And anyway, she had never liked formal lectures.

‘I thought I told you to keep away from Andy!’ The whisper in her ear was sharp and angry. She spun round in surprise.

Charley stood only a couple of feet away from her, her eyes masked by large dark glasses. ‘I meant it.’ She glanced round and as the others shuffled after Omar into the hypostyle hall she stood with her back to them, barring Anna’s way. ‘I should concentrate on someone else if I were you.’

‘I don’t think it’s any of your business who I talk to!’ Anna retorted sharply. ‘I can’t help thinking you’re over-reacting! I assure you, I have no intention of stealing your boyfriend, if that is what he is. After all, I have only just met him. But if he and I wish to speak to each other like normal adults, then I see no reason why we shouldn’t.’

For a moment she thought Charley was going to hit her. The younger woman’s face was scarlet with anger and her fists were clenched. She took a deep breath and visibly controlled herself, almost shaking with rage, then abruptly she turned away.

‘Atta girl!’ Toby, who had been eavesdropping with unashamed interest grinned at Anna broadly.

She blushed. For some reason she would much rather he had not overheard the exchange. She glanced round for Charley. She had vanished, then Anna saw her once more at Andy’s side. As Anna watched, the young woman slipped her arm possessively through his. ‘I’m surprised she hasn’t got him on a collar and lead,’ she couldn’t resist commenting tartly.

Toby made a face. ‘I know a lot of women who would do that, given half a chance.’ He didn’t soften the words with a smile.

‘That sounds very bitter.’ Anna raised an eyebrow at his change of tone. ‘Do I gather you speak from experience?’

His expression darkened. ‘I am sure most men could, if questioned hard enough. Let’s change the subject please. I’m sorry. I should not have interrupted your conversation in the first place. Look, our trusty leader is holding forth once more and we should be listening to him.’ Moving away he left her suddenly alone. Another crowd of people was approaching, engulfing her. Their guide, gesticulating expansively, was speaking French.

‘Anna!’ Serena was pushing towards her suddenly. ‘There you are! Are you all right?’

‘Of course.’

‘You look shaken. I saw Charley speaking to you. I was too far away to get there. But you were rescued, I gather?’

Anna frowned angrily. ‘In a manner of speaking. Tell me, is no one here interested in the history of Egypt? Everyone seems to have an axe to grind and no one is listening to Omar!’ She paused, then she went on in a rush, ‘I can’t think, with all due respect, how you can tolerate Charley. I’m sorry, but she is impossible. I am not after her boyfriend, for goodness sake.’

Serena gave a comfortable laugh. ‘I don’t have to tolerate her. She’s only my tenant, not my friend, or even my flatmate. Not really. And she doesn’t see me as any kind of a threat. I’m afraid she has sensed Andy’s interest in you far more quickly than you have. You’re an attractive woman, Anna. He fancies you. It’s the way he is. If you are genuinely not interested, she will see it in the end.’ She paused. ‘And in the meantime you and I have a task to perform.’

‘A task?’ Anna stared at her for a moment, not understanding.

‘You can’t have forgotten last night already! We are going to make a sacrifice to the gods, my dear. Remember?’ Serena met her eye, then exploded into laughter. ‘Anna, your face! I was not suggesting we make Charley and Andy draw straws and throw them from the highest column. I think we can be more subtle than that. More refined. If there were any I would suggest flowers. Perhaps, as it is, a libation will do. I brought something with me which I thought might be suitable.’ She patted the large pale-fawn suede bag she habitually carried on her shoulder. ‘We’ll find a quiet corner. It’s worth doing, Anna.’