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valley in order to teach him a lesson for his wayward behaviour at Queen Hatshepsut’s Temple. And in pursuit of her lifelong mission to constantly improve herself and those around her, she’d targeted some other group or individual in similar need of reform and was on her way to administer to their needs. God help them, he thought, they deserved his compassion.
    His thoughts were confirmed when he reached the bus park to find Miss Malaysia had succeeded in buttonholing the young Egyptian tour guide. They were earnestly debating (or so Blake imagined) some of the finer points of tombs and antiquities. It was an animated discussion. At one point she began to gesticulate and furiously waved her hands. Why did she have to be so intense? he thought. And why all the rush? Did she not realise she had a whole lifetime ahead of her to pursue these passions?
    Blake sighed at the thought. From the lofty standpoint of experience he was advising patience – but in reality he was envious of the young. What must it be like to be their age again, to have their passions, their desires? He’d once said the same thing about himself and birds.
Oh, there’s plenty of time. You can do that later, perhaps when you retire
. And yet here he was, gone sixty, and there was still so much to do.
    The idea that he’d somehow wasted his life began to gnaw at him, and on the journey back to the ship, rather than slump down in his seat and doze off like the others, he sat staring out of the window in the hope of some form of redemption.
    But there was nothing, just the dusty road, the flat arable fields next to the river and the ubiquitous presence of sparrows, swallows and Palm Doves on the overhead wires. He was hungry, he’d had nothing to eat since half past five that morning and it was only the prospect of a decent lunch that sustained him through the journey.

Chapter Seven
    That afternoon Blake fetched his binoculars and his telescope from his cabin and went up onto the sun deck. His intention was to make up for the ‘lost’ time of the morning and catch up on his birding. The visit to the Valley of the Kings had been important but there had been little to see in the way of birds. True, Spur-winged Plover and the lark (of whatever type – he never did discover) were not to be sniffed at but he’d had to cut short his appreciation of it for fear of provoking Miss Malaysia. Her presence had constrained him and it annoyed him to think he’d allowed her to influence him so. She’d stolen his morning and the whole episode had left him feeling resentful – the afternoon and an intense study of the sandbanks adjacent to the ship would provide the necessary recompense.
    But even as he gathered his gear together in his cabin he realised he’d left it too late. The ship was already in motion and the brown waters of the Nile were gliding gently past his bedroom window. They must have set off during the course of lunch but amid the various comings and goings at the table the transition had been so smooth as to be imperceptible. Now, the sandbanks were receding steadily into the distance and the chance to observe whatever inhabited them had been lost. It was another setback – but he was determined to remain philosophical and settled for the idea of scanning the river and the nearby fields. This tactic was soon rewarded as Pied Kingfisher were almost constantly in view, hovering over the shallows and diving for prey.
    It grew hot in the afternoon sun. It was only the third week in January but the heat was intense. He’d retained his Panama hat and neckerchief and buttoned down the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt to prevent his arms from burning. And once he’d taken these precautions it was actually quite pleasant to be out on deck – what with the river, the fields, the blue of the sky, and here andthere the splash of kingfisher plunging. This was surely what he’d come for, to be outdoors in the fresh air, luxuriating in the quiet