Read Online The Girl in the Nile by Michael Pearce - Free Book Online Page A

experience.”
    A young boy came into the room. He looked inquiringly at Narouz and then came across to the two men, bowed and shook hands.
    “More familiar,” said Narouz, slightly crossly. “And Captain Owen is British. Just shake hands.”
    The boy was not in the least off-put. He just stood there smiling easily.
    He was, Owen judged, about fourteen, a little below medium height and slim, although already showing signs of broadening out like his uncle. His face was delicate, almost girlish, with long eyelashes and large brown eyes.
    He answered Mahmoud’s questions readily enough. They had been to the estate, yes. No, they hadn’t stayed long—a little amused glance at Narouz here. The journey had been interesting, yes. Quite, that was. He would have preferred a motorboat. His uncle was going to take him on one when they next went to Cannes.
    Luxor? Like most Egyptians, he took the past for granted and was not particularly interested in it. The river? Was merely the river. The landscape, familiar since childhood, was not worthy of remark. There was something practical, matter-of-fact about the boy. If the dahabeeyah had had an engine room Owen could have imagined him poking around happily in it. He was not one for admiring the sunset.
    The night the girl had disappeared; he remembered it well. A serious look came over his face. They had been about to have dinner. It was an important occasion because his uncle was to have initiated him into the mysteries of handling langoustines. When the girl hadn’t come down, his uncle had been angry and sent the eunuch up. They had started without her. And then, of course, the eunuch had returned.
    “You see,” said Narouz, after Fahid had shaken hands all round and departed, “he’s very inexperienced. They spend too long in the harem these days.”
    “He’s surely not still—”
    “Of course not. He’s been out for some time. He has private tutors. English, French and Italian. But I sometimes think they are just as bad.”
    The harem. Would it be possible to speak with the ladies of the harem, Mahmoud asked diffidently. They had after all been on board.
    The Prince’s face clouded over.
    “I don’t know about that,” he said doubtfully. Then his face cleared. “Why not?” he said enthusiastically. “It will be something different for them.”
    He summoned the ladies of the harem. They appeared, wrapped like their less exalted sisters from head to foot in black, and ostensibly reluctantly. Over their veils, though, their eyes sparkled.
    They answered Mahmoud’s questions demurely and vacuously.
    “Oh, come on!” said the Prince crossly, getting bored. “Speak up!”
    They had been having dinner separately in the harem quarters, as they always did, the night that it happened. No, they hadn’t been aware of anything untoward, not until, much later, the eunuch had come down and searched below deck inch by inch from bows to stern. That had been rather exciting and they were prepared to recount it at considerable length until Narouz intervened and told them to shut up.
    Mahmoud asked them about the girl. The sparkle went out of their eyes, the veils, which had been slipping, came up. They had, alas, hardly spoken to her.
    “Which is not surprising,” said Narouz, returning after chivvying them out. “It would hardly be proper for them to speak to such women. Though it might give them ideas,” he added wistfully.
    “Would that also be true of Leila?” asked Mahmoud.
    The Prince looked at him quickly.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “You said ‘such women,’ I wondered if Leila was the same sort of women as the other two.”
    “They were foreign, of course.”
    “Yes, and that puzzles me. I can see how they came to be with you. But Leila was not foreign and it is unusual for one of our women to do things like that. I wondered how it came about?”
    “It is unusual, yes, but not so out of the common. Especially if the Khedive wishes.”
    “Did the Khedive