“What does that even mean?” Jeremy groans, propping his head in his hands, elbows on the table.
“I have no idea, to be honest. Just something my granny used to say when we were kids and looked a bit rough.” These two live by the mantra: work hard, play hard. A bit rough is how they look most mornings. I don’t know how they put in a full day on a dig sometimes.
I spot Ashraf waiting patiently by the door. It’s time for me to leave. There’s still a few things to organise for the dig, and now I have an additional mission.
But it’s hard to drag myself away from Sadie. Especially when it means leaving her with Simon and Jeremy. They’re both much more suitable partners for her than I am. Hangovers notwithstanding.
And the way they’re looking at her gives me pause. Is she looking back? I’m so out of practice, I don’t know. But she’s smiling and laughing with them—or, more correctly, at them and their sore heads—as they sit at the table.
I can’t sit and watch her flirt with them. And I can’t be having these feelings. Damnit.
“Well, I need to get moving. Have a great day, people.” I stalk out, my relaxed mood of a few minutes ago evaporating fast.
“Where’s the bacon? Did I miss the bacon?” I hear Riley, who I thankfully haven’t seen since she arrived at the end of the briefing, ask the confused server. There’s one on every dig. The student who doesn’t get it. Seems like this time, it will be Riley. Big shock.
“Oh, good morning, Ethan. How did you sleep?” she calls in a chirpy tone. I don’t slow down. I don’t even acknowledge her. I just keep moving.
It’s not until Ashraf and I are climbing into the taxi, having left Mo and the bus for the students today, that I notice his expression.
“What?” I ask. I speak passable Egyptian Arabic, but mostly, we communicate in English since Ashraf says he prefers not to hear me mangle his language.
“Miss Sadie is very pretty.” One thick black eyebrow lifts to the bottom of his turban.
“I suppose she is.” I busy myself with the seatbelt, unwilling to look him in the eye. It seems to me that many Egyptians have the second sight. Ashraf is one of them.
“Like a princess. Amira.” There’s weight in his tone.
“Spit it out, Ash.”
“She would be a worthy partner for you, my friend.”
I’m aware Ashraf, like almost everyone I know, has been worried about me, but I had no idea he was thinking along those lines. Or that I’m so transparent. I just hope the other students haven’t noticed.
“You have too much imagination, old man.” I soften my somewhat harsh words with a pat on his shoulder.
He huffs out a laugh.
“We shall see.Inshallah.”
I must remember never to introduce Ashraf to Ben. Individually, they’re dangerous. Together, they’d be a nightmare.
I have a long day of chores and meetings with the Department of Antiquities, which inevitably turns into dinner with my contacts. Rubbing their proverbial tummies and keeping them happy is an important part of a successful dig. If anything goes wrong, I needto know I can call them, and they’ll help us out of a bind. So, it’s nearly midnight by the time I get back to the hotel.
At least I was able to get an answer to Sadie’s question. Derek Montgomery is not due to arrive in Cairo until Friday. The very day we sail for Amarna. Not only will Sadie be free to visit Saqqara without looking over her shoulder, but she won’t run into him on the streets of Cairo.
Bart, Simon and Jeremy are still at the bar. Those guys could get a PhD in holding their alcohol without even having to try.
“Evening, gentlemen. How was the day at the museum?” I ask, signalling for a whisky.
“To use a sporting metaphor, it was a game of two halves.” Jeremy laughs.
“How so?” I settle on a stool next to them and take a sip. They know me at this hotel, and I’m happy they remember my preferred drink.
“Riley spent most of the afternoon in the gift shop and cafeteria. She was too tired and bored, and her feet hurt. I’m not sure what she’s even doing here, to be honest. But Sadie. Bloody hell, the woman is like a sponge. We had to take it in relays because she didn’t stop. In the end, we were in danger of getting locked in. And then she wanted to go to the Khan el Khalili. We practically had to drag her back here by the hair.”
I spray the bar with the whisky I’d just sipped at the mental image his words create. Then the dominoes of my memories begin to fall. Holding her hair while she was on her knees on my verandah. Grabbing fistfuls of it in the shower in Bangalay. Brushing it off her face as she slept so soundly that I had to put my hand on her chest to make sure she was breathing.
I’ll be buggered if any of these boys ever gets to savour the same kinds of memories.
