As the four wandered away, Mr. Balfour stood awkwardly, as if unsure of whether to approach her. She’d been ungracious, and she regretted it. He’d done nothing to deserve her aloof manner.
Closing her paintbox, Onora stood. “Why don’t you show me one of your cliff tombs.”
CHAPTER 16
Jack waited while Onora returned her painting paraphernalia inside. Already, though it was scarcely eleven in the morning, all was glaring white and hard on the eyes.
The hat she wore was so large he couldn’t see her face, nor did she speak as they headed toward the curve of towering limestone. Despite her ungainly skirts, she did well across the sand.
They paused at the foot of the edifice, looking up at the stark crags peppered with openings—some natural fissures, othersman-made, carved out to form sepulchers for the dead.
“There’s the one I’ve been working on. You see the overhang? It’s not so bad, climbing up, once you’re over the scree.”
She nodded, asking no questions.
Of course, she likely knew as much as he about the topography of the place. She’d all but grown up here. It wouldn’t surprise Jack if she’d spent a good portion of her childhood scrambling up and down the cliff paths, leaping over rocks and crevices like a baby goat, entirely fearless.
He’d have liked to have seen Onora as she was then. A glimmer of that spirit remained, though she was pressed upon by constraint and unspoken anxiety.
She allowed him to lead but had no trouble keeping up, chiding him onward when he stopped to offer his hand. Reaching the mouth of the cave, they surveyed the view. No matter how many times Jack came up here, it never failed to impress him—the vista west, to theopen desert, and toward the river, where a band of fertile land ran alongside the water.
She spoke wistfully. “What else remains, beneath those sands? I almost think, some things are meant to disappear.”
It was a strange thing for the daughter of an archaeologist to say.
Soon to be the wife of one, too—if you can call Seton an archaeologist.
Jack looked skyward. High above, a kite swooped in a leisurely circle, soaring on a warm current of air.
Untying the ribbon beneath her chin, Onora removed her wide-brimmed hat, letting it dangle. He had to stop himself from staring at her—all that luxurious auburn hair and those languid cornflower eyes. There was a flush in her cheeks from exertion but she looked tired in a way that went deeper than the effort of making the climb.
Not sleeping well?
It wasn’t his place to ask.
“Come on, I’ll show you inside. The ceiling rises the farther you go in. Nomummies or tomb artefacts; long since pilfered. We’ve sieved the floor for any small pieces that might have been left behind. Nothing much beyond a few shards of glazed ceramic, but the wall paintings are worth seeing. A nobleman and his family were likely placed here.” He ducked his head beneath the overhang and entered a few steps before passing over the mirror he always carried with him.
She found the sun with it immediately, as he’d known she would, angling the reflective surface, letting the light bounce around the cave.
He wanted to see her expression as she took in the beauty of the decoration. All tombs were of interest, the rituals of death illuminating how those far-off lives were lived. But of all the burials in this section of the cliffs, this one touched him the most.
Her beam of light moved over the faces: father, mother, children. Hieroglyphs alongside laid out their names and their nature: truth-speaker,bringer of joy, loyal wife, patient mother. There was something intimate about it—this resting place for people who had loved one another. They might have been from any age in history.
The figures were followed by an assortment of animals and a depiction of the river, covered in lotus blooms.
“Such a noble flower.” Onora stepped closer. “Symbols of purity and renewal, their opening habitual with the dawn.” She glanced at him with a shy smile. “I brought my sketchbook here, long ago, and copied these lilies. The colors are less bright than I recall, but still beautiful.”
“There’s some damage from lamp smoke. Seton wasn’t too particular when he was going through these tombs. I keep one here myself, for occasional use, along with a stash of supplies. Never know when they might be needed.” More than once, Jack had thought of coming up here to camp permanently, but he valued the company of Anwar, Hassan, and Fawzi too much to absent himself completely. He grimaced. “Seton useslamps far too freely within the temple, keeping them lit for hours on end, but there’s no reasoning with him.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” Her expression was surprisingly neutral.
No more than he’s keen on me.
“He plays by his own rules. I can’t prove it, but I’m certain he pays bribes to prevent having to part with his finds, and to keep things as private as possible.”
“But everything in the temple is classed as national treasure. It will all go into official hands eventually.” She clearly wanted to believe well of the man.
Jack bit back all the things he could say. If he told her enough home truths it might put her off Seton, but it would hardly endear himself, and he very much desired her to think well of him.
