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,