The Seventh Scroll - Smith Wilbur - Страница 105

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arrivals hall for a place in the queue at the taxi rank outside, it

seemed that the temperature difference from Cairo was at least fifteen

degrees. Her train arrived at York in the damp misty cold of late

afternoon. From the railway station she phoned the number that Nicholas

had given her.

"You silly girl," he scolded her. "Why didn't you let me know you were

on your way? I would have met you at the airport."

She was surprised at how pleased she was to see him, and at how much she

had missed him, as she watched him step out of the Range Rover and come

striding towards her on those long legs. He was bare-headed and

obviously had not subjected himself to a haircut since she had last seen

him. His dark hair was rumpled and wind-tossed and the silver wings

fluffed over his ears.

"How's the knee?" he greeted her. "Do you still need to be carried?"

"Almost better now. Nearly time to throw away the stick." She felt a

sudden urge to throw her arms around his neck, but at the last moment

she prevented herself from making a display and merely offered him a

cold, rosy brown cheek to kiss. He smelt good - of leather and some

spicy aftershave, and of clean virile manhood.

In the driver's seat he delayed starting the engine for a moment, and

studied her face in the street light that streamed in through the side

window.

"You look mighty pleased with yourself, madam. Cat been at the cream?"

"Just pleased to see old friends," she smiled, "but I must admit Cairo

is always a tonic."

"No supper laid on. Thought we would stop at a pub.

Do you fancy steak and kidney pud?"

"I want to see my mother. I feel so guilty. I don't even know how her

leg is mending."

"Popped in to see her day before yesterday. She's doing fine. Loving the

new puppy. Named it Taita, would you believe?"

"You are really a very kind person - I mean, taking the trouble to visit

her."

"I like her. One of the good old ones. They don't build them like that

any more. I suggest we have a bite to eat, and then I will pick up a

bottle of Laphroaig and we will go and see her."

It was after midnight when they left Georgina's cottage. She had

dispensed rough frontier justice to the malt whisky that Nicholas had

brought and now she waved them off, standing in the kitchen doorway,

clutching her new puppy to her ample bosom and teetering slightly on her

plaster-cast leg.

"You are a bad influence on my mother," Royan told him.

"Who's a bad influence on whom?" he protested. "Some of those jokes of

hers turned the Stilton a richer shade of blue."

"You should have let me stay with her."

"She has Taita to keep her company now. Besides, I need you close at

hand. Plenty of work to do. I can't wait to show you what I have been up

to since you went swanning off to Egypt."

The Quenton Park housekeeper had repared her a bedroom in the flat in

the lanes behind York Minster.

As Nicholas carried her bags up the stairs ripsaw snoring came from

behind the door of the bedroom on the second landing, and she looked at

Nicholas enquiringly.

"Sapper Webb," he told her. "Latest addition to the team. Our own

engineer. You will meet him tomorrow, and I think you will like him. He

is a fisherman."

"What's that got to do with me liking him?"

"All the best people are fishermen."

"Present company excluded," she laughed. "Are you staying at Quenton

Park?"

"Giving the house a wide berth, for the time being." He shook his head.

"Don't want it bruited about that I amback in England. There are some

fellows from Lloyd's that I would rather not speak to at the moment. I

will be in the small bedroom on the top floor. Call if you need me."

When she was alone she looked around the tiny chintzy room with its own

doll's house bathroom, and the double bed that took up most of the floor

area. She remembered his remark about calling if she needed him, and she

looked up at the ceiling just as she heard him drop one of his shoes on

the floor.

"Don't tempt me," she whispered. The smell of him lingered in her

nostrils, and she remembered the feel of his lean hard body, moist with

sweat, pressed against hers as he had carried her up out of the Abbay

gorge. Hunger and eed were two words she had not thought of for many

years. They were starting to loom too large in her existence.

"Enough of that, my girl," she chided herself, and went to run a bath.

Nicholas pounded on her door the next morning on his way downstairs.

"Come along, Royan. Life is real. Life is urgent."

It was still pitch dark outside, and she groaned softly and asked, "What

time is it?" But he was gone, and faintly she could hear him whistling

"The Big Rock Candy Mountain'somewhere downstairs.

She checked her watch and groaned again. "Whistling at six-thirty, after

what he and Mummy did to the Laphroaig last night. I don't believe it.

The man is truly a monster."

Twenty minutes later she found him in a dark blue fisherman's sweater

and jeans and a butcher's apron, working in the kitchen.

"Slice toast for three, there's a love." He gestured towards the brown

loaf that lay beside the electric toaster.

"Omelettes coming up'in five minutes."

She looked at the other man in the room. He was middle-aged, with wide

shoulders and sleeves rolled up high around muscular biceps, and he was

as bald as a cannonball.

"Hello," she said, "I am Royan Al Sirnma."

"Sorry." Nicholas waved the egg-whisk. "This is Danny Daniel Webb, known

as Sapper to his friends."

Danny stood up with a cup of coffee in his big competent-looking fist.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Al Simma. May I pour you a cup of coffee?"

The top of his head was'freckled, and she noticed how blue his eyes

were.

"Dr Al Simma,'Nicholas corrected him.

"But please call me Royan," she cut in quickly, "and yes, I' love a

cup."

There was no mention of Ethiopia or Taita's game during breakfast, and

Royan ate her omelette and listened respectfully to a passionate

dissertation on how to catch sail fish on a fly rod from Sapper, while

Nicholas heckled him mercilessly, calling into question almost every

statement he made. Very obviously they had a good relationship, and she

supposed she would become accustomed to all the angling jargon.

As soon as breakfast was over, Nicholas stood up with the coffee pot in

one hand. "Bring your mugs, and follow me., He led Royan to the front

sitting room. "I have a surprise for you. My people up at the museum

worked round the clock to get it ready for you."

He threw open the door of the sitting room, with an imitation of a

trumpet flourish, "Tarantara!'

On the centre table stood a fully mounted model of the striped dik-dik,

crowned with the pricked horns and clad in the skin that Nicholas had

smuggled back from Africa. It was so realistic that for a moment she

expected it to leap off the table and dash away as she walked towards

it.

"Oh, Nicky. It's beautifully done!" She circled it appraisingly. "The

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