Chapter Three

      ‘It’s far too dangerous for a gently bred young woman to be gallivanting off into the wilds of Egypt without a proper escort,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said. There were murmurs of agreement from the other guests around the table.

      ‘I wouldn’t be on my own, I’d have Ahmed with me,’ Emma protested.

      ‘Still, it’s not right. If I allowed you to risk yourself in such a way, your dear papa would never forgive me.’

      Emma resisted the urge to point out her dear papa was dead. And that he’d spent most of his youth dragging her mother from camp to camp to study this or that new Egyptian discovery.

      ‘Really you’d be much better to stay in Cairo with us,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said. ‘We can help arrange for you to have a tour of the new Museum of Antiquities. And you can get up close to the pyramids.’

      Emma nodded and tried to look enthusiastic. She was sure Cairo had a lot to offer her. She had been staring at paintings of the pyramids for years, dreaming of the day she’d see them for herself, but this was her adventure and she wasn’t going to let Mrs Fitzgerald stand in her way of seeing the more inaccessible parts of Egypt.

      ‘Don’t you agree, dear?’ Mrs Fitzgerald turned to her husband, who was sitting quietly next to Emma.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, not looking up from his plate. ‘Far too dangerous.’

      Mrs Fitzgerald nodded triumphantly and promptly changed the subject.

      ‘I’ll put you in touch with just the chap to be your guide,’ Colonel Fitzgerald said to Emma quietly. She glanced at him but he hadn’t moved at all. She suspected his wife would not forgive him for going against her advice.

      ‘Thank you,’ Emma whispered.

      ‘So how long are you out here, Miss Knight?’ a portly older gentleman Emma thought might have been called Sir Henry asked her.

      ‘At least a couple of months,’ she said. ‘My father talked of Egypt and Cairo incessantly when I was young. Now that he’s gone, I want to experience everything he told me about.’

      ‘Shame a young girl like you hasn’t got a husband to take her around the sights,’ Sir Henry said, wiggling his eyebrows in a way Emma suspected he thought was suggestive.

      She tried not to bristle and reminded herself to keep calm. She was twenty-five, past marriageable age in the eyes of the social circles she moved in. A few years ago comments like Sir Henry’s would have hurt her, made her feel inadequate, but Emma had become hardened to them now. She knew she would never marry, never have the family she had once craved. Now she just let the comments and questions wash over her, and tried not to be too upset when she mulled them over in her mind later on.

      ‘You might be well away from the first flush of youth, but I’m sure many men would still want you. Especially men of the older variety.’

      Now Emma knew he was proposing himself. She looked him over and tried not to grimace. She’d rather be alone. It wasn’t that she thought physical appearance was everything. No, she’d rather have a kind heart and charitable spirit over a chiselled jaw and firm muscles any day, but she thought she should be at least a little physically attracted to any potential spouse.

      ‘Miss Knight decided not to marry after the incident,’ Mrs Fitzgerald said in a loud whisper.

      Emma felt the heat start to creep into her face and looked around for some means of escape. It wasn’t that she’d decided not to marry, in fact she’d been certain she was going to get married. It was her liar of a fiancé who’d had other plans.

      ‘Ah, yes, such a shame,’ Sir Henry said. ‘But the right man might overlook that little indiscretion.’

      Emma smiled blandly and wondered if she could pretend to faint. Or vomit onto her dinner plate. Anything to get her away from this conversation.

      ‘We’ve all made mistakes, after all. Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.’ Sir Henry leaned in towards Emma and gave her an encouraging smile.

      Emma glanced around, trying desperately to find some way to end this conversation. Her father had once warned her people were less subtle in Egypt. They would say things to your face rather than whisper them behind your back. He said it was because the English community out there was so small, so intimate. At the time Emma had thought it would be refreshing, not to have people whispering about her behind her back, but now she would give anything not to discuss her tainted past with people she’d only met a few hours before.

      ‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’ Colonel Fitzgerald asked suddenly.

      Emma could have hugged him.

      ‘But we haven’t yet had dessert,’ his wife protested.

      ‘I’m sure dessert will be waiting for us when we return,’ the colonel said.

      He rose and offered his hand to Emma.

      ‘But your heart...’ Mrs Fitzgerald said.

      ‘Nothing wrong with my heart.’

      Emma stood and allowed the elderly colonel to lead her onto the dance floor.

      ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly as they joined the four other couples moving slowly across the floor.

      The colonel nodded gruffly. ‘They’ll have moved on by the time we sit back down.’

      He was right. When the dance was over Emma returned to her place at the table and was pleased to find conversation had turned to a dig a few miles outside Cairo.

      ‘There’s rumour it could be the big one itself. Rameses.’

      There was a moment of silence around the table as everyone considered what a celebration there would be if Rameses’ tomb was uncovered.

      The conversation continued and Emma turned towards Colonel