about him?’
‘Apart from his being a consummate politician?’ Pawlyn enquired bitterly. ‘He is arrogant, aggressive and fiercely ambitious. Before coming to Egypt he spent a number of years in India. Arabi has no chance against a man like that. He’s simply not devious enough.’
A few evenings later Jago entered his day cabin, yawning after coming off watch. His heart lifted to see Caseley still up. With a shawl over her nightgown, she was seated at the chart table writing her journal. In the lamplight her hair, in its single loosely plaited braid, gleamed like a ripe chestnut.
White cotton, with a frill at the high neck and long sleeves, covered her from chin to ankle. No garment could have been more modest yet intimate. He visualised her slender body, slimmer now than before the birth of their sons – he forced the thought away as hunger warred with guilt.
Swallowing the dryness in his throat he shrugged off his jacket. ‘How did your lessons go today?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ She sat up. ‘When we first started I was mentally translating into English whatever Mr Pawlyn said in French, then working out my reply and translating it back into French before I answered.’
‘That sounds exhausting.’
‘It was,’ she admitted. ‘But thanks to Mr Pawlyn’s generosity with his time I’m actually thinking in French now, so it’s much easier. I’m still not as fluent as I’d like to be, though.’
Jago fought jealousy. Through the open skylight he had listened to the murmur of their voices. His grip on the wheel had tightened as she grew impatient with her mistakes and Pawlyn made light of them. This afternoon she had laughed.
He loved her laugh. Rich and throaty, it was a long time since he had heard it. Now she laughed for another man. For pity’s sake, pull yourself together.
‘I don’t like having to depend on you to translate for me. Not because I doubt your ability,’ he added quickly. ‘Far from it.’
‘You are concerned about accuracy. I do understand how important it is.’
So did he, but that wasn’t what worried him.
‘Which is why I asked Mr Pawlyn for extra practice.’
Jago nodded. He had known that. Yet hearing her say so gave him a reassurance he felt ashamed of needing. ‘He has spoken highly of your progress. But I’m concerned about the strain this is putting on you.’
‘I offered,’ she reminded him. ‘You need me for this, and I want to be useful.’
‘You will be. Because of your quiet manner, strangers sometimes overlook and underestimate you.’ Irony briefly lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘A misjudgement I was guilty of when we first met, though I very soon recognised my error. However, on this occasion it will work in our favour. Your observations will be invaluable.’
For him it had been a simple statement of fact. But seeing her eyes widen and her cheeks flush soft pink brought home to him how rarely he paid her a compliment. She had never sought them. That’s your excuse? His shame was increased by the tremor in her fingers as she turned the pen round and round.
‘Jago, taking into account everything Mr Pawlyn has told us, I can’t help wondering about the legitimacy of what you have been asked to do.’
‘I’ve been having similar thoughts myself.’ He raked a hand through his windblown hair. She had always been a valuable sounding board, asking questions and raising points that clarified his thinking. He had missed that, missed her. But how could he have admitted to jealousy of his own sons? Wary of pressing for more than she was ready to give, he was desperate to bridge the distance between them.
‘When William Broad asked me to undertake this mission he did so as an agent for the government. I accepted and we shook hands on it.’
‘Then you have no choice. You are honour-bound to fulfil your obligation. Does Mr Pawlyn know why you have come to Egypt?’
Jago shook his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Will you tell him?’
‘What