The Visitors by Sally Beauman Read Free Book Online

try to avoid hysteria, Marianne,’ my father used to say on those occasions, increasingly rare, when my mother had betrayed strong emotion. I backed away, inching a path through the chattering influx of little dancers, now transformed into ordinary girls wearing skirts and blouses or dresses such as mine. One by one they were collected: Fräulein von Essen was marched off by a uniformed nanny. The hapless Lady Rose was greeted by a sweet-faced young woman so exquisitely dressed, so astonishingly fashionable, that I stopped to stare.
    ‘Rosie, darling,’ she cried, swooping across the room and bending to embrace her. ‘What a perfect duck you are – you looked just like a little rosebud when you were dancing. I’m fiercely proud of you, and I intend to show you off to the whole of Cairo. Will you let me take you to tea on the terrace tomorrow? Your mamma says I may… Now, shall we toddle off? You must be utterly exhausted, darling – that wicked witch shows you poor girls no mercy. She really is an old battleaxe… Oh, Madame! Here you are! I’m so glad I came. It was an absolute education, I never realised art involved such hard work.’
    ‘And why would you?’ Madame replied, with a flash of her eyes. ‘Do I see any evidence of hard work in your face? In your hands? Pah, lady’s hands, idle hands.’
    ‘Now don’t be cruel, you monster,’ the young woman answered with a smile. ‘You know I try. And you shan’t intimidate me – I know your ways too well. Mille mercis pour tous ces compliments. Now, listen:Pups telegraphed this morning. He’ll be here next week, and he says you’re joining us for dinner before we leave for Luxor? Oh, good. Yes, here at Shepheard’s, we thought – a whole heap of people, some friends from London and Poppy d’Erlanger – she and I travelled out here together – oh, and Howard Carter, of course––’
    ‘And your mother?’ Madame interjected. ‘Will dear Lady Carnarvon not be joining us?’
    ‘Darling, unlikely . She may change her plans, but she’s in Paris.’
    ‘Again?’ said Madame, with a small lift of her eyebrows. The two women exchanged a look I could not interpret, and the younger made a wry face.
    ‘Yes, again – but what can one do?’
    ‘Very little, I imagine,’ Madame replied. ‘I shall be sorry not to see her, but delighted as always to see your father. I look forward to the dinner. Send him my félicitations… ’
    ‘Oh, I shall. It’s so lovely to be back – Poppy and I are having a whale of a time. I’m thinking of buying a canary – did Howard tell you? If I do, I shall take it with us to the Valley to bring us luck. Now, I must fly… Pups sends masses of love, by the way.’
    Leaning forward, she embraced Madame, who chuckled, bestowed a kiss on Madame’s sallow rouged cheek and, clasping Lady Rose’s hand, turned to go. She drifted past me, still chattering away. I caught a drift of her scent – jonquils, iris – and then the vision was gone. I watched Madame scythe her way through the last clustering of children and guardians, and saw that Miss Mack, flanked by Helen Winlock, was nerving herself to pounce.
    ‘Madame, if I may just introduce myself,’ I heard. ‘I am Myrtle C. Mackenzie. Of Princeton, New Jersey. I wrote you a note, you may recall? Concerning my little friend over there, Lucy Payne? Lucy… Lucy? Where has the child hidden herself… ’
    I had hidden myself behind the piano, crouched down by the stool, where short-sighted Miss Mack was unlikely to spot me. I could sense the saga was about to start up again; I’d reappear when it was over, I told myself, and not before. Madame was receiving the abbreviated version: Miss Mack was no fool, and no doubt sensed that with a woman like Madame it was futile to play the sympathy card. The status card, however, given the intake of her classes, might prove a trump. If plain Lucy Payne were denied admittance, perhaps a grandchild of steel and railroads might make it