I Tried On Your Wedding Dress

Hilary Casey 2

"There's at least thirty of them in a cellar beneath his stall, I'm sure of it. It's taken me three months of careful investigation to get this one; he was asking for fifty pounds at first, but the market for them isn't so strong as it was. I gave him twenty-five in the end."

"But Henry," said Carragher, "why on earth did you bring it here?"

"I have a proposition for Sir Edward."

The hotel kitchens were blue in the fading light of late afternoon. It was remarkably clean, considering how far we were from civilisation. Rows of copper-coloured pans were hanging from a line of hooks above the cold stone surface where Dr Aldridge had Capuron and Carragher lay the old Egyptian out. Even as they lowered him, Capuron knocked a ladle loose, and the resulting crash rang out around the white-washed and untidy bricks that poked out, every now and then, where the plaster had dropped from the wall. I could hear the phlegm catch the sides of the Frenchman's throat as he caught his breath in shallow, wheezing gasps. Dr Aldridge thanked Capuron, who replied with a barely-audible grunt. He disappeared back to the comfort of the parasols. When he had gone, Carragher continued the conversation:

"You know very well he won't listen to a word you say."

Aldridge spread his arms to indicate the mummy. He had babyish hands, very puffy and pink. I found it hard to believe they could be the hands of an archaeologist.

"I bring a peace offering."

"It will not be enough."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I've seen the way he looks whenever someone mentions your name. Whatever it is that went between you two still remains. Naturally, as his closest friend, he refuses to tell me a word of it."

The staff were preparing dinner around us. A pot of goat bones was boiling on an iron stove. Chopped potatoes, carrots and onions sizzled in a flat tray under an ancient grill. The chef was slicing thin cuts of belly pork. Every time he finished a slice, he wiped the blade on his apron. Dr Aldridge was cleaning his glasses on a fold of his robe.

"I'm surprised the old fellow wasn't here to meet me. Not that he knew I was coming, mind. Where is he?" Carragher ignored this question. Emil was busily sketching the mummy in charcoal. Dr Aldridge turned to me. His moustache fanned out at each end. It reminded me a little of the blades of a windmill.

"Sir Edward is investigating the dig with Monsieur Mesparo. I am Sir Edward's secretary. Hilary Merrion, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you, my dear. I am very pleased to meet you." He had a lovely smile, full of humour.

The doctor returned to the cadaver. "Notice the damage to the skull. The old ghoul I purchased it off had it there ready; my guess is he's got a whole load of them somewhere about the market. All the stalls have cellars; his legitimate, or more legitimate business, was in spices, but the little man knew quite a bit about the black market prices for these things. It took me several weeks to get his name and the directions to his shop off my man in Cairo. When I got there he professed perfect innocence. I had to pay him a pound… a pound! Imagine! Just to get him to talk about the stuff."

Emil had finished his sketch and was studying the tattered robes left on the corpse.

Carragher piped up:

"I'm terribly sorry, Henry, but this is not a royal mummy."

"I'm very aware of that, Derek. It is not meant to be. The old fellow would have charged me a hundred times more for anything first-rate. I am simply presenting this one as a gift to Sir Edward. All I wish is for a little of his time."

"How could he refuse?" I cut in. Emil looked over his sketch at me.

"He could do so very easily, Miss Merrion."

"But why should he? He seems desperate for a…" I glanced at the crumbling, eyeless face. "…for one of his own."

"I'm quite sure he will be thrilled," said Aldridge "it has long been a dream of his to add one to his collection." Emil slipped his charcoal into his trouser pocket and slid his glasses off. His accent became stronger:

"Henry…"

"When is Sir Edward expected?"

Carragher's expression seemed to suggest he felt a great deal of pity for the Doctor, though also not a small amount of annoyance.

"If they're not already on their way," said Carragher, "I should think they are spending the night in the desert. Perhaps… eleven, twelve tomorrow?"

The Doctor rubbed his hands together vigorously.

"Excellent, then we have time to wrap it!"

Emil looked down, once more, at his sketching. It was then that I noticed Dr Aldridge's fingers running nervously along the hem of his robe. He was repeating the same series of actions again and again; a nervous twitch, I decided. His small, feminine hand would smooth out a portion, like a cook perfecting the laying of a table cloth, before grasping the same section into an untidy bunch in his fist and squeezing so hard that his knuckles turned white. The doctor's gaze was fixed firmly on his frightful acquisition, yet every few moments he would catch Carragher's unrelenting stare, and quickly turn back from it, his mouth open very slightly. Carragher finally grew tired of this apparent attempt at studying the Doctor's face for hidden motives, and, momentarily resting a surprisingly tender hand on the Doctor's shoulder, disappeared upstairs.

The cadaver remained in the kitchen for an hour or so, while Dr Aldridge completed his cursory inspection. Emil asked if I would like to join him for a cool drink in the bar. I agreed.

I went back to my room to change out of my dusty clothes and into a fresh blouse and a long silk skirt. Emil was waiting in his usual booth, with two glasses of gin and soda, little lumps of ice wearing veils of cold vapour. The bitter liquid tasted sensational after the heat and dust of the day. Emil drained the whole glass in one, and signalled to the barman to prepare him another.

"How well do you know Dr Aldridge, Emil?"

Emil's eyes were downcast. The Egyptian barman handed the drink to the waiter, who took it in one white-gloved hand, crossed the bar and placed it down in front of Emil. The waiter bowed; I smiled. When I returned my eyes to Emil, he was staring intently at me.

"Why didn't you answer me just then?"

"Dr Aldridge hopes to buy his way back into Sir Edward's good graces. It will take more than a dead waiter to do so."

"Dead…?"

"The mummy; a servant probably. Perhaps, a waiter? The mummy he brought is most likely an attendant, slaughtered when his master or mistress died, then placed in the tomb to accompany them to the after-life."

"What did he do wrong?"

"The servant, nothing!" he gave a rueful smile "The doctor is a clever man. He should not have come back."

Emil had not touched his second drink. He unglued the little paper napkin from it's base and held it between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

"What did he do?"

"He stole from Sir Edward."

"Oh dear."

"Yes."

"Do you know how much?"

"He knows."

"I suppose it doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't."

We sat in silence for a minute or so. Emil looked terribly sad.

"What is wrong, Emil? You've been so unlike yourself since even before the Doctor arrived."

"I am sorry Hilary. The Doctor reminds of times which were not so good. The last time we were here, at this table, I was telling you about my home. Doctor Aldridge brought me to Egypt. He reminds me of the home I had before."

Emil had revealed to me that he was an orphan after only a couple of months at the Meridien. He said he had been brought up by his great uncle, who had died just weeks before he came to Egypt. He never told me about Aldridge.

"The doctor was a great friend to me. I had never travelled far, no more than a few miles from my hometown. He offered me a job; I am a specialist in the middle kingdom you see, I went to university. One day I was called to my tutor's study. Aldridge was there. I was chosen because the professor felt that the quality of my work had slipped somewhat after my uncle's death. They offered me a chance to visit the country I knew so much, and also so little about."

Emil really was an adorable creature. He could be so sweet, so friendly. We had become great friends in the relatively short time we had known each other. I took his hand and began to stroke the palm. He barely seemed to notice.

We sat with the same drinks for hours after that, smoking in silence, listening to the barman and the waiter as they chatted softly in Egyptian. When I finally went off to bed, Emil kissed my hand. I left it for a second in his hand, and we exchanged sad smiles, the smiles of the lonely, together. I can see his face now. Good night, Emil.

"Good night, Hilary".

The next morning, Dr Aldridge joined our little group by the pool. He had discarded his dramatic robes in favour of khakis and a wide brimmed hat. An Egyptian servant poured tea and passed around little seed cakes with almonds sprinkled on top. Emil was back to his usual self, explaining the wonders of camels; Carragher, it turned out, owned several race horses, back in England. Emil was telling us, in great detail, about the desert sports held a few miles away, in El Idisat, when Mr Aldridge suddenly interrupted:

"Aha!"

As we turned to follow his gaze, I spied the tell-tale rising dust column of an approaching vehicle. In a moment we could see Mesparo's carriage bumping its way along the canal road.

Aldridge began to get very fidgety. He adjusted his hat several times. He removed and replaced his pocket-watch in his pocket. I swear I saw him shivering, even in the heat.

"Don't worry Emil, we'll have this whole business sorted out soon enough" he said.

Emil leaned back in his chair. Carragher cast an enquiring glance across to him, which Emil avoided.

The carriage stopped a little way off from the barn and out stepped Mesparo, swiftly followed by Sir Edward. He looked tired and irritable; a not very common sight for the usually jolly old fellow. He strode straight over to where we were sitting, his eyes firmly on the floor the whole way. When he got within a few yards, Dr Aldridge cried out:

"Edward!"

…and I swear the man almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the doctor's voice and saw his babyish hand outstretched, offering a greeting. An exclamation erupted from his lips:

"What in blazes are you doing here, swine?"

The whole group looked startled. There was a splash from the pool where Mrs Capuron had just completed a circuit, and was now leaning her arms over the side, her body so slight it was difficult to make out against backdrop of a blazing sun reflected on the ripples softly riding into her shoulders. Carragher coughed. Emil reverted back to his melancholic state. Dr Aldridge's hand hung in the air, no more than a metre from Sir Edward.

"I said what the hell are you doing here, you cheating swine?"

Dr Aldridge's voice was quiet and submitting: "May we perhaps talk inside?"

"What did you say, swine?"

"Please Sir Edward, may we talk in private briefly…"

I honestly thought that Sir Edward was going to strike him. He had a mad look in his eyes, such as I have never seen before or since in the man. Below his silver hair, which curled neatly in rivulets at his temples, a red mark seemed to have developed, a furious crimson patch like the mark of the beast.

"Please Sir Edward, it would be beneficial to…"

"I expect I know very well what you want, swindler! The same thing you always want, I expect." Sir Edward held his hand to his forehead, and I swear he felt the mark, because he suddenly looked very tired and, opening his eyes wide, he cast a look up at the sky, like he someone testing to see if they have removed a speck of dust from their vision. He sighed, a long, riveting sound.

"Oh Lord, why am I tested thus?"

At that moment, Mrs Capuron pulled herself up onto the side of the pool on her spindly arms, and arching her legs around, clambered awkwardly out. The whole movement looked remarkably like a tortoise trying to right itself; the woman (who I guessed was only in her early thirties, and therefore considerably younger than her husband), satisfied with her endeavours, lay down on her deckchair, replaced her sunglasses and remarked, quite casually:

"The water feels wonderfully invigorating this morning."

Sir Edward turned and marched into the hotel, with Dr Aldridge following clumsily behind.

I was left, utterly bewildered by the scene, and I sat there silent while Carragher questioned Emil on the past dealings between Sir Edward and Aldridge.

"There was a temple uncovered in Luxor," began Emil "three years ago now, in which were discovered certain scrolls describing Egyptian law in the time of Amenhotep IV. Dr Aldridge was the first man to see the scrolls, and immediately had them removed for his private collection. The Department of Antiquities were not made aware of the existence of the scrolls; they would have instantly started proceedings to claim them for the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. Gaston Maspero was, and still is, the director of the Museum. Maspero visited Aldridge in his apartment in Cairo unexpectedly one afternoon, and declared that he knew all about the scrolls and where the Doctor had got them, and offered a trade: in return for allowing Aldridge to keep the scrolls (which were not, in themselves believed to be important pieces) Maspero wanted Aldridge to secure, for the Museum, a certain amulet held by Sir Edward, which he had purchased from the black market in Cairo, and which had been stolen several years previously from one of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings."

"Sir Edward was, at the time, Aldridge's financial backer. Alridge dared not take the amulet himself, so he instructed one of his assistants to steal the trinket and leave a ransom demand for an astronomical amount of money in it's place. The amount, Aldridge decided, must be so ridiculously high that only a fool or a King would possibly be able to afford it. Sir Edward was neither fool, nor king, yet, so desperate was he to regain the amulet, for what reason I do not know, that he sold all of his stake in several promising digs and paid the ransom."

"Now Aldridge was in an extremely tricky situation; on one hand he could not possibly return the trinket. It had been delivered, as promised, into the care of Gaston Mesparo and within days was safely in the museum vaults. He saw no way out of the situation. In the end, his conscious overcame him and he confessed all to Sir Edward and returned the ransom. All ties between the two were cut, all the digs Aldridge was currently engaged in were cancelled, and Sir Edward turned, in disgust, to Mesparo, who, irony of irony's, became his new dig co-ordinator."

"And the assistant?" cut in Carragher.

Emil suddenly glanced up, his face rapidly losing all colour. He seemed desperate to formulate a reply, but the knowing, and pitying look on Carragher's face silenced him. I felt terribly sorry for Emil, caught now between his former employer, who knew all about his past misdeeds, and his new employer, against whom they had been carried out. The young Belgian was a pitiful sight to behold. I tried to console him.

"Emil, you poor thing. I'm sure Dr Aldridge won't tell Sir Edward."

"It would be better for me if he did," he burst out, tears now streaming down his pale cheeks "and went and got the whole thing out in the open."

I handed Emil a tissue from my purse and our little group sat in silence for quite some time. Eventually, the atmosphere was broken by a loud splash, and the sight of Mrs Capuron gliding peacefully and slowly along, a dark, wavering silhouette, just beneath the surface of the pool.