Mamur Zapt 13 A Cold Touch of Ice by Michael Pearce

Author:Michael Pearce [Pearce, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007441150
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2000-03-14T21:00:00+00:00

10

As Owen was crossing the Bab-el-Luk he saw Trudi von Ramsberg. At first he thought he must be mistaken, for surely she had left Cairo? But the tall, blonde figure was hard to mistake and something about the way she walked –

On an impulse he turned up the Cheikh Sibai after her. Yes, it was her. There was no doubt about it now. He hurried after her and caught up with her when she paused to cross the Sharia-es-Saha.

‘Hello!’ he said. ‘You still here?’

For a moment she seemed disconcerted. Then she kissed him.

‘Just making a few last purchases,’ she said. ‘But you’re right, we should have been on our way a couple of days ago. At the last moment, though, something had still not come through. All sorted out now, and I’ll be off at dawn tomorrow.’

‘Feel like a coffee?’

She glanced at her watch.

‘I would,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got to get to the bank. These extra days have run my cash down.’

She looked at her watch again.

‘But what about later? How about lunch? We could try that place you told me about. It’s not far from here, is it?’

‘The Mirabelle. You’d need to take an arabeah. But yes, why not?’

They agreed to meet at the restaurant at one o’clock and then Trudi continued on her way.

Owen stood for a moment, wondering slightly. He was a little surprised that she was still here. She seemed so efficient. Perhaps it was not her fault but that of the thing that hadn’t come through. And what was all this about cash? She had looked at her watch, as if she had an appointment; but you didn’t need an appointment to get cash. Still, it was none of his business.

The Cheikh Sibai continued on the other side of the Sharia-es-Saha, and at the top were the offices of the Dresden Bank. She had almost got there when an arabeah drew up alongside her and a man jumped out. She stopped for him and they went into the bank together. He knew the man. It was Beckmann, the German at the Consulate about whom there’d been that to-do over the librarianship. Perhaps it was his business, after all.

Owen was dropping some things in at the Palace. As he was walking along one of the corridors, a door opened and a group of men came out. Slatin Pasha was one of them. From the way they were shaking hands, Owen guessed that they were saying goodbye to him.

One of the men was Ibrahim Meek, from the Khedive’s office. He was talking to Nuri. Owen was pleased to see this further sign of Nuri’s acceptability. Perhaps he was on his way back into office. It would make no difference to Owen, but Nuri had been out of favour for a long time and it would cheer him up. He seemed pretty cheerful this morning, giving Owen a warm wave. The recent coolness between him and Owen had evidently been forgotten and Owen was pleased about that too.

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