Page 7 of The Mistress of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #3)

The carriage slowed to a crawl. Joe Green, the second coachman, got down and went to lead the horses, to give them courage.

Within moments he was as thickly plastered as they were.

By the time they reached the Castle and the family scurried to the great door, the whole of the air had been displaced by snow.

Glancing upwards briefly, Alice saw the flakes whirling down in multitude, black against the grey, silent and intent.

It was exhilarating, but a little frightening.

It didn’t make much difference to Christmas Day – an indoor festival once they were back from church.

But on Boxing Day they woke to a world transformed, a bumpy blanket of uniform white obscuring every feature of the landscape, and it was clear there would be no hunting that day.

The snow had stopped, but the sky was leaden.

‘It’s a pity about the meet at Lord Shacklock’s,’ Kitty said, to comfort Alice, ‘but I expect it will be gone in a day or two, and there’s the whole of the rest of the season to come.’

But by midday the snow had started again.

Giles couldn’t say he actually enjoyed the dinner or the ball.

At table, he was placed between a French diplomat’s wife and an Egyptian diplomat’s wife, both of whom spoke nothing but a heavily accented French, and at the ball he had to dance with a series of middle-aged ladies brought to him by his host. The evening had dragged by.

It was hot, the music was loud, and there didn’t seem to be anything but a very strange champagne to drink.

By the time he’d got to bed, he was thirsty, footsore, and his head was splitting.

The rest of his stay, however, was pleasanter.

There were a number of parties, but they were smaller and more agreeable and held among the large English-speaking community, and in between he was able to walk and have quiet talks with Giulia.

In fact, so comfortable did he find himself that, far from rushing back to the diggings at the earliest opportunity, he saw no reason to leave Cairo until the Antrobuses did, though that placed a strain on his wardrobe.

He was obliged to invest in a few changes.

Luckily there was a very discreet second-hand clothes shop in a quiet corner of Zamalek, which dealt only in the unwanted clothes of the affluent European, where he was able to get a couple of lightweight suits.

Shirts, of course, could be made to measure within hours by a shirt-maker, who attended at Ismailia House at a moment’s notice.

Now he was back in the Valley, and as the days passed he felt this was the happiest time of his life. The work was hard but absorbing, there was a constant air of anticipation, which was most stimulating, he had agreeable companions – and he had Giulia.

He had been a lonely child – estranged from his family, of solitary pursuits that did not attract friends – and he had grown up into a lonely man.

Now, it was as if he had been given a second chance at a happy childhood.

Giulia was the sister he had never had. Linda had always been too difficult, resentful of his privilege as eldest son and disapproving of a nature so different from hers.

Rachel and Alice had been too young to be companions, and by the time they were old enough, he was away at school and then university.

Working alongside Giulia by day, sitting by her in the cool of the evening, talking and laughing, he felt a simple content.

They shared tastes, activities and ambitions; they had acquaintances in common and shared memories.

He never had to explain his meaning, or apologise for his interests.

With her, he felt he could just be himself.

She liked in him the things he liked in himself – things of the intellect.

She was clever and amusing. And she was beautiful, and he liked to look at beautiful things.

Life could not have been better. The work was progressing and interesting finds were being made.

They lived a simple life, which suited him better than the formality and luxury expected of an English earl at home.

He was quite happy sleeping in a tent, eating plain food, wearing loose, comfortable clothes.

And, as a final fillip, the good-natured Antrobus insisted that he continue to share the attentions of Afton.

Giles was accustomed to looking after himself when on digs, but a sensible and wily attendant made the difference between just managing and being comfortable.

Clothes cleaned, the ever-encroaching sand swept out of the tent and shaken out of the bedding, water for washing brought, snakes and scorpions ejected.

And then there were the little luxuries procured: decent smokes, fresh fruit, coffee, an occasional glass of spirits.

There were always, of course, locals hanging around the camp trying to sell their wares to the mad Englishmen, but now he had someone to haggle for him.

He did occasionally spare a thought for England, the Castle, his wife and child, and he knew he would eventually have to go back – the dig would naturally be suspended once the weather got too hot.

But all that seemed far away when he sat under the luscious stars that spangled the black velvet sky, and chatted so comfortably with his companions and with Giulia.

Max Wolsky had a Syrian oud that he played, and sometimes they would sing. Giulia had a sweet voice.

He was utterly content. If only this could go on for ever.