that mix of disdain and incredulity.
Only when I actually do, his face is not as I remember it. The crease is between his brows, true enough – and that perfect upper lip is curled. But I can’t quite make the expression fit into the box marked Magazine Model. It doesn’t go with this season’s version of Ripe Contempt.
Instead, I see it anew. I feel it anew, as hot as the sun on my skin, as bright as its light in the sky.
He’s not disgusted that I would do something like this. He’s amazed that I would let him. That’s what this is: amazement. I just misread it, because of all the years I’ve spent studying the covers, instead of the contents.
I don’t think he saw daylight for the better part of a year, Lily says, in my head. And then I speak, to make up for all the things I didn’t say before. For all the things he obviously can’t.
‘More,’ I tell him. ‘Make me feel it. Make me burn.’
Lust from the Mummy’s Tomb
Rose de Fer
‘So whose tomb are we robbing?’
Sir André Walden frowned. ‘We’re not robbing anyone’s tomb,’ he said, turning around from the front seat to fix his niece with a stern schoolmasterly look. ‘And I trust you and Peter won’t make me regret my decision to allow you in.’
Val matched his frown and nodded with exaggerated seriousness. ‘We understand, sir,’ she said.
Beside her Peter stifled a laugh and cupped his wife’s shapely bottom, making her squirm.
The jeep crested a little rise and sand swirled around them in the warm umber glow of the desert sunset. The Sphinx and the Pyramids were far behind them now and if they were travelling along any kind of road it wasn’t at all obvious.
André said something to his assistant, Hossam, in Arabic and pointed off across the horizon. Hossam glanced back at his passengers and shook his head, shifting gears roughly and making the jeep lurch. A heated conversation ensued which neither Peter nor Val could understand. The Egyptian seemed unhappy with the destination and from André’s patronising tone Val guessed that her uncle was telling him off over some silly local superstition.
Eventually Hossam gave in to André and waved a dismissive hand. Peter and Val exchanged a look and shrugged.
‘Sorry about that,’ André said, turning back to them. ‘My assistant objects to “outsiders” being allowed into the tomb before it’s been fully explored. He’s afraid you won’t show the proper respect.’ He made it clear by his tone that he shared Hossam’s concern.
Peter rolled his eyes. ‘Honestly, what is the big deal? We’re not bloody grave robbers. We’re not going to dig up some mummy and cart it back to London to display in our front room. We just want to take some pictures in the tomb.’
‘Yeah, and anyway,’ Val said sweetly, ‘it’ll be great publicity for you. Maybe some rich Egyptophile will give you more money to preserve the tomb. Or whatever.’
André arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Or whatever,’ he echoed. ‘Yes, more publicity is just what Egypt needs. After all, it’s not as if thousands of tourists descend on the desert every year, tearing up the landscape and defacing the sites in the hope of stumbling across some priceless find that will make them rich.’
‘Come on, we’ll be good, we promise. Won’t we, Peter?’
‘Of course we will. And we promise not to dig anything up. We didn’t even bring a shovel.’
‘There wasn’t any space left in the first-aid kit,’ Val added with a wink to her husband.
André eyed them as though certain they were making a joke at his expense. Then his features softened and he shook his head with an indulgent smile.
Pressing the advantage, Peter said, ‘So tell us whose tomb it is, then.’
André relented. ‘Very well. Her name was Akhenekhbet.’
‘Gezundheit,’ Peter said with a laugh.
‘Who?’ Val asked.
André gave them both a withering look. ‘Akhenekhbet,’ he repeated, pronouncing it slowly for them. ‘She was a priestess of the vulture goddess Nekhbet.’
‘Eww,’ Val said, wrinkling her nose.
‘You may think “eww”, young lady,’ André said, ‘but the vulture was sacred to the ancient Egyptians, along with plenty of other creatures you’d probably have the same reaction to, like scarab beetles and scorpions.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Please go on.’
André told them all about the tomb and its patron goddess while Val snuggled up against Peter, smiling mischievously. The bouncing of the jeep through the hot sand had created a subtle vibration underneath her seat and she’d been squirming through most of the long drive as she felt herself growing ever damper with lust. Peter had picked up on her excitement and given her a surreptitious caress whenever her uncle wasn’t looking. And as André rambled on about ancient Egyptian burial customs and funerary rites, Peter slipped a finger inside Val’s sodden knickers and stroked her pussy lips. Each flick of his finger made her gasp and twitch and by the time they reached the tomb she was so aroused she could hardly walk.
They had already ascertained through carefully worded questions that there were no CCTV cameras or guards. No one to interfere with their plans, in other words. This was her uncle’s find. His dig; therefore his jurisdiction. They were being let in because he had vouched for their trustworthiness.
‘Well, here we are,’ André said, gesturing grandly into the dusty cave entrance.
Peter shouldered their bags and peered into the darkness. ‘Hmm. It’s smaller than I expected.’
‘And just what did you expect?’ André asked, clearly offended. ‘A lavish film set, something out of Indiana Jones perhaps?’
Val was quick to pacify him. ‘No, no, it’s perfect! It’s the real thing. That’s what we want. Something authentic. Something that obviously hasn’t just been knocked up in a studio.’
‘Absolutely,’ Peter said, nodding his approval as he looked around. ‘I just meant that – well, it might be crowded with all four of us …’
Hossam was lingering in the doorway and watching them closely. It was clear he didn’t trust them.
‘Yes, yes,’ André said irritably. ‘I know you want privacy for your – art.’
Val giggled at that. Art. Oh, if only he knew.
The tomb was no less impressive for its cosy intimacy. The walls were decorated with hieroglyphics and above the doorway was a carved figure of what Val guessed must be the goddess Nekhbet. The vulture-headed lady spread her wings out to either side as though sheltering the occupant of the room, watching over her faithful priestess for all eternity.
In the centre of the floor lay a stone sarcophagus carved with more hieroglyphics. They had no doubt once been brilliantly coloured but now the symbols had faded and the stone had crumbled away in places.
‘Is she in there?’ Val asked in an awed whisper.
André smiled proudly. ‘She is indeed. Asleep these many thousands of years.’
Peter aimed his camera at the sarcophagus and snapped a few pictures. ‘Are you going to let her out?’
‘In time,’ André said. ‘These things must be done carefully and in stages. We’re a little more respectful than the Victorians who charged in and plundered the great tombs like thieves in the night. But don’t worry. I don’t think you’ll wake her up.’
Val grinned as he gave her an uncharacteristic