movement setting the feathers on her bonnet swaying and treating Laurence to an unobstructed view of an exceptionally lovely face. Eyes, large and expressive framed by dark lashes that appeared even more so against the pale gold of her complexion, stared back at him, but with curiosity rather than alarm. ‘It is?’
‘Yes. I would be happy to lend you my copy as long as you promise to return it to me once you are done.’
A pair of sable-smooth eyebrows rose above a small nose lightly dusted with freckles. ‘You would lend such a valuable book to someone with whom you were not acquainted?’
‘No, I would lend it to someone I knew to be as interested in the subject as I,’ Laurence said with a smile, ‘after having taken the liberty of introducing myself so that we would no longer be unacquainted.’ He touched the brim of his beaver hat and bowed. ‘Laurence Bretton, student of history and reputable lender of slightly used books. And you are …?’
His enquiry was met by a startled pause and then by a flash of amusement in eyes the colour of Cleopatra’s emeralds. ‘Joanna Northrup. Dedicated researcher and devotee of all things Egyptian.’ She extended her hand. ‘It seems we are well met, Mr Bretton.’
The proffered hand was encased in a smooth calfskin glove, but it was not the directness of the reply or the firmness of her grip that took Laurence by surprise. ‘Northrup,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Not, by any chance, related to Mr William Northrup, former Oxford lecturer and archaeologist involved in explorations in the upper Nile Valley in Egypt?’
Her look of startled surprise was followed by one of cautious interest. ‘He is my father. Did you have the good fortune to attend one of his lectures?’
‘Regrettably no, though, given his fondness for throwing chalk, it may have been to my advantage.’
‘He does have exceptionally good aim,’ she agreed.
‘I know of several gentlemen willing to attest to it. Nevertheless, I would have liked the opportunity. He is a legend to those who have an interest in the study of ancient Egypt.’
‘And have you such an interest, Mr Bretton?’
Recalled to the hours he had spent devouring anything he could find about the Rosetta Stone, a centuries-old block of igneous rock discovered in Egypt and said to be the key to translating ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Laurence nodded. ‘You could say that, yes.’
‘Then I wonder if you would be interested in attending a lecture my father is giving at the Apollo Club tomorrow evening? Attendance is by invitation only, but …’ Miss Northrup dug into her reticule and pulled out a card ‘… if you present this at the door, you will be admitted.’
Laurence glanced at the card, upon which the address of the club, and underneath, the initials, JFN, had been written. ‘Thank you, I will most certainly attend. I wasn’t sure if your father was still involved in Egyptian explorations, given that I haven’t heard much about him for quite some time.’
‘We have not been much in society of late,’ Miss Northrup said, her glance briefly dropping away. ‘We suffered a series of … unfortunate deaths in my family and are only recently emerged from mourning.’
‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Laurence said, aware from the expression on her face that the memories were still painful. ‘Such things are never easy.’
‘No, they are not, especially when one’s life is so drastically altered by the outcome.’ Miss Northrup paused, as though reflecting on some private memory. Then, she drew a bracing breath and said, ‘However, we bear it as best we can and move on.’
‘Yes, we do,’ Laurence said, seeing no point in telling her that while the dramatic changes in his own life had not been inspired by such grievous events, they had kept him fully occupied in areas that had nothing to do with archaeological exploration. ‘At what time does the lecture commence?’
‘Seven o’clock, but I suggest you come early if you wish to secure a good seat,’ Miss Northrup said. ‘Given that it is Papa’s first lecture in quite some time, we are expecting a large turnout.’
‘Then I shall make every effort to do so,’ Laurence said, tucking the card into his pocket. Then, because it was important that he know, said, ‘Will you be in attendance as well?’
‘Oh, yes. While my father is one of the most meticulous archaeologists I know, he tends to be considerably less so when it comes to the organisation of his lectures,’ Miss Northrup admitted with a smile. ‘He would no doubt leave half of his notes at home and end up wandering off into a lengthy dissertation about the pyramid of Djoser, which has nothing to do with his more recent work in the area around Thebes. I am there to make sure he adheres to the program.’
Observing the fashionable gown, the elegant bonnet and the cashmere shawl fastened at the throat by a fine pearl brooch, Laurence was hard-pressed to imagine the delicate creature before him taking an interest in what his youngest sister had once called the most boring subject on earth. ‘You don’t find the subject a little dry?’
‘Not at all. I have worked at my father’s side for a number of years, transcribing his notes, organising and labelling his finds, even helping him to map out his future expeditions. And last year, during a visit to the temple complex near Dendera, I was fortunate enough to find the most incredible piece of—’
‘You found at Dendera?’ Laurence repeated in astonishment. ‘Are you telling me you actually went to Egypt with your father?’
It was a mistake. The lady’s eyes narrowed and her lovely smile cooled every so slightly. ‘Yes, I did. My second trip, in fact, and, in many ways, even more remarkable than the first. Words cannot describe the size and scope of Tentyra, or the magnificence of the Temple of Hathor. Such things truly must be seen to be appreciated.’
‘Of that, there can be no doubt. And I meant no offence,’ Laurence said, aware that she had misinterpreted his reaction and clearly thought less of him as a result. ‘I am simply envious of your good fortune in being able to visit a country I have been reading about for so many years. To travel up the Nile and to see firsthand the wonders being discovered in the desert would be the culmination of a dream.’
She raised an eyebrow, but her voice was scblueeptical when she said, ‘It would?’
‘Good Lord, yes. Oh, I’ve read all the books, studied the drawings, even talked with gentlemen who’ve been there,’ Laurence said, ‘but nothing could possibly replicate the experience of actually standing in a crowed street in Cairo, being assaulted by the sounds and smells of the markets or deafened by the babble of a thousand voices. One must go there in order to experience such things.’
The lady tilted her head, as though in reconsideration of her first impression. ‘And is it your intention to go there one day, Mr Bretton?’
‘I sincerely hope to, yes,’ Laurence said, knowing that if the opportunity were presented to him, he would go in a heartbeat. The consequences—and there would be consequences—could be dealt with once he got back. Right now it was important that he convince Miss Northrup of his sincerity, since he had obviously damaged his credibility and commitment to the field by having had the audacity to question hers.
Thankfully, the earnestness of his reply must have convinced her of the true extent of his interest, for she nodded briefly and said, ‘Then I will offer you a few words of advice. If ever you do go, be sure to stay at Shepheard’s in Cairo. It is an exceedingly civilised hotel and the view from the terrace is quite splendid. Also, when dealing with the locals, take time to negotiate anything you are offered. You will be hideously overcharged if you do not.’
‘Thank you,’ Laurence said, relieved he had not done irreparable damage to a relationship he had every intention of pursuing. ‘If I am ever fortunate enough to find myself haggling over the price of a fellukah, I will be sure to remember your advice.’
‘A fellukah is fine if you are only looking for transportation across the Nile, but