Feisal interrupted my thoughts with a sharp, ‘Vicky, please don’t dawdle,’ and I trotted obediently after him. Perry trotted after me.

‘Has he got a hangover or what?’ I whispered.

‘He doesn’t drink,’ Perry said. ‘Muslims don’t – ’

‘I was joking. What is bugging him?’

‘We’re in Middle Egypt now,’ Perry said soberly. ‘This is the area where terrorist attacks have been most frequent. But every precaution has been taken.’

They sure had. The first thing I saw when I stepped out onto the gangplank was a truck full of soldiers. ‘An armed escort?’ I exclaimed.

‘If anything happened to a member of this group, there’d be hell to pay,’ Perry said. ‘Ignore them and be thankful they’re here.’

I tried to follow his advice. The view was rather wonderful, unless you were of the school that insists on things like trees and flowers and grass and babbling brooks. It was a beauty of line and subtle shadings of colour, shadows that deepened from violet to blue-black, rugged rock walls turning from golden pink to paler silver as the sunlight strengthened. I wasn’t awfully taken by our means of transport – a tractor pulling an open metal trailer with rows of benches – but I didn’t suggest walking. Not with those grim-faced guys in uniform watching me.

The trailer proved to be just as uncomfortable as I had expected. I held on to the edge of the bench as we bumped along over a track that was barely distinguishable from the surrounding desert. I had managed to escape Perry, but when Sweet offered me a seat next to him (and, I hardly need say, Bright), there was no way I could refuse without rudeness. John obligingly shifted over to give me plenty of room. He also gave me a smile that indicated he was well aware I would have preferred another place.

‘I haven’t seen much of you lately,’ I said, turning my back on him and favouring Sweet with my most seductive smile.

‘We were shy,’ said Sweet, giggling. ‘You are so popular, Vicky. With all the handsome young men following you we thought you wouldn’t want to associate with two old bores like us.’

Bright grinned and nodded. Could he talk? Maybe he had some painfully embarrassing speech defect, a bad stutter or a lisp.

We exchanged a few coy jokes – about their good looks and my irresistible appeal – and then I said, ‘I haven’t seen Larry this morning. Did he stay on board?’

‘My dear, he was first off the boat!’

‘He has a schoolboy crush on Nefertiti,’ said John.

I would have ignored this, but Sweet leaned forward, including John in the conversation. ‘I thought Tetisheri was his dream girl.’

‘And Nefertari and Ti and all the other beautiful romantic queens of Egypt. He has succumbed to the legends and the portraits, all of which, one may reasonably assume, bore only a distant resemblance to their subjects.’

Sweet nodded sympathetically. ‘It is not difficult to understand why a shy, sensitive man, a lover of beauty and of art, would prefer a dream to reality.’