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‘I think I will revert to my maiden name,’ Cleo said. She could think of no reason to keep Thierry’s name now and it would surely ease things in England if she had no obvious French connections.
‘Miss Woodward, then.’ The gentlemen bowed all over again. Cleo dipped what she hoped was a passable curtsy and eyed the elaborate table setting with disquiet. This was a glimpse into the world that she had always known existed out there somewhere and it appeared to require levels of esoteric knowledge that made understanding hieroglyphs straightforward.
She had to do several things at once, beside attempting to keep her countenance and not lose her temper again with Quin. There was posture and what Mama had called deportment. Poor Mama had died before she could instil much into Cleo’s head, but she did recall, Keep your voice and tone moderate, your back straight and your head up. Do not wave your hands about to emphasise a point. Smile, do not be shy, nor forward, do not contradict the opinions of those you are conversing with.
Conversing. That was the next thing. She must make small talk with these men. But what about? Mama had said that a lady did not discuss politics, religion, war, money... What did that leave, especially in the midst of a siege?
‘Your wife does not accompany you, Sir James?’
‘No.’
‘I am so sorry, you must miss her. Perhaps your demanding work is a help under the circumstances,’ she ventured.
‘My wife would tell you that my work is always a distraction, Miss Woodward.’ Could he possibly be smiling? Yes, it seemed he was.
Cleo managed a stiff little curve of her lips in response. ‘Is this your first visit to Egypt? Although I suppose visit is hardly the word.’
‘It is.’ He placed one white-gloved hand under her elbow and steered her towards a footman who held a tray full of glasses. ‘Champagne, Miss Woodward?’ He took her silence for consent and handed her a glass. ‘Difficult to get it adequately chilled, I fear. Yes, I am finding Egypt a most interesting country and the opportunity to use my Arabic is stimulating.’
‘Do many British diplomats speak it?’ Cleo asked. ‘I assumed it would be uncommon.’
‘What with the need to keep the trade routes to the east open and the constant dealings with the Barbary pirates, quite a few of us have had to acquire a facility. I cannot say I found it the easiest language to learn.’
‘I suppose I came to it quite young,’ Cleo said. ‘Although I learned Turkish younger and I am less confident with that. Or perhaps I have had to use my Arabic more.’
‘You speak several languages, Miss Woodward?’ Major Grainger strolled to her side.
‘French, German, Italian, Turkish, Greek and Arabic. Oh, and Classical Greek and Latin, of course.’
‘My goodness, you are quite the scholar, Miss Woodward.’ The major did not appear to consider it to be a quality she should be congratulated upon.
Cleo took a gulp of wine and almost choked. This was supposed to be enjoyable? She swallowed both the cough and a grimace. ‘No, not a scholar, Major. I am the practical member of the family, the one who has to take the notes and do the shopping. If my understanding of the ancient languages is faulty, I am unable to assist my father. If I cannot buy provisions, then we starve.’
She was conscious of heads turning. She had raised her voice, she had spoken tartly to a gentleman. Tut, tut, Cleo chided herself. They’ll think you’ve been brought up in a tent. She took another sip of the wine. It was not so bad this time, now she was prepared for the bubbles.
The glass was empty so she plucked another from the tray and took a defiant sip. Alcohol was not so different from a sherbet drink, to judge by the taste of it.
‘The weather seems quite temperate,’ Sir James remarked. ‘Hot of course, but not as bad as I had feared.’
When all else fails, fall back on the weather, Mama had advised. ‘This is normal for the time of year,’ Cleo said. ‘It will rapidly get hotter, of course, and then the plague will increase in severity.’
‘Dinner is served, Sir James.’
Was it her imagination or did they all look relieved? The major and Sir James could stop making conversation and Quin and Dr Kent might hope to escape from her father’s views on temple architecture for a few moments.
Sir James took the head of the table and showed her to the seat on his right. Quin took the foot with her father on his right, the major sat next to Cleo and the doctor took the remaining seat opposite her father.
Cleo eyed the array of silverware. Outside in, inside out? At random? And why did they need three glasses each?
Tureens were brought to the table and soup bowls laid out. At least she could work out which spoon to use for that.
