The hotel was a tall, slender building with a crumbling facade and one narrow entrance that fronted on to the street. Inside, an ancient fan slowly revolved in the stifling heat, and he led the way across the entrance hall and into the bar.
There was no one there and the french windows which gave access to the terrace outside, creaked in the slight breeze from the harbour. Ruth Cunningham removed her sun glasses and frowned.
‘Isn’t there any service in this place?’
Kane shrugged. ‘There isn’t a great deal of action around here. Most people sleep during the afternoon. They figure it’s too hot to do anything else.’
She smiled. ‘Well, they say travel broadens the mind.’
He went behind the bar. ‘Why don’t you go and sit on the terrace while I get you a drink? There’s a wind coming in from the sea. You might find it a little cooler.’
She nodded, walked out through the french windows and sat down in a large cane chair shaded by a gaudy umbrella. Kane opened the ancient icebox that stood under the bar and took out two large bottles of lager, so cold the moisture had frosted on the outside. He knocked off the caps on the edge of the zinc-topped bar, poured the contents into two tall, thin glasses and went out to the terrace.
She smiled up at him gratefully when he handed her the glass, and quickly swallowed some of the beer. She sighed. ‘I’d forgotten anything could be so cold. This place is like a furnace. Frankly, I can’t imagine anyone living here from choice.’
He offered her a cigarette. ‘Oh, it has its points.’
She smiled slightly. ‘I’m afraid they’ve escaped me so far.’
She leaned back against the faded cushions of her chair. ‘Mr Andrews told me you were from New York. That you were a lecturer in archaeology at Columbia.’
He nodded. ‘That was a long time ago.’
She said casually, ‘Are you married?’
He shrugged. ‘Divorced. My wife and I never hit it off.’
Ruth Cunningham flushed. ‘I’m sorry I brought it up. I hope I haven’t upset you?’
‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘We all make mistakes. My wife’s was in assuming that university professors are well paid.’
‘And yours?’
‘Mine lay in imagining I could be content with the ordered calm of academic life. I’d only stuck it for Lillian’s sake. She set me free in more ways than one.’
‘And so you came East?’
‘Not at first. The Air Corps was offering a full-time flying course for one year, then four on the reserve. I did that. Trained as a regular pilot. It was after that I came out here. I was in Jordan with an American expedition six years ago, then I did some work for the Egyptian government, but it didn’t last long. I came to Dahrein with a German geologist who needed someone who could speak Arabic. When he left, I stayed.’
‘Don’t you ever feel like going back home?’
‘To what?’ he said. ‘An assistant-professorship trying to teach ancient history to students who don’t want to know?’
‘Has Dahrein anything better to offer?’
He nodded. ‘There’s something about the place that gets into your bones. This was once Arabia Felix – Happy Arabia. It was one of the most prosperous countries in the ancient world because the spice route from India to the Mediterranean passed through here. Now it’s just a barren waste, but up there in the hills, and north into the Yemen, is the last great treasure hoard for the archaeologist. City after city, some standing in ruins
– like Marib, where the Queen of Sheba probably lived
– others buried beneath the sand of centuries.’
‘So archaeology is still your first love,’ she said.
‘Very much so, but we didn’t come here to talk about me, Mrs Cunningham. Isn’t it time we got on to the subject of your husband?’
She took a slim gold case from her purse, selected a cigarette and tapped it thoughtfully against her thumbnail. ‘It’s difficult to know where to begin.’ She laughed ruefully. ‘I suppose I was always rather spoilt.’
Kane nodded. ‘It sounds possible. What about your husband?’