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We carried the sketch pad and pencils and paints, along with my canvas bag, stuffed full with a canteen of water and a small meal put together by Kareem. We settled inside the interior of the temple, surrounded by columns and bas-reliefs, and I worked for a couple of hours while Isadora explored. She seemed on edge, restless, as if there was something on her mind and she was only waiting for the right moment to bring it up. Ifeltthat she knew I had been lying.
When Isadora returned, she sat down beside me with her knees tuckeddemurely beneath her, her ankles covered by the volume of her linen skirt. She had the kind of manners and modesty my mother approved of. My clothing had already acquired a fair bit of dust and the tips of my fingers were stained from my pencils.
“Any progress?” Isadora asked.
I flipped my sketchbook around to show her.
“Mr. Marqués will be pleased, I’m sure. At least, I hope he will be. He seems like a man who is hard to please.” She nudged my shoulder. “But easy to deceive.”
My lips parted in surprise. “An interesting observation. What made you think of it?”
Isadora arched a brow. “Next time you lie, don’t clasp your hands tight.”
I snapped my mouth closed and glared at her as she let out a peal of laughter.
“Don’t worry. He believed you,” she said, wiping her eyes, still chuckling. “But now I’m very curious. What developments are you supposed to report?”
“My progress,” I said, taking care to keep my hands light on my knees. “He wants me to move quickly and worries I’ll cause delays.”
“Hmmm.” She tilted her head. “Why is he in such a rush, do you think?”
“He doesn’t tell me such things. Remember?”
“Very annoying,” Isadora said, nodding. “Your relationship with him isn’t what I expected.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, continuing my drawing.
Her brow furrowed. “I was told your family was close.”
She regarded me with frank interest, and I realized how lonely I’d been for female companionship. I missed Elvira, who knew how to make me laugh. What would she think about what my mother had done? Would she forgive her?
I wasn’t sure I did.
But I wanted to. Desperately. A second chance had been granted, and it seemed childish to squander the opportunity to spend more time with Mamá.
Isadora remained silent, waiting for me to reply. I liked that about her. Not many people were patient enough with silences.
“My parents spent a lot of time here,” I explained. “So they knew him better. I’m still finding my way, as it were. He’s a hard man to get to know.”
“How are you liking it here?”
“More than I expected,” I admitted. “It’s so different experiencing it than reading about it. For years, all I wanted was to come along with my parents, but I was never allowed. I think a small part of me resented the whole country.”
“And now?”
I looked around at the immense pillars, the hieroglyphs surrounding us, journal entries and records on the walls that survived generations. “Now I understand what the fuss was about.”
“Tell me about your mother,” she said suddenly. “I hardly get to see mine. She doesn’t care to travel with my father.”
“My mother was… dutiful,” I said. “Loyal to us, I think, and very determined to raise me to be well brought up and dignified. I don’t always live up to the standard she set for me, clearly. Why doesn’t your mother like to travel with your father?”
“He likes to tell her what to do and how to behave,” Isadora said with a tired smile. “They argue constantly, and sometimes I think my mother likes to have her own space without the constant headache that is my father.”
“He seems like a handful.”
“I can manage him,” she said, grinning. “I’m here in Egypt, aren’t I?”
I returned her smile. I understood her completely. So much of my life had been learning how to manage the people responsible for me.
