Dear Diary
We had to go to the Negev, end the curse. Curse maybe, or is it just greed?
I flew Shirin in my plane, Johnathan flew Lofty's Tiger Moth taking Jack with him. The flight was good and in time we found ourselves crossing the desert on camels with a cameleer for a guide – who had a surprising amount of cash, sterling, and a revolver in his belt and nether Jack nor Johnathan had paid him as the job wasn't finished.
Sometimes Jack seems a bit slow on the uptake, I had no intention of seducing a cameleer for money, I just wanted his gun and to find out who paid him.
We had another stupid argument and Jack stormed off when I said if I needed help I would ask for it –and I did - quicksand! Of course my hero came to my rescue rambling on about stupid ways he has nearly lost me! I have no idea what he means; and I finally told him why I married the Maharajah. I think it cleared the air.
The astrolabe was our 'map'. We travelled by day, despite the heat, and slept during the night.
It was Shirin who found the village, or what was left of it. One morning as the sun rose she stood and turned to see the entrance lit by the rising sun.
There was little left, the well, usually overflowing according to Shirin, was dry. Suddenly everything fell into place, Shirin has a tattoo on her hand that matched things around the ruins of the village, it was a map, for the village and where the tomb, the Crypt of Tears is.
We had a deadline and it was fast approaching, even as we found the entrance by using wool unravelled from one of the blankets and following the map on her hand - we were rapidly running out of time. As the eclipse began we headed down into the tomb, treading carefully on the old stone steps carved out aeons ago. The wind whistled eerily outside, I swear the ground rumbled and moved as we went deeper.
The air was stale as Jack and I pushed open the doors to the tomb where we found a stone sarcophagus containing the body of Alexander the Great's secret desert bride preserved in honey. In a corner, Shirin shone her light on the remains of a woman, a knife through her ribs and with the Lofthouse crest inscribed on it with Johnathan's initials. He had been there, it was he, as well as Templeton and Wilson who robbed the tomb. It was Templeton who killed her, Shirin's mother, when they were alone in the crypt. Johnathan claimed it was an accident, but that was no comfort, poor Shirin, all these years not knowing where her mother was, whether she was alive or dead and now – I knew that feeling and my heart broke for her, but who murdered Wilson and Khalil?
It all became clear, down there in the gloom, Johnathan's real father is Crippins, the family butler who had waited for us knowing we would end up there and find out the truth, always at his son's side and it was he who killed them. He wanted Johnathan to have the emerald, Lofty was pouring the estate money down the drain. As the eclipse took hold the ground shook and the roof began to fall, Johnathan made us leave, me, Shirin and Jack but he stayed with Crippins and they are buried there with the secret bride. Their bodies will never be recovered.
Poor Lofty, he is bereft, Johnathan was his brother – when all is said and done - and I think that most of the goings on between them was just sibling rivalry aided and abetted by Crippins. I hope he will be alright, they were both my friends, and Jack had nothing to fear from Johnathan, that was a long, long time ago.
We shall travel home, continue through the desert for a while then fly to Alwar.
Diary, I am not sure how I feel about this case, this curse. I find the whole thing very sad, so many people hurt because of greed, misdirection and threats. Shirin will be fine, eventually, Eleanor will look after her and if she doesn't I have given her my card – my door will always be open to her.
So many things have happened that I am proud of and some that I am not so – the way I treat Jack, stalwart Jack, my unsung hero – it is time for me to think about him more, his feelings run so deep and then burst to the surface when I brush off any danger. He is always there, if not in person in my head, rolling his eyes, tipping his head – and that little smile, oh dear heaven, that little smile ...