Page 89 of Sands of Sirocco
“Excuse me.”Ginger stepped toward her to get her attention.She shaded her eyes.“I’m looking for Paul Hanover.”
The woman stopped and gave Ginger a puzzled look.Then she raised one eyebrow.“You and me both, lady,” she said, her American accent strong.She continued past Ginger, heading toward an area of excavation near the base of the pyramid.
Ginger’s jaw dropped.She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had talked to her like that.
But …it also meant the woman had heard of him.Ginger followed behind her.“Sorry, do you know Mr.Hanover?”
The woman looked over her shoulder at Ginger, studying her.Her mouth twisted.“Let me guess.He owes you money?”
“No.”Ginger laughed.The woman’s exasperated expression made it clear she wasn’t overly enthusiastic about Mr.Hanover.
The woman cocked her head.“Got you pregnant?”
“I beg your pardon!”Who was this woman?
She shrugged unapologetically.“Well, that’s why the last two women came around asking about him.”She sighed and rolled her sleeves, exposing well-tanned, freckled skin.“I’ll tell you the same thing I told them.I haven’t seen him since May.And good riddance too.He can stay wherever the hell he went.Because if he shows up here again, I’ll kill him.”
With that, the woman lifted a Fedora that hung down her back and placed it on her head.She turned to go.
“Wait!”Ginger hardly could get the words out, still flabbergasted.The news that the woman didn’t know where Paul Hanover was hardly registered compared to the way she’d delivered it.“Who are you?”
The woman turned and laughed.Then she held out her hand for a shake.“Sarah Hanover.I’m Paul’s wife.”
Ginger stared at her proffered hand, stunned.His wife?
Paul Hanover was quite a liar, wasn’t he?Sarah didn’t seem fazed by the idea that her husband was a philanderer though.Did she not care or was she simply beleaguered?
Sarah dropped her hand to her side, then smiled.“And you are?”
Her mind raced to catch up.“Lady Virginia Whitman.I—my father was acquainted with your husband.”
Something in Sarah’s demeanor shifted, her eyes more distrusting.“What was your father’s name?”
“Edmund Whitman, Earl of Braddock.”
A hint of recognition showed in Sarah’s face.She straightened, then blinked.Looking back at the tent where Ginger had originally found her, Sarah hesitated.“Why don’t we go back over to my tent?It’s not a hell of a lot more private, but something is better than nothing.”
Ginger followed her.Sarah was a strange woman, to be sure, but her behavior also had an unburdened freedom to it that Ginger found intriguing.She dressed like a man and talked like a man and, from her appearance, she appeared to be an archeologist working in the field like a man.
Inside the tent the air was cooler, and a rug on the sand provided a place to sit along with two folding chairs made of wood frames with leather slings.“Can I get you tea?”Sarah peeked out the opening of the tent.“I can have my man get some.I’m sorry, I’m not really set up to host.I don’t entertain a lot of society ladies here.”Sarah scratched an exposed area of skin at the base of her throat, leaving a red mark.
“No, thank you.”Ginger inspected the area as Sarah sat in a chair.“And this is perfect, thank you.”She took the chair opposite her.“You haven’t seen your husband since May?And you haven’t tried to learn where he is since then?”
“Don’t know.Don’t care.”Sarah uncapped a canteen and swigged.“We came out here seven years ago for a life of adventure.No plans.I would have followed him to the great unknown.”She gave a tight-lipped smile.“That didn’t work out quite the way I expected.”
Ginger should have expected the disappointment welling within her.For once, she’d felt like she might finally be moving in the right direction.She’d found the answer to the clue Osborne had given her, and once again she’d hit another obstacle.She struggled for words.“Then I suppose you don’t know where your husband went in May?”
Sarah replaced the cap on her canteen.Her eyes were lively.“I didn’t say that, did I?In fact, I know what you’re looking for.”
Could it be possible?Ginger sat straighter.“I’m sorry—I thought—”
“Lady Whitman—is that right?I never quite know how you Brits handle those titles.”Laughing lightly, Sarah leaned forward.
“Please.Call me Ginger.”
Sarah smiled, displaying straight white teeth.“I know what you probably think of me.Paul was a terrible husband.He would come back here, drunk and begging for forgiveness, but he never once lied to me.He’d tell me every damn thing he did, whether I wanted to know about it or not.And, believe me, after a while I hated him for it.”
With a sigh, Sarah continued, “So, yes.I know about the oil company.And I know where he was heading when he left—to Malta.”
