Egypt, 1913
I was to meet Mrs. Ingeborg Brandt at port nineteen, the Iceland Quay, on the waterfront in Copenhagen to board the ship for Cairo. I’d arrived at the port early and hired a boy to transport my trunk down to the dock, then I stood beside it. I didn’t want to be seated when my new employer arrived. The city was behind me but I could see it in my mind, lined up in blocks of colour, while I looked ahead at the flat, grey sea, terns and kestrels spinning in the sky. Gulls dove and shrieked above.
I had been standing for half an hour or more, an ache beginning to twist around my legs, stiffness setting in my knees, when I saw Mrs. Brandt. She was as tall, blond and distinctive as I remembered, her appearance a bit muted by the size of her hat and the grey of her coat. I stood at
