Flora's War by Pamela Rushby

been busy with a party of visitors. ‘Is someone bothering you?’ I asked Fa one day. ‘Do you want to send him over to me?’
    ‘Bothering me?’ said Fa vaguely. ‘Oh, you mean Jim. James Hunter. He’s the fellow who’s so interested in Egyptian history. He’s asked if he could have a stab at excavating the pit burial. Jim’s had some experience and the pit burial isn’t important, no reason he shouldn’t cut his teeth on it. He’ll be coming and going, when he has time off.’
    I felt rather sorry for the little body in the pit burial. Not important. The body had been a person, and important to someone. I was pleased someone was interested. ‘Should I keep visitors away?’ I asked.
    ‘Oh no,’ said Fa. ‘I don’t suppose Jim will mind if people watch him at work.’
    I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t agree. Lots of archaeologists – like Professor Travers – simply hated being watched while they were working. I decided that when this Jim Hunter was working I wouldn’t take visitors to the pit burial. Over the next few days, when visitors came, I glanced up at the grave on the hill and if I saw a far away figure there, or a pile of equipment on the ground, I kept well away.
    …

    It was my birthday in March. I’d be seventeen! With the khamsins stopping the excavation for three days, I had time to plan a party at the House of the Butcher and Blacksmith. I invited many of Fa’s archaeologist friends, and the friends Gwen and I had made among the nurses and officers. I was so looking forward to it. My birthdays had always been in the school term and I’d had to be satisfied with a sedate tea party for school friends.
    Mr Bilal strung the roof terrace with pierced tin lanterns again. As I was up on the terrace, supervising the decorations, I looked down at the little door in the alley. I’d seen nothing suspicious down there; heard nothing. Had I been completely wrong about it? I resolved to keep a closer watch – but certainly not today! When I had time …
    Mrs Maryam and her band of genies had been cooking for days, filling the house with spicy, delicious aromas that floated out into the street and had passers-by lifting their heads and sniffing appreciatively. Small boys hovered near the door in the wall, pretending they needed a drink from the copper cups that hung there, but really hoping that Mrs Maryam would come out and give them a taste of something wonderful to eat.
    I’d ordered a new evening gown in a glorious shade between apricot and orange with an over-dress in a paler apricot and deep embroidery along the hem. I was ready to dance all night.
    And I did – in between eating, sipping champagne and opening the gifts kind friends had brought me: books, scarves, small and pretty ornaments, chocolates from Groppi’s. One of the young officers presented me with an enormous bunch of flowers, the largest I’d ever seen.
    ‘Thank you!’ I said, overwhelmed. ‘These are so beautiful. I’ve never seen such a large bouquet.’
    ‘Don’t thank me,’ he said. ‘I’m one of the many boxes of chocolates. No imagination, that’s me! These are from Jim. There’s a card – look, here it is. He was very disappointed he couldn’t be here tonight, but he had to go out on an unexpected training exercise.’
    ‘Who?’ I said. I looked at the card. ‘Oh, Jim Hunter.’
    Gwen was admiring the flowers. ‘These are absolutely beautiful,’ she said. ‘I wonder where he got them? You’d better put them in water, Flora.’
    I went to get vases and water and Gwen came along to help me arrange them in the dining room. ‘Well, you do seem to have an admirer,’ she said. ‘Is he nice?’
    ‘I have no notion,’ I said. ‘I’ve never met him that I can recall. He’s the man excavating the pit burial. Fa quite likes him.’
    ‘It seems to me he might like you ,’ said Gwen, taking half the flowers and arranging them in a vase.
    ‘He can’t,’ I protested. ‘I wouldn’t know him