Book synopsis
Luxor, 1946. When young nurse Aida El Masri returns from war-torn London to her family’s estate in Egypt she steels herself against the challenges ahead.
Eight years have passed since her father, Ayoub, was framed for a crime he did not commit, and died as a tragic result. Yet Aida has not forgotten, and now she wants revenge against the man she believes betrayed her father – his best friend, Kamel Pharaony.
Then Aida is reunited with Kamel’s son, the captivating surgeon Phares, who offers her marriage. In spite of herself, the secret passion Aida harboured for him as a young girl reignites. Still, how can she marry the son of the man who destroyed her father and brought shame on her family? Will coming home bring her love, or only danger and heartache?
Set in the exotic and bygone world of Upper Egypt, Song of the Nile follows Aida’s journey of rediscovery – of the homeland she loves, with its white-sailed feluccas on the Nile, old-world charms of Cairo and the ancient secrets of its burning desert sands – and of the man she has never forgotten.
A compelling story of passion and intrigue – a novel that lays open the beating heart of Egypt.
About the author
HANNAH FIELDING is a multi-award winning romance author who was born and grew up in Alexandria, Egypt, the granddaughter of Esther Fanous, a revolutionary feminist and writer in Egypt during the early 1900s. Upon graduating with a BA in French literature from Alexandria University she travelled extensively throughout Europe and lived in Switzerland, France and England.
After marrying her English husband, she settled in Kent and subsequently had little time for writing while bringing up two children, looking after dogs and horses, and running her own business renovating rundown cottages.
Hannah now divides her time between her homes in Kent and the South of France.
She has written six novels: Aphrodite’s Tears; Indiscretion, Masquerade and Legacy (the Andalucían Nights Trilogy); The Echoes of Love and Burning Embers. Hannah’s books have won various awards, including Best Romance for Aphrodite’s Tears at the International Book Awards, National Indie Excellence Awards, American Fiction Awards, NABE Pinnacle Book Achievement Awards and New York City Big Book Awards; Best Romance for Indiscretion at the USA Best Book Awards. She has also won Gold Medal for romance at the Independent Publisher Book Awards (The Echoes of Love), and Gold and Silver Medals for romance at the IBPA Benjamin Franklin Awards (Indiscretion and Masquerade).
She is a member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association (RNA) and the association for Romance Writers of America (RWA). Her website and blog can be found at www.hannahfielding.net
I am thrilled to be able to offer you all an extract of the book
Song of the Nile: extract p.234-237 (PB)
The air was soft and warm. From far away came the thin and reedy note of a native flute, piping one of the melancholy chants of the lovesick nomads of the desert; and the odd little tune, full of unhappy modulations, seemed somehow fitting to the wonderful black and gold of the night.
‘Listen,’ Phares said, suddenly attentive. ‘There must be a caravan of ghajar, gypsies, not far from here. Come, let’s follow the music.’
Aida shivered. ‘Why? My father always said they’re a thieving lot who like nothing better than to traffic antiquities.’
He shrugged. ‘They have that reputation, but they’re not the only thieves in the desert – especially around here. I’d be more inclined to fear the matareed, the outlaws that live up there.’
He pointed to the chain of mountains edging the horizon.
Aida frowned. ‘I don’t like the idea of going there,’ she said pensively.
‘Don’t tell me you listen to all that rubbish about them having sorcerers who can give you the evil eye? You surprise me. A freespirited, independent young woman like yourself having such superstitions?’
‘I never said that,’ she retorted, annoyed by his presumption.
‘What I do believe is if for some unknown reason they take against someone, they can be … unpleasant.’
Phares’s smile was ironic, teasing. ‘Come now, habibti, fancy being afraid when you have me to protect you!’
He seemed set on his idea of finding the gypsies and Aida followed him half-heartedly. There were no stars in the sky and with the sudden nightfall, despite the brilliant moon, the desert seemed a gloomy, haunted place. Instead of the tranquil atmosphere she had felt at sunset, there was a sort of restlessness, an electricity in the breath of the night.
They soon spotted the caravan under a clump of palm trees.
By the looks of it the evening meal was being prepared and around the fire were grouped men and women, camels, donkeys, and a few black goats. The grunting camels sprawled on the ground, their burdens beside them, and each time one of them moved there sounded the clank of a bell.
Around the biggest fire and lit by its fitful flame, a group of musicians had gathered. The light fell on their painted lutes, darabukeh drums and tambourines, making their swarthy faces and glittering teeth seem to jump out of the darkness. Some played rebabahs, a kind of small, round long-necked violin with a metal spike that rested on the ground, and the high, warbling sound pierced the air like a human voice. As a night scene, nothing could be more picturesque than this group of turbaned Arabs sitting in a circle, cross-legged. In the midst of them a blind man sat singing with an old hag, and by his side was a boy playinga reed pipe, his eyes wide set in his music-haunted face. The blind singer was young and powerfully built, but very thin. As he sat there, his wasted form wrapped in a coarse cloth of striped yellow and crimson, he looked the embodiment of the musicians represented in sketches on the walls of temples and tombs of Ancient Egypt. He swayed while the musicians thrummed; the rest of the men and women softly clapped their hands in time, waiting their turn to chime in with the chorus.
As Phares and Aida approached the camp, a woman who had been seated at a table enjoying a shisha, a turquoise hubblebubble, came towards them. Aida guessed she was in her fifties, although she could have been younger as the ghajar often aged quickly owing to their lifestyle and the unfriendly desert sun.
The ghajareya’s face was carefully painted, her eyes large, deep-set, savage, sensual – their bewitching expression rendered more striking by the kohl that blackened the edge of the eyelids, both above and below the eye. Her nose was slightly flat and adorned with a gold nose-ring with a blue charm to keep away the evil eye. Her lips were full, her hair a deep, glossy black, which hung on each side of her face in thick plaits. Her nails and toenails were stained the deep orange of henna, regarded by many Egyptians as a sacred embellishment. A blue thin vertical line straddled by two blue dots was tattooed on her chin.
She wore a golden pair of very wide trousers, the shintiyán, made of cotton with a full, multicoloured striped shirt that stopped just above the knee. An embroidered kerchief, doubled over diagonally, encircled her waist loosely. Around her neck and on her arms were chains of gold and precious stone amulets that clanked like a country cart as she moved. Doubtless all her riches,
Aida thought as she watched the woman stroll nonchalantly towards them.
‘Salam aleykom, peace be on you,’ she said as she reached the couple.
‘Wa aleykom el salam, and on you,’ Phares answered.
The woman’s shrewd eyes moved from him to Aida. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We were just passing when we fell upon your camp.’
‘Marhaba, welcome. My name is Ghalya. It faddalou, join us,’
she said, before calling out, ‘Hind, prepare a shisha for the Bey and a glass of sharbat for the hanem.’
Aida nudged Phares and whispered sharply, ‘Let’s go.’
To her irritation, Phares ignored her and smiled at Ghalya,
turning on the charm. ‘Shukran, that’s very kind of you. I have never seen you around here before. Do you often pass this way?’
‘We come by once every four or five months, depending on the weather. We’re originally from Ras Gharib on the Red Sea.’
‘That’s a long way away.’
‘Yes, ya Bey, and the desert is ghaddar, treacherous, as you know,’ she smiled back, enigmatically.
‘How long will you be staying there?’
‘It depends on the weather. The season of El Khamaseen sandstorms will be here in a week, so we will be going back soon.
We need them to be behind us, ya Bey. Waiting for these gales of dust to pass would take too long. Our cousins from the Beni Gharib tribe will come tomorrow, then we will decide.’
Aida watched the exchange uneasily. Why did she have the strange impression she was de trop? She nudged Phares’s elbow, but the gypsy woman turned towards her with a sly look.
‘Why are you afraid, ya bonaya, my child? Why are you in such a hurry to leave us?’ Her black, kohl-lined eyes glittered. ‘Maybe I can help you in your uncertainty … I tell the fortune, past, present and future.’
Purchase link – https://hannahfielding.net/song-of-the-nile/
Disclaimer – Thank you to the author and the publisher for my gifted copy of this book