The Coming: The Hidden Series, #2

By JO CHUMAS

FIVE STARS FOR THE COMING

 

WHAT READERS ARE SAYING

 

"Jo Chumas is a brilliant story teller, her descriptions of Cairo envelope you into their complex stories, you can virtually smell the city and imagine life among the many fascinating characters she has unfolded. A fascinating history into Egypt itself which has made me want to find out more. I was unable to put this book down and now I am at a loss to know what to read next."

 

"A great novel should transport you to a time and place. The Hidden took me straight to the heart of Cairo where the heat and the buzz of the streets, with all their sights, sounds and smells, were tangible. This is an epic tale of loss, love, revenge and revolution, where no-one is quite as they seem. The breadth and scope of the novel, together with tight management of a large cast, are two of Chumas's greatest achievements."

 

THE COMING

Cairo, Egypt 1940

 

When her husband, university professor Azi Ibrahim is murdered in the Egyptian Sinai desert, newly married Aimee is forced to confront the underbelly of Cairo's darkest quarters in an attempt to understand the web of lies and secrets being spun around her. Was her husband Azi involved in a revolutionary plot to assassinate the King? Will she be next on the assassination list? Aimee's past has always been kept hidden from her. One man Taha Farouk holds the key to her past, but will she survive long enough to unlock the secrets Farouk holds?

 

The Coming was originally published as The Hidden by Thomas & Mercer, a novel that won the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) in 2013, in the Mystery/Suspense category and became an overnight bestseller. Now published by 8dpress, the original novel The Hidden has become a seven-book series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 8dpress
• Release date: Oct 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393934875

Book preview

HELLO

Thank you for checking out my novel The Coming which is Book 2, Part 2 in The Hidden Series. I hope you enjoy it.

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Love Jo xx

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****

THE HIDDEN

Winner of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award 2013 – Thriller/Suspense

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY called The Hidden  a sophisticated, first-rate mystery novel/political thriller......an excellent, well-written, and forceful work of fiction.

BOOKLIST said: Egyptian-history buffs will love this complex story, set in 1940 Cairo, of love, betrayal, and political machinations. Fans of Elizabeth Peters and Wilbur Smith will find much to enjoy here.

HISTORICAL NOVELS REVIEW said: the strongest and most appealing elements of the novel are its richness of setting details and characterization. Everything about the way the characters think and how they relate to each other feels authentic. This is a stunning launch for a new fiction writer.

What Readers Are Saying

Devoured in two days, a brilliant story. Jo Chumas is a brilliant storyteller, her descriptions of Cairo envelope you into their complex stories, you can virtually smell the city and imagine life among the many fascinating characters she has unfolded. A fascinating history into Egypt itself which has made me want to find out more. I was unable to put this book down and now I am at a loss to know what to read next.

Best book I have read in a long time. could not put it down.

Amazing story line. Could not put it down. It taught me a lot how life was in Egypt for young princess.

*****

Like what you’ve read here?

Click through to buy The Coming now, and if you like this novel, you can get Book 1, Part 1 on all publishing platforms including Amazon, Kobo, Barnes & Noble and Apple Books for FREE. Book 1, Part 2 called The Rebel Princes, for is available for FREE by signing up to my mailing list.

You’ll find the sign-up form at the end of the novel.

CHAPTER ONE

Following on from Aimee’s War-----

Aimee’s act was moments away. She hurriedly applied a little gold dust to her cheeks. Then she raised her thin arms above her head and tried to move her hips. There was no way she was going to convince Fatima. The men would laugh at her, and Fatima would get wise to her in seconds.

She had surely lost her mind. She removed her clothes and slipped into the red stocking sheath. It clung to her body like a glove. She pulled the long black gloves off the table and slipped them on. They reached past her elbows, with little ivory buttons holding them in place. She scanned the room, taking in the cracked ceilings, the rough wooden floors, the antique armoires, the heavy velvet drapes.

As she tiptoed barefoot out of the room, a plump old woman sidled up to her and took her hand. If you are Amina Khalil, then come with me, the woman said. Her hand felt rough and cold like parchment. Beyond the long corridor, she saw the lights of the stage and the sequinned curtains. Aimee watched a young girl, probably no more than thirteen, swirling, entranced, on the platform. She was wearing a jewelled bodice and loose trousers, and her arms were decorated with silver bracelets.

In the wings on the other side of the stage, Aimee spotted another woman whom she was certain she had seen somewhere before. She peered out at the audience, sizing up the faces of the men through the cigarette haze.

You’re on next, the old woman said, sliding onto a small stool as the music faded out.

Aimee held her breath. The sound of a flute was heard, and then a hush came over the room. She could not think. She thought she would faint. She didn’t know what she was doing. The sound of tablas started up, followed by lutes, then pipes. The old woman gave her a shove onto the stage. She was overwhelmed by that same unpleasant oily smell, which reminded her of the caravansarais and kiosks in the seedier parts of town, places she’d walked past with Azi when they’d explored the city together.

She was fairly certain it was opium, an odour so strange her head started to swim. She moved slowly at first. Then gradually, swaying in time to the music, her movements became more vigorous. She tried to remember the steps of the flamenco dancers who had fascinated her as a young girl. She stamped her bare feet and stretched her arms high over her head, arching her body as she danced.

Then a face loomed out of the cigarette haze. It was a good-looking face, the face of a man she knew. Farouk! She kept dancing. She danced and danced, her body tightening with each breath, the thick, heavy scent sending her reeling. She saw Sophie and Sebastian. Sophie was staring at her in horror, her mouth open.

Aimee continued, unable to stop. The face of Sophie’s friend dissolved into the blur, and she saw Farouk again. He had left his seat and was pushing chairs and tables out of the way, but Aimee kept dancing to the throbbing music.

She was dancing for Azi, not for Fatima, dancing in her sheath of a dress that clung to her pale flesh, her tiny feet stamping away on the dusty, dirty floorboards, which were spiked with shards of glass from broken bottles. Swirling to the pounding, hypnotic music; she crouched and twirled until she was almost naked, pulling at the thin sheath of fabric that covered her thin body. Still she did not stop. The audience had broken into a frenzy. Farouk pushed them back, leapt onto the stage, and encircled her waist.

Get off the stage, the men shouted. She has not yet chosen. You can’t just take her. You filthy bastard.

Farouk had wrenched off his jacket, was wrapping it around her, scooping her up in his arms. The dwarf pulled at Farouk, grabbing at him, biting the backs of his legs, but with one swift kick, Farouk sent the dwarf flying off the stage. The audience roared with laughter. Aimee heard Farouk shouting, but she didn’t understand what he was saying. The room was a cacophony of music, laughter, clapping, and yelling. Farouk’s eyes were black and wide and hungry. The time had come for her to earn her commission.

CHAPTER TWO

Darkness enveloped Aimee as she came to. The smell of old leather and the familiarly pungent Kyriazi Freres tobacco made her nose twitch with recognition. She thought she heard a voice, low and tender and rich with age, like a seductive whisper, against her ear, but she could not be sure to whom it belonged at first.

She opened her eyes and looked around, but had no idea where she was. As she got her bearings, she realised that she was curled up on the front seat of a car, covered by a man’s trench coat. The heavy satin lining slid over her naked arms. Her head felt swollen and numb and thick. She scrambled up, blinking, trying to focus. Farouk was next to her in the driver’s seat. The car was parked on the banks of the Nile. She could see feluccas tacking across the river in the moonlight. Up ahead she recognised the Sinan Pasha Mosque, its cool white stone shimmering under the stars.

God, it’s you. How—what? What’s going on? Where are we? Aimee asked huskily, rubbing her head.

You look ill, he said. How are you feeling?

I feel strange, she said. What happened? How did I get here?

Sssh. Farouk turned and put his finger on her mouth to silence her. He squinted in the darkness and pointed at a group of men huddled near the entry to the mosque. Farouk told her in a low voice that the men had the houseboats along the Nile under close guard. What he didn’t tell her was that they were Issawi’s men and they were watching the comings and goings along the banks of the river. Aimee followed his gaze to the men by the mosque.

Who are they? she asked.

Mahmoud’s men. They’re checking me out. They have their eye on that houseboat over there. Aimee studied the scene more closely. All she could see was a throng of men lingering around the entry to the mosque.

Why? Who does that houseboat belong to?

I use it, Farouk said.

What for?

As a place to compile my reports, he said. Aimee sat up straight and pulled the coat over her.

What am I doing here with you in this car? she asked him.

Farouk lit a cigarette. I rescued you. You were dancing at the el-G. A new job? he added sarcastically. She didn’t answer him, instead sinking back against the seat and huddling inside the trench coat. Then she remembered the red dress. Peeling back the coat, she saw that she was wearing the lilac dress she’d borrowed from Sophie. Had he stripped her of her el-G clothes and somehow gotten her dressed?

How did I get back into this? I was dancing. I had the red dress on—I remember that much. Farouk wound down the window and flicked ash out. I collected your things. The old woman took you into a small room and helped you dress. You don’t remember that? She told me you were very sick. Fatima was nowhere to be seen. I waited for you. Then I carried you out through the side door. I wrapped you up in my coat and settled you down on the backseat of the car. I had to follow someone.