Elizabeth Peters - The Golden One

“I know, my dear,” he said gently. “But I cannot suppose they want us to go chasing spies again. The situation has changed. With the Turks driven out of the Sinai, the Canal is no longer in danger, and the Senussi are in full retreat. There is nothing going on that requires Ramses’s unusual talents, or,” he added with a grin, “mine.”

“Unless,” I said, “this has something to do with Sethos.”

Emerson shot me a reproachful glance, but I had only voiced aloud what was in all our minds.

“There’s been no further word from him?” Nefret asked. I shook my head.

“If Ramses gets in trouble because of him, I’ll murder him,” she muttered.

She did not go to the hospital that morning. She did not want to leave the hotel, though I pointed out that we could probably not expect Emerson and Ramses back before luncheon. Finally I managed to persuade her to go walking in the Ezbekieh Gardens with Sennia and me. I always say there is nothing like the beauties of nature to distract one from worrisome thoughts. The Gardens are planted with rare trees and shrubs and the air is harmonious with birdsong. Sennia was even more of a distraction; it required both of us to keep track of her as she ran up and down the graveled paths. It did Nefret good, I believe. When we started back, both of us holding tight to Sennia’s hands, she said ruefully, “You think I’m behaving like a silly coward, don’t you?”

“Perhaps just a bit. But I understand. One becomes accustomed to it, you see,” I continued. “One never likes it, but one becomes resigned.”

“I know I can’t keep him out of trouble,” Nefret said. “It’s just this particular -”

“Little pitchers have big ears,” I warned.

“If you are referring to me,” said Sennia, with great dignity, “my ears are not at all large. Ramses says they are pretty ears. Is he in trouble?”

Nefret laughed and picked her up. We were about to cross the street, which was crowded with traffic. “No, Little Bird. And we will make sure he doesn’t get into it, won’t we?”

We had been waiting for almost an hour before they returned. Sennia was reading aloud to us from a little book of Egyptian fairy tales, but the moment the door opened she dropped it and ran to meet them. Throwing her arms round Ramses’s waist, she asked anxiously, “Are you in trouble?”

“Not unless you crack one of my ribs,” Ramses said, with a theatrical gasp of pain. “Who told you that?”

“Let us go to luncheon,” I said.

“Yes, I am starving,” Sennia announced, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ramses.”

Emerson detached her from Ramses and swung her up onto his shoulder. “We will go down now.”

I let them go ahead. “Well, Ramses?” I inquired.

“You shouldn’t worry the child, Mother.”

“It wasn’t Mother, it was me.” Nefret took his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He offered me his other arm, and as we proceeded to the dining saloon he explained.

“All he wanted was a consultation. He’s new at the job, and apparently nobody bothered to put him in the picture about certain matters. The military and the civil administration have always been at odds. He’d heard of some of our activities, and wanted to know the facts.”

“That’s all?” Nefret demanded. “Nothing about…”

“He wasn’t mentioned.” Ramses grinned. “Under any of his pseudonyms. Father agreed to stay on in Cairo for another day or two, and meet with Wingate again. That should please you; you’ll have more time at the hospital.”

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

The second meeting with Wingate was shorter than the first, and somewhat more acrimonious. Wingate wanted more details about a number of people Emerson was not anxious to discuss, and the roles they had played; when he asked about their dealings with “a certain gentleman named Smith,” Emerson lost his temper. (He had been itching to do so for some time.)

“Good Gad, man, if you don’t know who the bastard is and what he’s up to, how should we? Come, Ramses; we have wasted enough time telling people things they ought to have known anyhow and going over and over facts that are either self-explanatory or irrelevant.”

The new high commissioner took this rudeness better than Ramses had expected. Now in his sixties, he had had a long and illustrious career as governor of the Sudan, and Ramses got the impression that he was finding it harder to deal with his peers in Cairo than with rebellious Sudanese. As Emerson stalked out of the room, Wingate said mildly, “Thank you for your time, gentlemen,” and returned to his papers.

“That’s that,” Emerson declared. “It’s high time we got out of this bloody city. Is Nefret ready to leave?”

On the morning of their departure Nefret and Ramses breakfasted alone in their room, at what struck Ramses as an obscenely early hour.

“I need all the time I can get at the hospital,” she declared. “Since Father is determined on leaving today.”

“He’d have put it off again if you had asked him.”

“I couldn’t do that. He’s on fire to get to Luxor and catch a few tomb robbers. There was no need for you to get up so early. You don’t have to escort me.”

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“You can if you like.” Frowning slightly, she concentrated on the piece of toast she was cutting into strips. “It’s boring for you, though. You hardly said a word the other night when we dined with Sophia and Beatrice.”

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“Don’t apologize, damn it!” She put her knife down and gave him a rueful smile. “There’s no need for you to be so defensive, darling. I didn’t mean it as a reproach. You couldn’t have got a word in anyhow! It was rude of us not to include you in the conversation.”

“That’s all right.” The pronouns jarred, though. Us and you. “I think I will come along, if you don’t mind. There’s someone I want to see, if I can find him.”

“Who?”

He described his encounter with Musa as they walked through the ornate lobby and out the door of the hotel.

“You didn’t tell me,” Nefret said, and then laughed and took his arm. “You couldn’t get a word in, could you? Sophia told me about el-Gharbi’s being arrested. Did you know he had put the word out that we were not to be bothered?”

“I thought he might have done.”

“I never supposed I would regret the arrest of the worst procurer in Cairo.” Her face was troubled. “But Sophia says things have got worse. More injuries, and fewer of the women are coming to us.”

“Musa wants me to intervene on behalf of el-Gharbi. Shall I try to get him out?”

“Could you?”

“Do you want him out?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Nefret said despairingly. “How does one choose between two evils? Leave it alone, darling. I don’t want you getting involved with the police again. Russell would try to recruit you for some rotten job, and I won’t allow it.”

“Russell’s sticking to ordinary police work these days. There’s a new military intelligence organization – or will be, if they ever get it right. They keep shuffling people around. Clayton and the Arab Bureau are now -”

“How did you find that out?” Her eyes narrowed and her voice was sharp.

“From Wingate, for the most part. Plus odds and ends of gossip here and there.”

“Oh, very informative. Ramses, I don’t care who is doing what with whom, so long as ‘whom’ isn’t you. Promise me you’ll stay away from them. All of them.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her tight lips relaxed into one of her most bewitching smiles, complete with dimples, and as a further inducement to good behavior, she told him she would be back in time for luncheon. Ramses watched her run lightly up the steps and in the door before he turned away.