Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [142]
It was the first time he had seen Selim since the accident. Selim’s black eyes brightened and his hand went to his beard. It was certainly more impressive than that of Sethos, though the latter’s was coming along nicely. His face was almost back to normal except for a few faded bruises.
“Yes, come,” Selim said eagerly. “You are still here!”
Leaning against the doorframe, a picture of sartorial elegance in well-cut tweeds, Sethos gave him a friendly grin. “You didn’t suppose I would abandon the family at a time like this? With you out of commission, they need all the help they can get.”
“That is true,” said Selim, starting to nod and then remembering he wasn’t supposed to.
“Thank you both for your confidence,” said Ramses.
“You are too honorable,” Selim explained. “He is not.”
Sethos threw his head back and shouted with laughter. “Right on the mark, Selim. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Tell me about the aeroplane,” Selim said eagerly.
“Another time. Fatima said I wasn’t to stay. She’s bringing your dinner.”
Selim groaned. “She brings me food, Rabia and Taghrid bring me food, Kadija brings me food. Soon I will be fat.”
“So what are you after, really?” Ramses asked, as they strolled along the path toward the main house. “Visiting the sick isn’t your style.”
“How cynical. I like Selim.” Sethos paused to sniff at a pink rose. “You’re right, though. It was you I was after. Would you care to join me in a visit to the gay and glamorous night life of Luxor? Lovely spot, this,” he added, gazing sentimentally at a vine covered with blue flowers. “Perhaps when I retire I’ll settle down in Luxor. The whole family together, eh?”
Ramses refused the bait. “Why?”
“To pass my declining years in the company of my nearest and dearest. Oh—you mean why go to Luxor. I think I may be on to something.”
He refused to elaborate, claiming that he wanted an independent judgment. His announcement of their intentions was met with raised eyebrows, but without comment, at least not at dinner. When Ramses went to change, Nefret went with him.
“What is this about?” she asked.
“He says he’s on to something.”
She watched curiously as he selected the suit he intended to wear. “Black tie? Where are you going?”
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Someplace respectable, at least,” Nefret said, “That’s a relief. Are you going to take your knife?”
“It doesn’t go with evening kit.”
She did not return his smile. “It goes with Uncle Sethos. Please.”
THE SO-CALLED NIGHT LIFE of Luxor ranged from the repellent to the respectable. The cafés and drinking establishments that catered to tourists were located along the corniche; a few were relatively harmless, but evening clothes would have been glaringly out of place in any of them. The hotels, especially those of the top category, were the centers of social activity for upper-class visitors and residents. The tourist steamers and dahabeeyahs drawn up along the bank formed a narrow floating residential street. Lights shone from the decks and saloons.
Their first stop was the Winter Palace, where Sethos was obviously known and welcome. He was choosy about which table to select, and when the waiter hurried up to take their order he said, “Nothing tonight, Habib. But there will be baksheesh for you if you tell the Brother of Demons what you told me.”
“About the Italian gentleman and the lady?” Habib asked, with a nod of greeting for Ramses. He extended a thin brown hand.
They visited two other hotels, the Savoy and the Tewfikieh, on the road to Karnak, and got the same story, though not the same description of the “lady.” At the latter establishment, which claimed the optimistic designation of “Grand-Hotel,” Sethos ordered whiskey and invited Ramses’s comments.
“One Titian-haired, one dark, one fair,” Ramses said. A breeze rustled the leaves of the arbor over their heads. “Martinelli was quite a ladies’ man.”
“Come now,” said Sethos, with a grin.
“The same woman?”
“He acquired female