Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [4]
“I love this place,” Nefret said softly. “I didn’t expect to, you know. I had originally hoped we could be just a wee bit farther removed from the family.”
“It was just like Mother to have the house built without consulting us, but she’s stuck to her word to respect our privacy. Even Father doesn’t drop in without asking permission first.”
Nefret chuckled, a sound that always reminded her infatuated husband of flowing, sunlit water. “Not since the time he popped in and caught us in bed at five in the afternoon.”
“He’s in no position to criticize. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve sat twiddling my thumbs waiting for him while he and Mother were up to the same thing.”
They weren’t too late after all. Emerson had just entered the parlor, delayed this time not by dalliance but because he had got involved in his notes.
“Where is your copy of the inscription we found on the wall of that house?” he demanded of his son.
“You might at least say ‘Good evening’ before you begin badgering him,” his wife remarked.
“Good evening,” said Emerson. “Ramses, where is—”
Thanks to the interruption, Ramses had been able to recall the inscription to which his father presumably referred. He hadn’t thought of it for several months. “If you mean the inscription of Amennakhte, it’s in my notes. Didn’t I give them to you? I was under the impression that I had.”
He knew he had. No doubt Emerson had misplaced it. His desk was always a disorganized, overflowing heap of material. He could usually lay his hand on any given document at any given moment, but if it didn’t turn up immediately he lost his temper and began throwing papers around.
“Hmph,” said Emerson.
“Have you lost it?” Nefret asked. “It must be there somewhere, Father. I’ll help you look, if you like.”
“Bah.” Emerson reached for his pipe. “Thank you, my dear, but that won’t be necessary. I—er—don’t need it just now.”
“Yes, you do,” said his wife, somewhat acerbically. “Emerson, you promised that article to the Journal weeks ago. You haven’t finished it, have you?”
Emerson fixed her with a formidable glare and she abandoned the subject. Ramses was pretty sure she had not put it out of her mind, though. She had her own ways of managing her husband.
“Ah well, enough shop talk,” she said cheerfully. “We need to discuss the arrangements for our guests.”
“It’s all settled, isn’t it?” Nefret asked. “Sennia has kindly consented to give up her little suite to David and Lia and their brood, and Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Walter can stay with us or on the dahabeeyah, whichever they prefer.”
“If I were in their shoes I’d choose the dahabeeyah,” Ramses said lazily. “With four children under the age of six in residence, this place is going to be a zoo. I wonder how Dolly and Evvie will get on with our two.”
“Badly, I should think,” said his mother. “Yours are accustomed to our full attention, and Dolly will be hurt if Emerson neglects him.”
“What nonsense!” Emerson exclaimed. “As if I would neglect little Abdullah!”
“You have only two knees, Emerson, and mark my words, they will all want to occupy them simultaneously.”
“There you go again, borrowing trouble,” Emerson grumbled.
“Anticipating difficulties,” his wife corrected. “Ah well, I am sure it will all work out. Your Uncle Walter will be delighted with the inscribed material we have found, Ramses.”
“There’s no better philologist in the business,” Ramses agreed.
“And I mean to ask David to paint a group picture of you and Nefret and the children,” his mother continued. “Or perhaps Evelyn; it has been a good many years since she practiced her skills, but I feel sure she will—”
“Now just a bloody minute, Peabody,” Emerson exclaimed. “I won’t have you assigning extra duties to my staff even before they arrive. I will need them on the dig.”
His use of his wife’s maiden name indicated that he was in a more agreeable state of mind than the speech might have suggested. The family had learned to interpret those signals: Amelia when he was genuinely annoyed; Peabody when