Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [41]
Ramses was almost as red in the face as his father. Sethos could not refrain from stirring people up. I recognized the symptoms of fatigue; it always put him in a quizzical mood.
“It is almost morning,” I said. “We would all be more sensible, I think, after some sleep. How can we reach you?”
“You can’t.” He rose. “I will come round tomorrow evening. Perhaps you will all dine with me? A celebratory—”
“Oh, go away,” I snapped.
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
* * *
Somehow Ramses had not been surprised to see his reprobate uncle. To give him his due, Sethos had a gift for turning up without warning when his assistance was needed, but this time he appeared to be intent on stirring up trouble. He had shocked his unsuspecting half brother into a faint, provoked Emerson into a rage, offered no useful information and no prospect of any—and (most infuriating of all) he had refused to take Ramses’s story seriously. One of these days, Ramses thought savagely, he’ll drive me into smacking that supercilious grin off his face.
“What did you say?” Nefret asked
“Nothing.” He finished undressing and got into bed. “Let’s get some sleep.”
She was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair. “I’m too keyed up to sleep. Don’t you want to discuss the amazing appearance of Uncle Sethos?”
The long locks of unbound hair rippled with light and movement, but for once the sight failed to arouse him. “No,” he said curtly, and rolled over, his back to her. When she finally joined him he pretended to be asleep.
The only person he wanted to talk to was David. There hadn’t been time the night before; his mother had bustled them off to their rooms as soon as Sethos left. But they knew each other pretty well, he and David. An exchange of glances and a few words had arranged a meeting for the following morning.
He had been waiting on the terrace for a quarter of an hour before David came, with a smiling apology. “Couldn’t get away from the affectionate arms of the family,” he explained.
“How is Uncle Walter?”
“Fully recovered and bursting with curiosity. He and the Professor are taking the children to the Museum. I wish them luck. I suggested leads, but was shouted down.”
“And the others?”
“The hospital with Nefret, except for Aunt Amelia. I believe she has decided to accompany the Museum party. She asked where I was going.”
“She would. What did you tell her?”
David’s black eyes widened in affected surprise. “The truth, of course. That you and I wanted some time to ourselves.” His contemptuous gaze swept the terrace, with its crowd of well-dressed tourists and Anglo-Egyptian officials and dark-faced waiters. “But not here, if you don’t mind. The place hasn’t changed a bit, has it?”
“No. Will it ever?”
“Oh, yes,” David said softly. “It will.”
Ramses turned to him, brows furrowed; he shook his head and smiled a little. “Let’s not talk politics. Where shall we go?”
They found a favorite coffeeshop, and David settled onto a bench with a sigh of contentment. “Just like old times. D’you remember the night we were here, you as Ali the Rat and me as your faithful henchman, and your father walked in? He looked straight at you, and you shouted, ‘Curse the unbeliever’?”
“ ‘Whimpered’ is more like it.” Ramses laughed, yielding to the mood of sentimental nostalgia. “I was so scared he’d recognize us, I almost fell off my chair.”
A waiter brought the coffee they had ordered, and a narghile for David. “We had some good times,” David said wistfully.
“In retrospect, perhaps. Some of them weren’t much fun at the time.”
David looked older, Ramses thought. He did too, he supposed. But some of the lines on his friend’s face were those of pain, deeply carved into the skin. He would never be entirely free of it, according to Nefret; the injury he had suffered in 1915 had damaged some