Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [82]
Daoud blinked, looked round, and cautiously opened his mouth. “Now what must I do?” he inquired.
There is not much traffic on the river after dark, except for an occasional tourist wanting a moonlight sail. Evidently none of them had been romantically inclined that evening; and so, after a brief discussion, Ramses struck out for shore. At my suggestion we all kicked vigorously in order to ward off chills and cramp, and David kept our spirits up by giving Daoud his first swimming lesson. Daoud’s trust in us was unlimited; he followed David’s instructions and discovered, to his delight, that his very large frame floated as lightly as a leaf. (I do not understand why this should be so; it has something to do with buoyancy, I believe.) To see him lying on his back, with only his toes and smiling face above water and his robe wafting around him like the wings of a bird in flight was a sight I will long remember.
Entertaining though this was, I was relieved to behold at last a light approaching, and to hear the shouts of several men who (as Ramses later described it) he had found sleeping in their boat and had aroused in a somewhat peremptory fashion. They took us aboard and we were soon on the West Bank, where our carriages awaited us. Daoud declined our offer of a ride—and indeed, it would have been an extremely tight squeeze, since he took up the space of two people. He went off, still smiling, with his wet skirts flapping and his turban, which had remained miraculously in place, looking rather like a squashed cauliflower. Immediately upon our arrival at the house Fatima and I put Evelyn into a hot bath and then popped her into bed.
“Will she be all right?” Walter asked anxiously. He bent over her. She smiled drowsily at him, but her eyelids were drooping.
“She is chilled and exhausted, but has taken no lasting harm, I believe,” I replied. “Bed for you too, Walter.”
“While the rest of you gather for a council of war?” He was still quite damp, but he had dried and replaced his eyeglasses and his eyes were bright. “Good heavens, Amelia, who could sleep after an adventure like that? I want to talk. I want to listen. I want—yes, by Gad, I want a whiskey and soda!”
“And food,” Fatima said firmly. “There is cold chicken in the larder, and kunafeh, and bread, and lettuce—”
“Very well, Fatima, come and join us. Just don’t wake Gargery, I am in no mood to be scolded by him tonight.”
It was Fatima’s inveterate habit to feed us at any hour of the day or night, but in this case, as I well knew, her primary motive was to be the first to hear the news of our most recent escapade, so she could lord it over Gargery next morning. The two of them were in amiable but uncompromising competition on such matters.
Though we had not agreed upon a conference, it was obvious that all shared Walter’s opinion about its necessity; the others came in, clad informally in dressing gowns and robes, and we all tucked into Fatima’s spread. Strenuous physical exercise does give one an appetite.
Handing his brother the requested whiskey and soda, Emerson remarked, “You are looking very pleased with yourself, Walter. Why, I wonder?”
“I may not have been of much use,” said Walter, “but at least no one had to rescue me.”
How clearly I comprehended the emotion behind that simple statement! He had feared that his sedentary life had rendered him unfit for adventure—that in a crisis he would not measure up. I smiled affectionately at him, but Emerson, who has a more literal mind than I, said, “I trust you are not blaming Daoud for requiring to be rescued.”
“Good heavens, no!” Walter exclaimed. “You mistake my meaning, Radcliffe. He was splendid. And never a word of complaint about his boat. It is a considerable financial loss to him.”
“We will replace or repair the boat, naturally,” said Ramses.
After a brief silence, Lia said, “Because you believe we were somehow responsible for its loss? Why couldn’t it have been an accident, or a private vendetta?”
Emerson’s heavy brows lifted in surprise.