He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [36]
“We aren’t at all worried,” Nefret said, with a smile that made the boy blush.
“Nor should you be. There are some splendid chaps here, you know, real first-raters. I was talking to one the other night at the Club; didn’t realize it at the time, he’s not the sort who would put himself forward, but one of the other chaps told me afterward he was an expert on the Arab situation; had spent months in Palestine before the war, and actually let himself be taken prisoner by a renegade Arab and his band of ruffians so he could scout out their position. Then he broke out of the place, leaving a number of the scoundrels dead or wounded. But I expect you know the story, don’t you?”
In his enthusiasm he talked himself breathless. When he stopped, no one replied for a moment. Nefret’s eyes were downcast and she was no longer smiling. Ramses had also been listening. His expression was so bland I felt a strong chill of foreboding.
“It seems,” he drawled, “that it is known to a good many people. Would that fellow standing by the stairs be the hero of whom you speak?”
Nefret’s head turned as if on a spring. I had not seen Percy either. Obviously Ramses had. He missed very little.
“Why, yes, that’s the chap.” Young Pinckney’s ingenuous countenance brightened. “Do you know him?”
“Slightly.”
Percy was half-turned, conversing with another officer. I did not doubt he was aware of us, however. Without intending to, I put my hand on Ramses’s arm. He smiled faintly.
“It’s all right, you know, Mother.”
Feeling a little foolish, I removed my hand. “What is he doing in khaki, instead of that flamboyant Egyptian Army uniform? Red tabs, too, I see; has he been reassigned?”
“Red tabs mean the staff, don’t they?” Nefret asked.
“That’s right,” said Pinckney. “He’s on the General’s staff. It was jolly decent of him to talk to a chap like me,” he added wistfully.
With so many eyes fixed on him, it was inevitable that Percy should turn. He hesitated for a moment, and then bowed—a generalized bow, directed at all of us, including the delighted Lieutenant Pinckney—before descending the steps.
I did not think I could endure listening to any more encomiums about Percy, so I attempted to join in the conversation between Emerson and Mrs. Fortescue. However, she was not interested in conversing with me.
“I had no idea it was so late!” she exclaimed, rising. “I must rush off. May I count on seeing you—all of you—again soon? You promised, you know, that you would show me your tomb.”
She offered her hand to Emerson, who had risen with her. He blinked at her. “Did I? Ah. Delighted, of course. Arrange it with Mrs. Emerson.”
She had a pleasant word for each of us, and—I could not help noticing—a particularly warm smile for Ramses. Some women like to collect all the personable males in their vicinity. However, when Mr. Pinckney would have accompanied her, she dismissed him firmly but politely, and as she undulated toward the door of the hotel I saw she had another one waiting! He ogled her through his monocle before taking her arm in a possessive fashion and leading her into the hotel.
“Who is that fellow?” I demanded.
Pinckney scowled. “A bally Frenchman. Count something or other. Don’t know what the lady sees in him.”
“The title, perhaps,” Nefret suggested.
“D’you think so?” The boy stared at her, and then said with a worldly air, “Some ladies are like that, I suppose. Well, I mustn’t intrude any longer. Dashed kind of you to have me. Er—if I happen to be at the pyramids one day, perhaps I might . . . er . . .”
He hadn’t quite the courage to finish the question, but Nefret nodded encouragingly, and he left looking quite happy again.
“Shame on you,” I said to Nefret.
“He’s young and lonely,” she replied calmly. “Mrs. Fortescue is far too experienced for a boy like that. I will find a nice girl his own age for him.”
“What the devil was that story he was telling you about Percy?” Emerson demanded. He has no patience with gossip or young lovers.