He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [54]
A line of annoyance appeared between Nefret’s arched brows, but she began to nibble at her egg. “It was rather boring.”
“So you came home early.”
“It wasn’t very early, was it?” She hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Why don’t you just ask me straight out, Aunt Amelia? I saw a light under Ramses’s door and felt the need of intelligent conversation after a tedious evening with ‘the Best People.’ ”
“So I assumed,” I said. “There was no need for you to explain.”
“I’m sorry.” She pushed a loosened lock of hair away from her forehead. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Not only you, I thought, and went on eating my toast. Nefret gave herself a little shake. “As a matter of fact, I did meet one interesting person,” she said, looking and sounding much brighter. “None other than Major Hamilton, who wrote that rude letter to you.”
“Is he one of the ‘Best People’?” I inquired somewhat sardonically.
“Not really. He’s older than the others and less given to silly jokes—that’s how they spend their free time, you know, ragging one another and everyone else. Perhaps,” said Nefret, “that is why he talked mostly to me. He’s really quite charming, in a solemn sort of way.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Nefret, you didn’t—”
“Flirt with him? Of course I did. But I didn’t get very far,” Nefret admitted with a grin. “He behaved rather like an indulgent uncle. I kept expecting him to pat me on the head and tell me I’d had quite enough champagne. We spent most of the time talking about Miss Hamilton. Nothing could have been more proper!”
“What did he say about her?”
“Oh, that she was bored and that he didn’t know quite what to do with her. He’s childless; his wife died many years ago and he has been faithful to her memory ever since. So I asked him why he wouldn’t let Molly come to see us.”
“In those precise words?” I exclaimed.
“Yes, why not? He hemmed and hawed and mumbled about not wanting her to make a nuisance of herself, so I assured him we wouldn’t let her, and invited them to come to us for Christmas. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Well,” I said, somewhat dazed by this unexpected information, “well, no. But—”
“He accepted with pleasure. I really don’t want any more to eat, Aunt Amelia. Are you ready to go?”
I could delay her no longer, and I confess my heart was beating a trifle more quickly than usual as we approached the Great Pyramid. There were already a good number of tourists assembled. The majority were gathered at the north face, where the entrance was located, but others had spread out all round the structure, and as we rode to the south side I heard Emerson bellowing at a small group that had approached our tomb. Some visitors appeared to be under the impression that we were part of the tourist attractions of Giza.
“Impertinent idiots,” he remarked, as they scattered, squawking indignantly.
I dismounted and handed the reins to Selim. Had there been, among those vacuous visitors, one who had come our way for a more sinister purpose than curiosity?
“Where is Ramses?” Nefret asked. “Inside?”
“No,” Emerson said. “I received disquieting news this morning, my dears.” He hurried on before she could ask how he had received it. “It seems someone has been digging illicitly at Zawaiet el ’Aryan. I sent Ramses there to see what damage has been done. He stopped here only long enough to pick up a few supplies.”
Zawaiet was the site a few miles south where we had worked for several years—one of the most boring sites in Egypt, I would once have said, until we came across the Third Dynasty royal burial. Strictly speaking, it was a reburial, of objects rescued from an ancient tomb robbery, but the find was unique and some of the objects were rare and beautiful. Fragile, as well; it had taken us an entire season to preserve and remove them. Many of the private tombs surrounding the royal pyramid had not been excavated, and although it was not part of our concession, Emerson felt a proprietorial interest in the site.
“Goodness gracious, how distressing,” I exclaimed. “Perhaps