He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [61]
“It’s a Poiret,” Nefret said indignantly. “Really, men have no sense of fashion, have they, Aunt Amelia?”
“A very pretty lamp shade,” Ramses amended.
“I refuse to discuss fashions,” Emerson grumbled. “Peabody, what did you think of the situation at Zawaiet? Ramses has just informed me that the local bandits have been wreaking havoc with the place.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.
“Nor would I,” said Ramses. “However, I think—with your permission, Father—I will spend at least one more day there, if for no other reason than to establish the presumption that we are keeping an eye on the place. Also, the pit tomb the men uncovered today should be cleared. I doubt there’s much there, but I want to make certain nothing has been overlooked.”
Fatima came in with the tea tray and I busied myself preparing the genial beverage—lemon for Nefret, milk and three teaspoons of sugar for Emerson. Ramses declined in favor of whiskey, which he mixed himself.
Nefret’s announcement had come as a considerable relief. If she was out of the house we could retire early, to Ramses’s room. I wanted to get him back into bed and I was determined to hold that council of war. There were so many unanswered questions boiling round in my head, I felt as if it would burst. Nor were Ramses and David the only ones I intended to interrogate. My own husband, my devoted spouse, had obviously kept me in the dark about certain of his own activities.
As for Nefret, I could only hope she was not dining with Percy or some other individual of whom I would not approve. There wasn’t much I could do about it; a direct inquiry might or might not produce a truthful answer.
She had entered with seeming interest into the discussion about Zawaiet el ’Aryan. “You won’t be needing me to take photographs, then?” she asked.
“I see no reason for it,” Emerson answered. “In fact, I hope Ramses can finish at Zawaiet tomorrow or the next day. The cursed place isn’t our responsibility, after all; it is still part of Reisner’s concession.”
“Perhaps I ought to notify him of what has been going on,” Ramses suggested.
“He is in the Sudan,” Emerson said. “It can wait.”
“Very well.” Ramses got up and went to the table, where he poured another whiskey. Nefret’s eyes followed him, but she made no comment.
“I suppose, Peabody,” said my husband, “you will insist we leave off work Christmas and Boxing Day.”
“Now my dear, you know I never insist. However, respect for the traditions of the faith that is our common heritage—”
“Confounded religion,” said Emerson predictably.
“We haven’t even done anything about a Christmas tree,” Nefret said. “Perhaps, Aunt Amelia, you would rather not go to the trouble this year.”
“It is difficult to get in the proper frame of mind,” I admitted. “But for that very reason it is all the more important, in my opinion, that we should make an effort.”
“Whatever you say.” Nefret returned her cup to its saucer and stood up. “I’ll help you with the decorations, of course. Palm branches and poinsettias—”
“Mistletoe?” Ramses inquired softly.
She had started for the door. She stopped, but did not turn. “Not this year.”
There seemed to be a certain tension in the air, though I could not understand why—unless it was the fact that her first and last attempt to supply that unattractive vegetable had been the Christmas before her ill-fated marriage. “It doesn’t hold up well in this climate,” I said. “The last time we had it, the berries turned black and fell off onto people’s heads.”
“Yes. I must go now,” Nefret said. “I won’t be late.”
“With whom are you—”
She quickened her step and got out the door before I could finish the question.
None of us did justice to Mahmoud’s excellent dinner. I could see that Ramses had to force each bite down, and my own appetite was not at its best. After we had finished, Emerson told Fatima we would have coffee in his study, since we intended to work that evening. Taking the heavy tray from her hands—a kindness he often performed—he told her to go to bed.
We had arranged a signal with