He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [8]
“I didn’t feel like it today.”
“But my dear Aunt Amelia! You have been waiting all your life to get at those pyramids. Is something wrong?”
“It is all Emerson’s fault,” I explained. “He was going on and on about the war and how it has changed our lives; by the time I finished cheering him up I felt as if I had given him my entire store of optimism and had none left for myself.”
“I know what you mean. But you mustn’t be sad. Things could be worse.”
“People only say that when ‘things’ are already very bad,” I grumbled. “You look as if you could stand a dose of optimism yourself. Is that a spot of dried blood on your neck?”
“Where?” Her hand flew to her throat.
“Just under your ear. You were at the hospital?”
She sat back with a sigh. “There is no deceiving you, is there? I thought I’d got myself cleaned up. Yes; I stopped by after the luncheon, just as they brought in a woman who was hemorrhaging. She had tried to abort herself.”
“Did you save her?”
“I think so. This time.”
Nefret had a large fortune and an even larger heart; the small clinic she had originally founded had been replaced by a women’s hospital. The biggest difficulty was in finding female physicians to staff it, for naturally no Moslem woman, respectable or otherwise, would allow a man to examine her.
“Where was Dr. Sophia?” I asked.
“There, as she always is. But I’m the only surgeon on the staff, Aunt Amelia—the only female surgeon in Egypt, so far as I know. I’d rather not talk about it anymore, if you don’t mind. It’s your turn. Nothing particular has happened, has it? Any news from Aunt Evelyn?”
“No. But we can assume that they are all perfectly miserable too.” She laughed and squeezed my hand, and I added, “Ramses was given another white feather today.”
“He’ll have enough for a pillow soon,” said Ramses’s foster sister heartlessly. “Surely that isn’t what is bothering you. There is something more, Aunt Amelia. Tell me.”
Her eyes, blue as forget-me-nots, held mine. I gave myself a little mental shake. “Nothing more, my dear, really. Enough of this! Shall we ask Fatima to bring tea?”
“I am going to wash my neck first,” said Nefret, with a grimace. “We may as well wait for the Professor and Ramses. Do you think they will be long?”
“I hope not. We are dining out tonight. I ought to have reminded Emerson, but what with one thing and another, I forgot.”
“Two social engagements in one day?” Nefret grinned. “He will roar.”
“It was his suggestion.”
“The Professor suggested dining out? With whom is your appointment, if I may ask?”
“Mr. Thomas Russell, the Assistant Commissioner of Police.”
“Ah.” Nefret’s eyes narrowed. “Then it isn’t a simple social engagement. The Professor is on someone’s trail. What is it this time, the theft of antiquities, forgery of antiquities, illegal dealing in antiquities? Or—oh, don’t tell me it’s the Master Criminal again!”
“You sound as if you hope it were.”
“I’d love to meet Sethos,” Nefret said dreamily. “I know, Aunt Amelia, he’s a thief and a swindler and a villain, but you must admit he is frightfully romantic. And his hopeless passion for you—”
“That is very silly,” I said severely. “I don’t expect ever to see Sethos again.”
“You say that every time—just before he appears out of nowhere, in time to rescue you from some horrible danger.”
She was teasing me, and I knew better than to respond with the acrimony the mention of Sethos always inspired. He had indeed come to my assistance on several occasions; he did profess a deep attachment to my humble self; he had never pressed his attentions. . . . Well, hardly ever. The fact remained that he had been for many years our most formidable adversary, controlling the illegal-antiquities game and robbing museums, collectors and archaeologists with indiscriminate skill. Though we had sometimes foiled his schemes, truth compels me to admit that more often we had not. I had encountered him a number of times, under conditions that might reasonably be described as close, but not even I could have described his true appearance.