Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [115]
She managed to stuff the crude cotton bundle into her evening bag, but she knew Ramses would notice the bulge. He noticed everything.
He noticed. Not the evening bag at first, but her air of suppressed excitement. “You’ve been a long time,” he said, searching her face. “Has something happened?”
“Yes. I don’t want coffee, let’s go. I’ll tell you as soon as we’re alone.”
They had hired a felucca instead of having one of their men row them across; Nefret loved sailing the dark waters under the starlit sky. As soon as they took their places and the boat was under way, she launched into her story.
He didn’t interrupt until she repeated what he had said about Margaret Minton. “So he calls her Margaret, does he? Try to remember his exact words, Nefret. It may be important.”
She went over it again. She left the gun until last. His only comment was, “I saw there was something. Don’t show it to me now.”
Accustomed as she was to his self-control, the cool tones worried her a little. “Are you angry because I didn’t tell you while we were at the Winter Palace?” she asked meekly.
He put his arm round her shoulders. “No, there was no sense in staying there. It would have been futile to try and find him.”
But the arm under the fine broadcloth of his coat was hard as granite.
They had coffee in the saloon. They were to meet the train next morning, but it was still early and Ramses wouldn’t rest until he had picked over that conversation word by word and syllable by syllable.
“You told him we cared about his safety? It must have been a very affecting performance.”
“I do care,” Nefret protested. “How could I not, after what he’s done for us? He has a lot of admirable qualities, and a lot of the family charm. He reminds me more and more of Father, and of you.”
Ramses had removed coat, waistcoat, and tie as soon as he was on board. Pacing up and down the saloon, he pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and said caustically, “Mother tried for years to redeem him, as she put it. Do you suppose you can succeed where she failed?”
“He’s older now and he’s been through a lot,” Nefret said temperately. “And I think he was sincere when he said he was concerned about you.”
“Far be it from me,” said her husband, “to cast cold water on that touching assumption, but there is another, less sentimental interpretation of his seeming concern.”
“I know.”
“He’s after something,” Ramses muttered. “Something big. Something that requires time and privacy. He’s not worried about the locals; he’s always used a judicious blend of intimidation and rewards to win their support, and they’d have nothing to gain by turning him in. Hell, there’s nobody to whom they could turn him in! The local police are useless or corrupt, and the Service des Antiquités hasn’t the manpower, and the British authorities are too busy with the war to care about a few artifacts. The only person they might approach is—”
“You.”
“Yes. Not as myself, but as Father’s representative. There’s an outside chance that one of the lads might be moved by old loyalties or by fear of the Father of Curses. I’ll give him this much credit,” Ramses added grudgingly. “I don’t believe he would do me an injury, and he certainly wouldn’t harm you. But he’s not going to let us stop him either. What he did tonight was typically ingenious—appealing to you on my account, with veiled hints of danger.”
“They weren’t so veiled. He said there was another player in the game.”
Ramses dismissed this with a brusque gesture. “We’ve seen no sign of anyone else.”
“Right. People drop rocks and dead bodies on you all the time.”
“Maybe he only meant to frighten us off.”
“Sethos? He wouldn’t take the risk of hurting either of us.”
His lips tightened in exasperation. “You’ve gone soft on him, like Mother and Margaret. Giving you the gun was a particularly clever touch. Did he ask you not to tell me about it?”
“No,” Nefret said.
“Let’s have a look at it.