Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [35]
“As always, Mrs. Emerson.” She sipped daintily at the liquid. “Thank you. Most refreshing. What I would really like, of course, is to make my way to the fighting lines.”
“There’s not much going on in the Sinai just now,” Ramses said.
“I was thinking of the western front.” Her lips twisted ironically. “The western front of Egypt, that is. The Senussi have crossed the border and we haven’t enough men to drive them back. I’d like to see some action.”
“No, you would not,” Emerson said. “Anyhow, you haven’t a prayer of getting to Mersa Matruh. If you tried it on your own you’d be turned back before you left the Delta, and the War Office would never allow a woman into a fighting zone.”
“They aren’t allowing any journalists into that area,” Miss Minton said, her eyes flashing. “There are only four correspondents who have a War Office license; needless to say, I am not one of them. Ah, well. They will be evacuating the rest of the poor devils from Gallipoli before long; I am hoping to interview some of them. It is an open secret that the campaign was fatally mismanaged from the start. The inadequacy of medical care is a scandal the War Office is attempting to conceal.”
I glanced warningly at Nefret. There was no need; though her intent expression indicated her interest in and agreement with Miss Minton’s statement, she remained silent. The dear girl had learned discretion from bitter experience, and she had heard a great deal from me about the untrustworthiness of journalists.
“You appear to have unofficial sources of information about matters that are not common knowledge,” I said, hoping to provoke Miss Minton into an indiscretion.
I ought to have known better. She shrugged, and took another sip of water. “All journalists rely on such sources, and there is always someone open to bribery. Well, I must be going. It has been a great pleasure to see you all again and to meet your lovely wife, Ramses . . . if I may use the name by which I used to call you.”
“It was Master Ramses,” said my son coolly. “While you were employed as our housemaid.”
She gave him an appreciative, unembarrassed smile. “Touché—Mr. Emerson. You still favor plain speaking, I see. Good. So do I.”
To my surprise, for I had expected her to prolong her leave-taking, she started to walk away.
The surface was uneven. There were pebbles and bits of broken stone littering the ground. However, I suspected it was not a coincidence that she tripped and lost her balance just as she was passing Ramses.
He put out a hand to catch and steady her, and was visibly taken aback to find himself in a close embrace. Clinging to him, her arms around his neck and her body pressed against his, she looked up at him with a smile. “Thank you. How quick you were! You saved me from a nasty fall.”
“Bruised knees and scraped hands, rather,” said Ramses, recovering himself. It is very difficult to disconcert Ramses for long. “Are you able to walk, or shall I call one of the dragomen to help you to your carriage?”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” She detached herself with brisk efficiency. “I hope you didn’t hurt your arm again when you caught me. What happened to it?”
“Accidents frequently occur on a dig,” Ramses said.
“Ah.” Miss Minton straightened her shirtwaist and tucked it in. “Well, then, good-bye. I will see you tomorrow, Mrs. Emerson. Five o’clock at the Semiramis?”
“What was that all about?” said Emerson, as the trim little figure strutted away—there is really no other word for the way the woman walked when she was pleased with herself. I remembered that walk very well.
I wondered too. Her stumble had been no accident, and her embrace had been deliberately calculated. It had not been a romantic advance. She was far too clever and sophisticated to resort to a trick like that one to get a man’s attention, especially with that man’s wife only two feet away. If it had accomplished nothing else, it had aroused my curiosity and convinced me that I had better accept