Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [41]
“Who—”
“Especially that question.” After a brief silence he went on, in quite a different tone of voice. “You don’t owe me anything. They’d have let you leave eventually, with your virtue and your skin intact. The boy has a rather crude sense of humor, that’s all. I expect you will be unable to resist the temptation to describe tonight’s little adventure for your newspaper, in the most lurid terms you can invent; but if you would care to do me a service you won’t mention my—er—linguistic abilities.”
“You mean I mustn’t say you were English.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions. I might have been a Rooshian, or French or Turk or Prooshian—”
“Who quotes Gilbert and Sullivan?”
“Why not? Look here, I gave myself away once, out of sheer astonishment—and no, I won’t explain that either—but—”
“I promise. I won’t say a word. Will I—will I ever see you again?”
“I devoutly hope not.” The horse had stopped. He lowered me to the ground and dismounted.
I’d been so intent on listening to his voice, trying to get a closer look at his face, I hadn’t been aware of my surroundings. We were on the edge of the city, at the place where my men had set up camp. They crowded round me, apologizing and exclaiming with relief.
“Enough,” said my companion in Arabic. “Take the Sitt and begone. Here is money to bribe the guards.”
He tossed the leather bag to Ali, who weighed it in his hand and smiled. “It is enough to bribe the vizier himself. We are almost ready, Effendi. There is only the Sitt’s bathtub to be loaded onto the pack camel.”
He trotted off, leaving me facing my rescuer.
“Bathtub?” he said under his breath. “No wonder the sun never sets on the British Empire.”
“At least I’m not traveling with crystal stemware and fine china and damask tablecloths, like Miss Gertrude Bell.”
“Oh, so it’s Miss Bell you’re trying to outdo, is it? I’m afraid she would consider you had let the side down.” He was wearing only a loose shirt and a pair of knee-length drawers. The moonlight gave them a pale luster but left his face in shadow, except for the tip of that arrogant nose. He started to turn away. “Good night.”
“Wait. Er—don’t you want your robe back?”
“Keep it. And borrow a kaffiyeh or scarf from one of your men.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“What are you waiting for? Oh. This?”
He drew me into his arms and kissed me.
It was a long, lingering kiss, and I think he enjoyed it more than he had expected; but it was he who broke away, detaching my clinging hands and pushing me unceremoniously toward my kneeling camel. Ali was there to help me mount; when I looked round, he was gone.
I turned the last page over. She was waiting for me to speak, her hands tightly clasped and her lips parted.
I cleared my throat. “It is even more preposterous than the other version.”
“But it’s true, every word. You know it’s true. You were the woman he meant. I was too confused to think straight at the time, but when I went over it in my mind—over it and over it—I realized it could only have been you. Who—”
I interrupted. Rude of me, but I wasn’t ready for that question yet. “Why didn’t you publish this version?”
“I had promised I would not betray him.”
“Dear me, how noble.”
She jumped up. “Don’t patronize me, Mrs. Emerson! That summer, the summer before the war, the commitments of the tribal chieftains were of vital importance. Could we count on them to remain neutral, or were they secretly dealing with the Turks? That’s why he was there, to find out,