Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [96]
Ramses shook his head.
“Stick to that. Your cover was blown sky-high, my lad, and they’ll be on the lookout for you. If you will take my advice, you’ll lie low and concentrate on excavation.”
“I’ve every intention of doing so. What about you?”
“The same.” His uncle gave him a wolfish smile. “I came to the conclusion that espionage has very little to recommend it. The pay is poor and few people live to collect the pension, such as it is. Anyhow, the present situation in Egypt is irresistible. There’s no one to stop me from doing whatever I like.”
“No?”
His uncle sighed. “You mean to try, I suppose. The young are so idealistic. All right, then, you force me to revise my plans. There are plenty of other sites in Egypt. Enjoy your holiday.”
He rose to his feet and returned Ramses’s cigarettes to him. “Good night. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed this evening.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Ramses said. “Not until you’ve answered a few more questions.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know. Look after him, Nefret. He’s not very good at looking after himself, and Amelia would be upset if he came to harm. Which reminds me—you haven’t heard anything more about the body she found at Giza, have you?”
“Body?” Ramses stiffened. “What body?”
“You didn’t know? It was in the newspapers. The story didn’t mention his name, but it just now occurred to me that it might be . . .” He peered inquiringly at them. “Oh, dear, I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn. Perhaps it was just one of those jolly little fortuitous corpses Amelia keeps encountering. Good night again.”
He slid neatly out the window, feet first. Ramses turned very slowly and looked at his wife. She met his gaze squarely, but her face was flushed.
“You said you had misplaced Mother’s letter,” he said. “All the charming chatter—and charming attentions—were designed to keep me from insisting upon reading it.”
The flush deepened. “She was afraid you’d see the story in the newspaper.”
“And you made certain I didn’t see a newspaper.”
“I didn’t want you to—”
“I don’t have to ask who it was, do I?” He took her by the shoulders. “You wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to keep the truth from me if the body had been that of a stranger. The newspapers might not know his identity, but Mother must; she always does! It was Asad, wasn’t it? Murder or suicide?”
“Murder.”
She had told him the truth because she knew the alternative would have been even worse. It didn’t lessen his sense of guilt. He should have anticipated the danger and taken steps to prevent it.
“They, whoever they were, put the body where she and Father would find it,” he said. “Why? No, don’t tell me, the answer is obvious.”
“It isn’t at all obvious. Strewing corpses in their path is one sure way to provoke Father and Mother.”
“Not Father, not Mother. Me. He was my friend. So you all took it upon yourselves to keep me in the dark? You expected I’d dash off to Cairo and go after his killer, and perhaps hurt my poor little self?”
“Don’t you dare talk that way to me!” She slipped out of his grasp and faced him, breathing hard. “We did it for your own good!”
What with one thing and another, the past hour had tried Ramses to the limit. That infuriating, condescending comment finished the job. He reached for her. If she had protested, or apologized, or even looked at him reproachfully, he’d have let her go at once, but she was as angry as he was; she squirmed and twisted and swore, and in pure self-defense he caught her in a grip he had used once before, pinning her flailing arms to her sides and holding her close. From that point on, self-defense wasn’t a consideration. He put his hand on her cheek and forced her head back against his shoulder.
It might have been the softness of her skin under his hand, or the slight sound she made, hardly more than a squeak of breath. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. Horrified and repentant,