Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [161]
Her voice was quicker and harder than Suzi’s, with a flat Midwestern twang instead of a Southern drawl.
‘Criminy!’ Surprise had numbed my brain. Then I remembered something. ‘You were at the hotel that night – with Perry.’
She nodded, no longer smiling. ‘Trying to find you and Herr Schmidt. Foggington-Smythe knew nothing about my real purpose; I took him along as camouflage. You saw me?’
‘I saw you. Since I didn’t know whose side you were on I ran. All the way down the goddamn Nile!’ Renewed rage choked me. ‘That awful trip – scared out of my mind – worried about – thirst and exhaustion – fever – Feisal lying in that damned hospital with his legs full of bullet holes – get out of my way! I’m going to kill him!’
Burckhardt retreated behind the desk and John caught me by the arm. ‘You’ll excuse us, gentlemen and madam. She’s been through a lot lately.’
He and Schmidt towed me out. Suzi moved quickly to open the door for us. Her back was to Burckhardt and when she caught my eye she rolled hers and made an expressive face.
Then . . . Then her eyes moved, slowly and deliberately, from me to John. He had drawn my arm through his and his hand covered mine. He shouldn’t have done it, I shouldn’t have let him do it, but things like that happened occasionally; it was so hard to be on guard every moment.
Involuntarily I started to pull my hand away. His fingers tightened, holding mine fast, warning me not to react; but she’d observed both movements, and she tilted her head and widened her eyes, and there was Suzi again, and I knew as clearly as if she had spoken aloud that she was remembering a conversation between me and Larry the day at Sakkara. ‘He’s not so young,’ I had said, without thinking, and Larry had asked if I had known him before.
She looked me straight in the eye and smiled ‘Goodbye, Dr Bliss. Goodbye, Mr Tregarth. Good luck – to both of you.’
Funny, how everybody kept wishing me luck.
I began to believe we might get away with it after all. In fact there were rumours about ceremonies of honour and assorted medals. Feisal was going to be the new director of the institute and I didn’t doubt for a moment that he’d be standing on his own two feet when he assumed the position. He was recuperating much faster than the doctors had expected; when I leaned over to kiss him goodbye the last time we visited him, he pulled me down onto the bed and into his arms, and John had to detach me by force.
‘You’ll come back, won’t you?’ Feisal asked. ‘And let me show you Egypt without distractions?’
‘I hope so,’ I said. And to my surprise I found I meant it.
All in all, things were looking up. I wasn’t even dreaming. But John was.
He always quietened as soon as I touched him. But the night before we were to leave I forced myself to wait and watch while he thrashed around and groaned, and finally a few words became audible. He might have said more, but I couldn’t stand it any longer, and when I took hold of him he woke.
He lay quiet in my arms until his breathing was back to normal. Then he said, ‘There is one misapprehension you may harbour that I would like to correct. I am not one of those sensitive overeducated aristocrats who writhe around in a frenzy of guilt because they have been responsible for bringing a sociopath to his or her well-deserved end.’
‘I suspect they occur only in fiction,’ I said, trying to match his precise, detached tone.
‘Oh, quite. There’s no one so bloody-minded and selfish as your overeducated aristocrat. No doubt you’ve noticed that.’
‘John – ’
‘I’m sorry I woke you. It won’t happen again.’
Before long he drifted off to sleep. I didn’t.
We said goodbye at the airport next morning. Schmidt and I were leaving first; John’s plane took off an hour later. He was wearing a sling, for the effect, he claimed; but that unimportant overlooked bullet hole wasn’t healing the way it should and I thought that morning he had a touch of fever. I told myself not to worry. Jen would nag him till he saw a doctor.