Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [26]
‘’Morning, ma’am.’ Ed whipped off his hat – a broad-brimmed white Stetson – and bowed.
Despite the stifling heat he was wearing a jacket. I thought I knew why. He was a good three inches taller than Larry, which made him almost six-five. I sincerely hoped that Larry had convinced him I was a friend. I wouldn’t have wanted him to think of me as an enemy.
Led by Feisal, the others crowded into the room. Larry faded discreetly away as Suzi headed towards me, shoving bodies out of her way with good-natured impetuosity. ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’ she said, ‘How’d you do that?’
‘Do what?’
‘You know.’ She gave me a grin and an elbow in the ribs. It was a surprisingly sharp elbow to belong to a woman so well padded elsewhere. ‘It sure didn’t work when I tried it. You’ll have to tell me how you – ’
‘Quiet, please.’ Feisal clapped his hands like a teacher calling a class to order. ‘We have only fifteen minutes, there is another group waiting. The reliefs in this chamber . . .’
He was a good lecturer, crisp and witty and, so far as I could tell, absolutely accurate. I had a hard time concentrating, since Suzi kept whispering and nudging me. After a while Feisal broke off and fixed a stern eye on her. ‘Suzi, you are a bad girl, you do not pay attention. Come here and stand by me.’
Giggling happily, Suzi obeyed. Feisal caught my eye and lowered one eyelid in a discreet wink.
The sun was high and hot when we left the tomb and set out across the uneven surface of the plateau. Sunlight bleached the sand and rock to a pale buff; though the distance wasn’t great, several of my companions were puffing and complaining by the time we reached our destination.
The bus was waiting. I collapsed into a seat with a sigh of relief and accepted a glass of water, tinkling with ice, from a smiling waiter. Not for us the crowded rest house where ordinary tourists ate and drank, risking not only discomfort but the pharaoh’s curse; the seats had attached trays, like those on planes, and we were served chilled wine and food on fine porcelain. Even as I thought how easy it was to accustom oneself to such luxuries, my scholar’s conscience reminded me that the exhaust was pouring out pollution that gnawed away the very stones of the pyramids.
As soon as everyone was settled, Feisal addressed us. ‘Some of you know that one of our friends was taken ill this morning. You will be glad to hear that Mrs Tregarth is now comfortably resting in a Cairo hospital . . .’
I didn’t hear the rest. One word had forced its way through the layers of stupidity that enrobed my brain.
Cairo. The Cairo Museum was in Cairo. Take it slow, Vicky, slow and easy; you obviously aren’t up to complex reasoning. Right. No question about it. The museum was in Cairo. And now John was too.
Not only was he in Cairo (where the museum was) but his departure had been sudden, unexpected, off schedule. I had told myself I had three more weeks. I should have known – damn it, damn it, I should have known! – that John never stuck to schedules and that the unexpected was his stock-in-trade. The mere sight of me would have warned him that someone had got wind of his scheme. He wouldn’t abandon it, not John, not until he had to; he’d change his plans, catch me off guard, find an excuse to get to the scene of the crime ahead of schedule, a nice valid excuse like . . .
Poisoning his own mother?
It seemed a trifle extreme, even for John.
All the same . . .
I blundered up out of my seat, squeezing past the tray with its load of china and glasses. Bright and Sweet were a few rows ahead of me; I could see Bright’s thick, brown expensive hair over the top of the seat. They beamed a welcome, but I didn’t wait for an exchange of greetings.
‘It’s a shame about Mrs Tregarth, isn’t it?’
‘Very sad,’ Sweet said