Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [52]
Schmidt was rambling on. ‘It may be that he will decide to retire from the service. A man of honour and of conscience would not wish to endanger his young bride or cause her a broken heart if he should – ’
‘It’s a nice plot, Schmidt. Why don’t you write a book? Now listen to me. You’ve never met him before. I’ve never met him before. Nobody has ever met anybody before. Can you remember that?’
Schmidt had taken advantage of the interruption to hoist his glass. Emerging from it, he fixed a stern eye on me. ‘Aber natürlich. And you, Vicky – do you promise me, on your word of honour, that you did not know he would be on this cruise?’
‘I did not know,’ I said steadily.
‘Not that you wouldn’t lie to me if you wanted to.’ Schmidt ruminated. I drank my beer. It was some local variety – not bad, actually. Then Schmidt said, ‘And your heart is not broken? You would not revenge yourself on your faithless lover by betraying him to his innocent, trusting – ’
‘For God’s sake, Schmidt!’
‘Good,’ said Schmidt calmly. ‘Then we will have a pleasant holiday, eh, and enjoy ourselves. I have not been in Egypt for many years. This should be a wonderful excursion. I have long looked forward to making the friendly acquaintance of Mr Blenkiron.’
‘And extracting a contribution?’ I suggested.
Schmidt grinned. ‘It is my job, getting money from wealthy people. I am very good at it.’
He was, too. Our museum is remarkably well endowed for such a small institution. ‘He gives money to many worthy causes,’ Schmidt went on reflectively. ‘Why not to us? Since your heart is not broken, you can help me do this. He is not such an ugly man, is he?’
‘Shame on you, Schmidt. Is that any way to talk to a dedicated feminist like me?’
‘Well, he is not ugly,’ Schmidt declared. ‘I would not ask you to use your charms on a man who was disgusting to you. He is a woman hater, they say, but he said many nice things about you, Vicky, and asked many questions.’
I long ago gave up hope of convincing Schmidt that it is not nice to seduce potential donors. He’d have done it himself if he had had the necessary equipment. I suspect this is true of most museum directors. ‘What did he say?’ I asked, pulling my chair closer.
II
I had planned to sleep in next morning; it had been a long day, concluded by one of Perry’s more boring lectures, but I was hauled out of bed at the crack of dawn by Schmidt, demanding that I join him on deck to watch the boat manoeuvre through the Asyut locks. Since I had already made the mistake of letting him in – the alternative being to let him go on yelling and pounding on my door – I scrambled into my clothes and let him lead me away.
The buffet on the upper deck offered tea and coffee and an assortment of pastries. I downed a cup of coffee while Schmidt wreaked havoc among the pastries, for, I presumed, the second time. It would have been unwise to admit it to him, but as the caffeine took effect I was glad he had awakened me. The sun was barely above the horizon and the air was fresh and cool. Ahead lay the massive barrier of the barrage; the traffic crossing the bridge atop it included buses, bicycles, and donkeys. The ship had stopped, waiting its turn to pass through. There was one boat ahead of us on this side of the lock.
Several other ships were already lined up behind us. Surrounding us and them, like minnows around a shark, were clusters of small boats filled with enterprising merchants, who were hawking their wares at the top of their lungs. I joined Schmidt and several of the others at the rail. Schmidt was yelling too, bargaining for a garment one of the merchants held up. It was a long robe, basically black but covered from shoulders to midsection with sequins, beads, and embroidery in pseudo-Egyptian patterns.