Night Train to Memphis - Elizabeth Peters [69]
I waved back at a group of children gathered along the bank, but my mind kept wandering. The greatest difficulty would be to talk Schmidt into cutting the trip short. I toyed with wild ideas – a fake telegram announcing that the museurn was on fire, or that a family member had fallen ill? No, that wouldn’t work. He’d telephone and discover the truth. Anyhow, it would be cruel to scare him.
We were to be in Luxor for four days. There wasn’t a prayer for getting Schmidt away until after he’d seen the famous tomb. I was rather keen on seeing it myself. Maybe, I thought hopefully, the cops were waiting on the quay at Luxor to round up the bad guys. Maybe John would call the whole thing off. Maybe Schmidt would get sick. A lot of tourists get sick. Maybe I’d get sick. Maybe I could pretend to be sick and insist that Schmidt take me home to Munich . . .
Maybe the mummy of Tutankhamon would rise up out of its coffin and blast the villains with a supernatural curse.
‘Oh, hell,’ I muttered.
Schmidt stirred. ‘Was hast du gesagt?’
‘Nothing.’
How about faking a nervous breakdown? I shouldn’t have any trouble doing that.
Schmidt pushed his hat back and sat up. ‘Brotzeit,’ he announced.
Sure enough, it was. The stewards were setting out the tea-things. Awake or sleeping, Schmidt always knows when it’s time to eat. If he ever sinks into a deep coma I figure I can bring him out of it by waving a doughnut under his nose.
The passengers who had been elsewhere started to assemble. I was greedily collecting cookies when Perry joined me at the buffet. He was looking a little peaked, and when I recommended the chocolate wafers he grimaced and said he thought he’d better stick to tea.
‘I noticed you didn’t go ashore this morning,’ I said. ‘Are you okay?’
I hadn’t noticed, actually – Perry was not one of those people who are conspicuous by their absence – but I thought it would be polite to say so. He hesitated. I decided he was torn between his desire for sympathy and his reluctance to admit he was no more immune to common weakness than any inferior tourist.
‘Just a touch of stomach trouble,’ he said finally.
‘There’s a lot of it going around.’
‘It’s never happened to me before,’ Perry said pettishly. ‘And I’ve eaten in places tourists are warned away from. Someone in the kitchen must have been careless.’
There are some ailments that bring out the worst in people who don’t suffer from them. I licked chocolate off my lower lip and took another big bite. ‘They say it happens to everybody sooner or later,’ I said heartlessly. ‘Several people have been sick. Anna, and the Hamburgers and – ’
‘Who? Oh.’ Perry laughed politely. ‘A joke. They’re suffering from the usual tourist complaint. That’s not my problem. I haven’t actually – er – been sick, just a little queasy. My temperature is normal, but my pulse – ’
‘What are you lecturing about this evening?’ I had intended to offer him a little sympathy with his tea, but I really didn’t want to hear a list of unpleasant symptoms.
‘The Valley of the Kings. That’s where you’ll be going tomorrow morning. But Alice has kindly offered to speak in my place. It is essential that I take care of myself. I must attend the reception tomorrow evening. Larry made a point of inviting me.’
Everybody had been invited. An uncharacteristic wave of kindness stopped me from saying so. Poor devil, he couldn’t help being a bore. I wanted desperately to get away from him, but I couldn’t think how to manage it without hurting his feelings. My eyes kept wandering. Schmidt had cut Larry out of the herd and Alice had joined them at their table. They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and talking animatedly. John and Mary were standing at the rail, their shoulders touching. Near them, but obviously not with them, were