The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [129]
“No,” said Nefret. “We Emersons do not give way to our feelings in public, do we? Aunt Amelia, how could you?”
“I had hoped to postpone this until later,” Walter said, sounding a trifle rattled. “But . . . Lia, child, don’t cry!”
“Not in public,” said Nefret between her teeth.
She looked as if she wanted to take me by the shoulders and shake me. So did Emerson. The only thing that saved me from further recriminations was the return of Ramses.
So animated had the discussion become that no one saw him come into the room—except Nefret. She jumped up and would have gone to meet him if I had not caught her arm.
“Not in public,” I said, and was rewarded with a really hateful look. She sat down, however, and folded her hands tightly in her lap.
Eyebrows raised, Ramses came to stand by Nefret. “I could hear you clear out in the street,” he remarked. “What seems to be the trouble?”
His pretense of nonchalance might have deceived the others, but the affection of a mother could not miss the signs of perturbation. Meeting my anxious gaze, he shook his head.
I was unable to repress a cry of relief. “Thank God!”
“You creeping, crawling, despicable traitor,” Nefret said. “Where is the other one?”
“Coming.” Ramses gestured. I saw David standing near the door. David lacked Ramses’s talent for dissimulation; he was probably still trying to get his ingenuous countenance under control. Even if the dead woman was not Layla, the sight must have been dreadful, especially for a sensitive lad like David. I took a closer look at Ramses, and rang the bell for the waiter.
“Be still, Nefret,” I said sharply. “He wanted to spare you a horrible task, and you may be grateful that he did. Whiskey, Ramses?”
“Yes, please.” He dropped heavily into a chair.
“I have a feeling I had better join you,” said Emerson grimly.
By the time the tale was told Walter had also joined us, and I had prescribed a glass for David. He never drank spirits, but I insisted that he do so on this occasion—for medicinal purposes.
Ramses nodded approval. “He was sick.” With a glance at Nefret, he added, “So was I.”
With one of her graceful, impulsive gestures she took his hand in hers. “All right, my boy, I forgive you this time. I suppose you didn’t really break our rule, since you told Aunt Amelia. So it wasn’t Layla?”
“No.”
I wondered how he could be so sure. He had not gone into detail, but remembering the horrible mutilations inflicted on Yussuf Mahmud, I assumed the face had been unrecognizable. I decided perhaps I had better not ask—at least not in front of Lia.
I might have known Nefret would ask. When she did, I saw Ramses’s self-control slip for a moment.
“She was . . . younger. Much younger.”
It was decided—somewhat belatedly, in my opinion—that we had better go home at once. Even those who had been spared a detailed description of the first mutilated body were horror-struck, and Walter heaped reproaches on Ramses for discussing such a disgusting subject in front of Lia. It seemed to me it had been Walter’s responsibility to remove the girl—who was, in fact, less painfully affected than her elders. She had never encountered violent death, thank heaven, and her very innocence rendered her less vulnerable.
Daoud and Mahmud were waiting, and we went to the quay. It was interesting to observe how people paired off: Walter and Evelyn, talking in low voices, David and Lia behind them, then Emerson and I, with Ramses and Nefret bringing up the rear. Emerson said very little (I suspected he was saving himself for later), so I was able to overhear some of the conversation between Nefret and Ramses.
“When did you find out?” Nefret asked.
“This morning. Abdullah told me.”
“So all day, since this morning, you have been afraid it was Layla. Oh, Ramses!”
There was no reply from Ramses. After a moment Nefret said, “I’m glad for your sake it wasn’t she.”
“My sake? I assure you, Nefret, that Layla’s death would mean no more to me than—”
“Yes, it would. Don’t pretend.” Her