The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [139]
“None of your business.”
She laughed, as he had expected, and he turned away to light David’s cigarette, fearing his face would betray him. He had no right to feel so happy when his friend was miserable, but he couldn’t help it.
“Don’t feel put upon because David didn’t tell you,” Nefret said. “He didn’t confide in me either. It was Lia who told me. Poor little thing, she wanted a confidante so desperately. It’s hard to be madly in love and not be able to talk about it.”
“Is it?” Ramses said.
“So I’ve been told.” Nefret sat up, crossed her legs, and smoothed her skirt. “Now you understand why she was so determined to come on to Luxor. It wasn’t selfishness; she was worried sick about him.”
“And I’m worried about her,” David said soberly. “It’s just as well they are leaving tomorrow. If I never see her again—”
“Don’t lose heart, David, we’ll talk them round,” Nefret promised. She yawned like a sleepy kitten. “Goodness, what a day! I’m going to bed. Come along, Ramses, you’ve got circles under your eyes the size of teacups.”
“In a minute.”
“You aren’t angry with me, are you?” David asked, after she had gone, leaving the door pointedly open.
“No. But when I think of how often I whined at you—”
“Now we can take it in turn,” David said, with almost his old smile. “Do you remember one night—how long ago it seems!—the night you first told me how you felt about Nefret, and I said . . .”
“ ‘You make such a fuss about such a simple thing.’ ”
“Something like that. I wonder you didn’t knock me down. If it’s any consolation, I’ve paid dearly for that smug remark.”
Ramses extinguished his cigarette and got up. He put his hand on David’s shoulder and looked searchingly at him. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
“No.” David smiled faintly. “But I’m not going to behave like some ass of a Byronic hero. I have too much to be thankful for. And I won’t give up hope. I know I’m not worthy of her, but no one would cherish her more than I. If I can win Uncle Walter and Aunt Evelyn over—”
“Don’t worry about them. The only one who really counts is Mother.”
:
The ancient Egyptians had no word for “conscience,” but the heart, which was also the seat of the intelligence, was the witness for or against a man when he stood in the Hall of the Judgment. That night I searched my heart in the sonorous phrases of the verses of the Declaration of Innocence, which I had recently translated. I had not driven away the sacred cattle, or stolen milk from the mouth of babes. I had not taken the lives of men (except when they tried to take mine) or been a teller of lies (except when it was absolutely necessary). “O thou who makest mortals to flourish,” I whispered, “I do not curse a god. O thou of the beautiful shoulders, I am not swollen with pride . . .”
Was I, though? Was it false pride and bigotry that made me refuse to consider a marriage between those two? When I believed it was Ramses who held the girl in his arms—had my indignation been as strong as when I realized the man was David?
Yes. No. But that was different.
I turned onto my side and drew closer to Emerson. He did not wake, or put his arm around me. He was sound asleep. There was nothing on his conscience. Nor on mine, I told myself. But it was a long time before I emulated Emerson.
He was up before me in the morning, which was not the usual thing. I dressed in haste and went to the verandah, where I found Emerson conversing with Sir Edward, and Fatima hovering over them with coffee and tea and sugary cakes, to keep them from starving until breakfast.
I didn’t doubt she knew of the most recent development. Servants always do know such things, and none of the participants in the argument had bothered to lower their voices. She was properly veiled, in the presence of the men, but her dark eyes were troubled.
“You look as if you could do with a stimulant, Peabody,” remarked my husband, making room for me on the settee. “Have a seat and a cup of coffee, and leave the children alone. I have already spoken