The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [140]
“I thought you would prefer to discuss private family matters—”
“There is no such thing around this house,” Emerson said acerbically. “You have become involved in our affairs, so you may as well leave off being tactful. I do not invite your opinion on the matter, however.”
The lines of laughter framing Sir Edward’s mouth deepened. “I would never venture to offer it, sir.”
He was impeccably groomed as always, attired in well-cut tweeds and polished boots, his white shirt spotless. He returned to his chair and picked up his cup, which Fatima had refilled.
“As for other matters,” he began.
“We will discuss those later,” Emerson said. “After we have got my brother and his family away from here. Curse these distractions! As I was saying, Peabody, the children have agreed not to raise the subject again, so kindly refrain from doing so yourself. We will have a pleasant day seeing the sights as we planned, and put them on the train tonight.”
“Pleasant?” I repeated ironically. “It can hardly be that, with everyone moping or angry or self-conscious. I trust you did not raise false hopes, Emerson. That would be too cruel.”
“Let them hope, Peabody. One never knows; something may happen to change the situation.”
Something did happen.
I found nothing to complain of in the manners of my companions. Everyone was excessively polite, and the topic that was foremost in all our minds was never mentioned, but the emotional atmosphere was so thick that it destroyed all comfort. There were awkward silences and sideways glances and downcast eyes and mournful faces. I wished we had put the younger Emersons on the train that morning and got it over with.
Lia behaved better than I had dared expect. Not by word or look did she reproach her parents, but she was not very forthcoming with them either. She did not speak to David, or he to her. There was no need. Their eyes were eloquent.
The attractions of the temple of Karnak, well known to me, were not sufficient to turn my thoughts into happier channels. I therefore sought mental distraction by considering the course of action I meant to take in order to solve our other problem.
We were in the Hypostyle Hall at the time. The usual clumps of tourists were there, gathered round their guides, and Ramses was lecturing our group. As I stood at a little distance from them, deep in thought, a voice hailed me, and I turned to see a lady approaching. She was rather stout and florid of face and looked familiar, but I could not recall where I had met her until she reminded me.
“Mrs. Emerson, is it not? We met at Mr. Vandergelt’s soiree the other evening.”
It was the bad-mannered mama who had removed her daughter so precipitately from David. She was quite smartly dressed in a costume of dark green linen and a bonnetlike hat which shaded features that I had not taken particular notice of at the time. Assuming, as people will, that I remembered her name—which I did not—she launched into a gushing monologue about the beauties of Egypt and her enjoyment of the country, ending with an invitation to dine with her that evening at the Winter Palace.
Unfortunately, Emerson and I have acquired a certain notoriety, and there are those, I am sorry to say, who seek out well-known persons in order to brag about knowing them. I could only assume that this lady—whose name I still could not recall—was moved by that unattractive and, to me, inexplicable, desire.
I expressed polite regrets, therefore, explaining that we were otherwise engaged. She did not take the hint, saying she would not be leaving Luxor for several more days, and that any evening would suit her. Such rude persistence, in my opinion, justifies a firm response. I was about to utter it when she caught hold of my arm.
“There is the native who has been following me demanding money,” she said indignantly. “Come over here, Mrs. Emerson, where he won’t see us.”
The place toward which she was rapidly pulling me, with a grip that numbed my arm, was a doorway, now