The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [142]
“It is a strong hegab, little Sitt. It will keep you safe until you come again.”
I could not blame her for breaking down. There were tears in my own eyes. They streamed down the girl’s face as she threw herself into Daoud’s arms.
“We must find our places, darling,” Walter said, gently detaching her.
I do not like to remember that parting. The worst moment came at the end, when, having embraced the rest of us, Lia turned to David and held out a small, trembling hand. She had given her promise and meant to keep it if it killed her, and I am certain at that moment she felt as if it would.
“For God’s sake, kiss him,” Ramses said suddenly. “They can’t deny you that much.”
We stood on the platform waving until the train drew away and the cloud of smoke from the funnel dissipated in the evening breeze. Daoud and Abdullah had withdrawn to a discreet distance, but I supposed they would return to the West Bank with us; it would have been churlish not to offer them places in our boat. I found I was reluctant to face Abdullah, though there was no reason (I assured myself) why I should have been. His immense dignity and intrinsic good manners would prevent him from reproaching me, by so much as a look.
I wasn’t keen on facing my children either. Nefret had been shooting me hostile glances all day, and Ramses . . . Who would have expected Ramses, of all people, to make such a romantic gesture? He had practically pushed them into one another’s arms, and no one, not even Walter, had had the heart to forbid it.
We retraced our steps and, as I had expected, Emerson invited Daoud and Abdullah to return with us. Sir Edward, who had offered me his arm, announced he would remain in Luxor, since he had a dinner engagement. “With Abdullah and Daoud along, you don’t need me,” he added.
“You have been very conscientious and very kind, Sir Edward,” I replied. “I can only assume it is your sense of British noblesse oblige that moves you, since we owe you nothing.”
“The pleasure of your acquaintance and the honor of your esteem is more than sufficient reward for whatever poor services I have been able to offer.”
It sounded as artificial as a paragraph out of a novel—or one of Ramses’s more pompous speeches. Sir Edward was aware of this; with a sidelong smile and in a more natural tone he added, “I haven’t been of much use thus far, Mrs. Emerson. It is a baffling case, and frustrating as well. Has the Professor any ideas about what to do tomorrow?”
“If I know the Professor, he will be back in the Valley tomorrow. He has lost two days’ work and he will be wild to find out what Mr. Davis is doing.”
Sir Edward laughed. “Of course. I will obtain a report this evening, Mrs. Emerson. The individual with whom I am dining is Mr. Paul, the photographer from Cairo. He has been working in the tomb all day, I believe.”
“Indeed? Yes, I believe someone did mention he was to be here today. Have you met him?”
“We have mutual acquaintances—and, of course, a shared interest in archaeological photography.”
When we reached the quay Sir Edward bade us good night and went on down the road toward the Winter Palace, whose lighted windows glowed through the dusk like those of the royal residence after which it had been called. He began to whistle and the length of his stride implied that he was looking forward to the evening. Fellow enthusiasts always have a great deal to talk about.
I felt rather as if I had lost my only partisan—or at least the only neutral party. I had to assure myself that I had acted for the best, as I always do, and that I had nothing with which to reproach myself. I had thought of suggesting that we dine in Luxor, but the scene at the railway station had convinced me that none of the others would feel there was anything to celebrate.
It is only with good friends that one can be comfortably silent. I had never been