The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [189]
“But that was years ago,” David said. “He was cordial enough when I met him.”
“He was busily sucking up to the rest of us,” Nefret corrected. “He was superciliously concescending to Ramses and barely civil to you, David. And he kept on proposing to me.”
That got Emerson’s complete attention. Rising from his chair, he flung his pen across the room. Ink speckled the marble countenance of Socrates—not the first time it had received such a baptism. “What?” he (Emerson, to be precise) bellowed. “Proposed marriage? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because you would have lost your temper and done something painful to Percy,” was the cool response.
I didn’t doubt Emerson could have and would have. My spouse’s magnificent physical endowments have not declined with the years, and his temper has not mellowed either.
“Now Emerson, calm yourself,” I said. “You can’t defenstrate every man who proposes to Nefret.”
“It would take too much of your time,” David said, laughing.
“They will do it, won’t they, Nefret?”
Nefret’s pretty lip curled. “I have a great deal of money and, thanks to the Professor, the power to dispose of it as I like. That is the explanation, I believe.”
It wasn’t the only explanation. She is a beautiful young woman, in the English style—cornflower blue eyes, golden hair with just a hint of copper, and skin as fair—well, it would be as fair as a lily if she would consent to wear a hat when out-of-doors.
Nefret tossed the book aside and rose. “I am going for a ride before luncheon. Will you come, David?”
“I’ll have a look at Percy’s book, if you have finished with it.”
“How lazy you are! Where is Ramses? Perhaps he’ll go with me.”
I am sure I need not say that I had not given my son that heathenish appellation. He had been named Walter, after his uncle, but no one ever called him that; when he was a young child his father had nicknamed him Ramses because he was as swarthy as an Egyptian and as arrogant as a pharaoh. Raising Ramses had put quite a strain on my nerves, but my arduous efforts had born fruit; he was not so reckless or so outspoken as he once had been, and his natural talent for languages had developed to such an extent that despite his comparative youth he was widely regarded as an expert on ancient Egyptian linguistics. As David informed Nefret, he was presently in his room, working on the texts for a forthcoming volume on the temples of Karnak. “He told me to leave him be,” David added emphatically. “You had better do the same.”
“Bah,” said Nefret. But she left the room by way of the window instead of going into the hall toward the stairs. David took up the book and settled himself in his chair. I returned to my lists and Emerson to his manuscript, but not for long. The next interruption came from our butler, Gargery, who entered to announce there was a person to see Emerson.
Emerson held out his hand. Gargery, rigid with disapproval, shook his head. “He did not have a card, sir. He wouldn’t give me his name or say what he wanted, neither, except that it was about some antiquity. I’d have sent him about his business, sir, only. . . .well, sir, he said you’d be sorry if you didn’t see him.”
“Sorry, eh?” Emerson’s heavy black brows drew together. There is nothing that rouses my husband’s formidable temper so much as a threat, explicit or veiled. “Where have you put him, Gargery? In the parlor?”
Gargery drew himself up to his full height and attempted to look superior. Since his height is only five and a half feet and a bit, and his snub-nosed face is not designed