The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [107]
A noise like that of a cannon firing sounded without. I did not suppose I would ever become accustomed to the volume and spontaneity of Narmer’s barking. He had a perfectly astounding voice for a dog his size; one was reminded of blasted heaths and spectral hounds.
“Someone is coming,” Nefret said unnecessarily, while I dabbed at the tea I had spilled on my shoe. She was always trying to convince me of Narmer’s usefulness as a watchdog.
“The Vandergelts are coming to dinner,” I replied. “Go and tell that dog to behave itself, Nefret; you and Ramses are the only ones he will listen to. Last time the Vandergelts came he jumped all over Katherine and knocked her hat off.”
Nefret hurried to obey, but my concern had been unnecessary; the barking cut off as if by a knife, and the door opened to admit the Vandergelts, and Ramses.
“We saw Ramses at the train station and brought him on with us,” Katherine explained.
I turned my attention to my son, of whose absence from the house I had not been aware until that moment. “You went to Cairo this evening?”
“Yes. I had an errand. Mrs. Vandergelt, won’t you take this chair? It hasn’t quite so many cat hairs as the others.”
“Where is Horus?” Cyrus inquired. It could not be said that he got on any better with the cat than the rest of us, but he took an interest since Horus had fathered the kittens of the Vandergelts’s cat Sekhmet. She had once belonged to us but had adapted quite happily to the pampered life she led at the Castle.
“In my room, I expect,” Nefret said. “I’ll go see, and change out of this frock.”
“You might just look in at Emerson and tell him our guests are here,” I called after her.
When Nefret reappeared she was wearing a blue shot-silk tea gown she had purchased in Paris at a price that had made me blink. She could well afford as many expensive gowns as she liked, and this one was particularly becoming; it deepened the blue of her eyes and had the lines only a top-flight designer can create. The effect that evening was marred by the bulky shape of Horus, who was hanging over her shoulder, his large hindquarters resting comfortably in the curve of her arm.
Emerson soon joined us and we settled down to catch up on the news. There was no one with whom we could be as comfortable as the Vandergelts. Before long Emerson was smoking his pipe and Cyrus his cheroot, and various masculine garments were strewn about the furniture. Ramses had removed his coat, tie, and collar as soon as he entered the house, and Cyrus had been persuaded to follow his example. Emerson, as I hardly need say, had not had them on to begin with. Nefret had put Horus on the floor by the sofa, over his loud protests, so she could sit cross-legged as she preferred.
The Vandergelts had recently returned from a brief trip by dahabeeyah to Medum and Dahshur. They had decided to remain on board instead of returning to us, and I did not argue with them since I know one is more comfortable in one’s own quarters. Emerson wanted to talk about Dahshur, but I put an end to that; there was still no hope we could get that site, and it was only rubbing salt in our wounds to discuss it. I knew Katherine was anxious to hear about the tragedy; they had left Cairo the day after our frightful discovery and had missed the funeral.
“I felt a little guilty about not attending,” she said. “But we scarcely knew the poor girl and we had already made our arrangements to sail.”
“Why should you feel guilty?” Emerson demanded. “Funerals are a waste of time. You needn’t bother attending mine. I won’t give a curse.”
“How do you know you won’t?” Cyrus asked.
Emerson does not at all mind being teased by Cyrus, for they are the best of friends, but I did mind listening to my husband’s unorthodox opinions on the subject of religion—again. I had heard them quite often. His eyes shone wickedly and his lips parted …
“You were not missed,” I said, cutting Emerson off with the expertise of long practice. “There