The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [112]
FROM LETTER COLLECTION B
Dear Lia,
I don ’t know whether you will ever receive this—but I must tell someone, now, this instant—I must talk about him to someone—and there’s no one here but Horus and he’s not a very sympathetic listener, especially considering we put him out of the room last night, and the Professor and Aunt Amelia haven’t come back and anyhow I promised I’d wait for him so we can tell them together. It’s been less than an hour since he left me. It seems like days. How did you bear those endless weeks and months when you and David were apart? Especially that awful time when you feared you would never be together?
Do I sound completely insane? I am! Head over heels, madly, passionately! Perhaps writing it all down will clear my head. I hope you can read this. My hand is as unsteady as my heart.
It was all Percy’s doing. Isn’t that strange? You’d never have supposed a man I detested as much as I did Percy could be responsible for making me so blissfully happy!
I was alone in our sitting room yesterday afternoon when Percy came calling. Aunt Amelia and the Professor were to spend the night in Cairo—she to indulge in “friendly social intercourse” at Shep-heard’s, and the Professor to consult someone at the German Institute—and Ramses had gone to Atiyah to talk to Selim about some supplies the Professor wanted. Percy didn’t wait to be announced, he came straight up, with Fatima fluttering after him. A brisk knock was my only warning. When I saw him posing on the threshold, with poor Fatima behind him expostulating with him and apologizing to me, I was tempted to throw the inkpot at him.
Why didn ’t I? Because I was a coward and a fool. A coward because I dreaded what Ramses would say if he ever learned I had betrayed him—a fool because I believed Percy had some of the instincts of a gentleman. Whenever I had happened to run into him, there had been meaningful glances and little nods of understanding and a general air of mutual confidentiality—rather sickening and worrisome, but not threatening. I didn’t believe Percy would really tell the truth and shame the devil (i.e., himself); that he would use the threat of self-exposure to blackmail me seemed too ludicrous to contemplate.
So I told Fatima she could go and offered Percy a chair. With a sweeping gesture he offered me a seat—on the divan. He was dressed with that extra smartness that is all wrong somehow—no single detail can be faulted, but all together they are a bit too much.
I remained standing. “I really am rather busy, Percy. What do you want?”
“A cozy little chat.” He smirked at me, and then I realized he was drunk. Not drunk enough to stagger or slur his words, just enough to weaken his brain even more.
I dipped into my collection of clichés. “You are not in fit condition to be in the company of a lady.”
“A little Dutch courage,” Percy mumbled. “Don’t be angry, Nefret. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, haven’t I?”
“I don’t recall striking a bargain. You had better go before Ramses comes back. I expect him any moment.”
Another miscalculation on my part—but honestly, who would have supposed he’d be stupid enough to make the same mistake twice? He called Ramses several rude names, and lunged for me. He had me wrapped in a clumsy but temporarily effective bear’s hug before I could skip aside. I said irritably, “Let go of me.”
“You don’t mean that. All you high-spirited women are alike; what you really want is a man who can master you.”
I managed to avoid his clumsy attempts to kiss me while I got one arm free and shifted my weight onto my left foot. I was trying to decide what part of Percy to hit first, when the sitting room door opened.
I’d lied to Percy; I had not expected Ramses back so soon. The sight of him paralyzed me, and Percy managed to land a kiss on my mouth. The next thing I knew there was a kind of soundless