The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [134]
I turned to Ramses, who stood watching with his usual absence of expression. “You are dripping blood on the carpet,” I remarked. “And I suppose you have got it all over your coat.”
He had.
Horus had not only broken the ice, he had melted it. His unaccountable behavior formed the primary topic of conversation. Sennia had been with difficulty removed to the nursery, and Horus had been, with even greater difficulty, prevented from following her into the room. We left him lying across the threshold, since he growled and spat even at Nefret when she tried to remove him.
“I will have to acquire another cat, it seems,” she remarked. “Horus is lost to me.”
“In all honesty I cannot say I regret that,” Geoffrey said, laughing. “You know, my darling, I would not deprive you of anything you desired, but I had not looked forward to sharing quarters with Horus. He hates me.”
“He hates everyone,” said Ramses, shifting his soup spoon to his left hand. Horus had bit his right thumb to the bone; I had had to bandage it so heavily it stuck out at a somewhat awkward angle. I knew Ramses would have the bandage off as soon as he was out of my sight, but at least I had done my duty. “Almost everyone,” he went on. “There’s no need for you to give him up, Nefret; you and Geoffrey will be living here, won’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought,” she said.
“Well, you had better,” Emerson declared. “I need you back on the dig, Nefret. We’ve found quite a lot of bones for you, and we are days behind with photographing.”
“Lia and I will take over the photography,” David said. “And we are ready to start as soon as you like. I feel guilty at staying away so long.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Emerson began.
“Emerson, don’t be absurd,” I exclaimed. “They just got here. The fantasia is the following evening; Selim and the others have been planning it for weeks.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Cyrus declared. “I’ve attended a few fantasias in Luxor, but this should be a bang-up affair.”
“No champagne, Cyrus,” I reminded him.
“Well, I know that. But there’s nothing to stop us having a few glasses beforehand, is there?” His eyes twinkled.
We parted earlier than Emerson would have liked; he was anxious to show David the photographic studio and would have detained him for hours going over plans of the site, had I not pointed out that it had been a long day for David and Lia. Nefret and Geoffrey left at the same time. We stood in the doorway (with Narmer barking like a maniac) watching them walking arm in arm along the dusty road, Lia with Nefret, the two young men following. It gave me an odd feeling to see someone other than Ramses making part of that group.
He had not gone with us to the door. Emerson shouted at Narmer, who barked joyously back at him, and put his arm round my waist. “It is still early, Peabody. What about a final whiskey and soda?”
“You feel the need of it, do you?”
“Need? Certainly not! Though,” Emerson said morosely, as he drew me inside, “it gave me an odd feeling, seeing them go. They are leaving the nest, Peabody. I suppose Ramses will be next. I want to talk to you about him, Peabody. Do you think he—Ah, er, hmph, there you are, my boy. I thought you had retired.”
“No, sir. Did you say you wanted to talk to me?”
“Don’t stand at attention like some cursed military moron,” Emerson said. “Sit down. That is an order,” he added irritably.
Ramses smiled and obeyed. He had already removed his coat and tie; Emerson followed suit as he strode toward the sideboard, tossing his nice coat in the general direction of a chair. He missed, of course.
Emerson came back with three whiskeys. “I did want to talk to you,” he said. “Have you and Nefret patched it up?”
“Why … yes, sir, certainly. You know that hasty temper of hers.