The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [135]
“Oh? When was that?”
“Just after dinner, when I offered my official congratulations to Geoffrey. I had not had the opportunity of doing so before. She was charming to Sennia, didn’t you think?”
Emerson’s brows drew together. He is not the most sensitive of men (except with regard to me), but even he heard something chilling in that even, unemotional voice. “Don’t get me off the track,” he growled. “You would not mind, then, if they came here to stay?”
“Why should I? You heard me make the same suggestion at dinner. I repeated it later to Geoffrey. The suite Nefret decorated so prettily will be ideal for them. He accepted with thanks—subject, of course, to your approval.”
“What about Nefret’s approval?” I inquired.
“She did not object. In fact, I had intended to begin moving my things back to my old room tonight, so if you will excuse me—”
“One more thing,” said Emerson. “You haven’t found her yet?”
Ramses had drunk very little of his whiskey. He reached for the glass again; it tipped and spilled. “Damn it,” said Ramses, glaring at his thumb. “I beg your pardon, Mother. But it’s not just one thing, Father, it’s too damned—”
“Don’t apologize again,” I said wearily. “It’s too damned many things, isn’t it? Have you spoken to David about the forgeries?”
“We’ve both spoken to him, but neither of us has given him a chance to offer an opinion! Then there’s Maude’s death, and Mr. Vandergelt’s theory about the accidents, and my visit to Wardani—David isn’t going to like my interfering, not one damned bit, but I’ll have to tell him—and my futile search for Rashida … She’s gone, Mother. I’d have located her by now if she were anywhere in Cairo—and alive.”
“If she were dead, her body would have been found,” I said.
“No. Deaths like hers aren’t reported. She’d have been swept up and thrown out with the other refuse of the streets.”
Over his bowed head I met Emerson’s eyes, and in their icy blue depths I saw confirmation of Ramses’s bitter words.
“What about Kalaan?” he asked.
“I found out where he lives. It wasn’t easy. None of his women knew—they wouldn’t—and he doesn’t advertise his whereabouts. The house is in Heliopolis—quite an elegant establishment. No one was there. The place was shut up and swept clean.”
“What did you do, break in?” Emerson inquired.
“Well, yes, you might call it that. From the amount of dust I would say he’d been gone for at least a week, and from the absence of everything except a few sticks of furniture I would say he isn’t coming back in a hurry.”
Emerson put his hand on Ramses’s shoulder.
“We’ll find him. We’ve never been defeated yet, and we won’t be this time. How can we lose with your Mother and her deadly parasol on our side?”
“Quite right,” I said briskly, and patted Ramses’s other shoulder. “Go to bed now. Things will look better in the morning. It is always darkest before the dawn.”
Ramses let out a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a muffled swear word, and got heavily to his feet. “Yes, Mother.”
“I wonder how much Nefret has told Geoffrey,” I said. “He will have to be taken into our confidence.”
“Of course,” Ramses said. “He’s one of the family now, isn’t he?”
Ramses brought Sennia down to breakfast next morning, without bothering to consult me. The sight of the child roused Emerson from his habitual grouchiness and reduced him to a state of fatuous amiability I hadn’t seen in him at that hour for many years. Horus came with them. He squatted on the floor as close to the child as he could get and never took his eyes off her. Before long we were joined by Lia and David, who had, as Lia declared, been unable to stay away. It was almost like old times, with everyone laughing and talking at once, for David wanted to tell Emerson all about Crete and Lia demanded a tour of the house, and both of them kept offering tidbits to Sennia, while Fatima hovered over the table like a benevolent genie and the new nursemaid stood shyly in the doorway, afraid to come closer and unwilling to leave her charge entirely to others. Finally Sennia became so