The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [143]
Lia drew a long breath. “That’s damning, all right. I would rate him suspect number one.”
“Which, in a work of fiction, would prove his innocence.” Ramses smiled. “We haven’t given him enough attention, though, and it’s time we did.”
The last steamer of the day let off a series of warning blasts, and Lia clapped her hands to her ears. “I’m going down to talk to Karima about dinner, and then rest for a while. That will give you two a chance to talk.” Her light dress blew out around her graceful little figure as she walked to the head of the stairs, where she paused just long enough to say, “I’ll tell Karima to make up the bed in your old room, Ramses. It’s yours whenever and for as long as you want it.”
Her bright head vanished below. Ramses turned an inimical look on his friend. David shook his head.
“No, my brother, I did not betray your confidence. But … well … you know women.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“They are very romantic,” David explained, with a worldly-wise air that would have amused Ramses under slightly different circumstances. “Inveterate matchmakers. We’ve been so close, the four of us, and you two seemed so ideally suited in every way … Lia talked about it, that’s all. Just as something she would like to have happen.”
“It didn’t happen. Can we change the subject?”
“One thing more.” David leaned forward. His soft brown eyes were warm with affection and concern. “I’ll never mention the subject again until you bring it up—but for the love of God, don’t push yourself too far. You have a bad habit of doing that. Do you think I can’t tell? Come here to us if and when you like. Go to work for Reisner so you won’t have to be with them all day every day. And when you’re ready, talk to me.”
I thought Ramses had abandoned the search for Rashida until one afternoon when he asked if I would go to Nefret’s clinic with him.
I was flattered that he should ask me, and said as much. “I have been wanting to visit the place, but your father put up such a fuss that I decided not to press the issue. He said that, much as he disliked her going, Nefret had a legitimate reason, but that idle curiosity was no excuse. Now you know, Ramses—”
“You are never inspired by idle curiosity,” said my son gravely. “On this occasion your presence is necessary. Dr. Sophia knows me, but I am sure she would feel more comfortable about admitting me if I were with you. It is a forlorn hope, I am afraid, but one I feel I must make. If you will permit me, I will give you tea at Shepheard’s afterward.”
“Say no more,” I exclaimed. “I am with you! Or will be, as soon as I put on my hat and find my parasol.”
I have been in a number of the nastier sections of Cairo, but though el Was’a is in embarrassingly close proximity to Shepheard’s, I had never gone there. I had heard about it, though. It proved to be even worse than my worst imaginings (which can be, as Emerson has often remarked, pretty bad). As evening approached, the houses were preparing to open for business. I am glad to say that my presence appeared to have a sobering effect on both the women and their prospective customers. Those who caught sight of me hastily withdrew behind curtains or around corners, and the raucous vulgarities being shouted by both parties were abruptly stilled.
“Perhaps I ought to come here every evening and walk about,” I remarked, concealing my horror and disgust under a mask of levity.
“I keep forgetting how vile it is,” Ramses muttered. “Father will murder me when he finds out I brought you here.”
“Then we probably should not tell him.”
Ramses had sent a message ahead, so we were expected. I was enormously impressed by the bright, cheerful interior of the house and the admirable