The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [155]
“Weren’t you able to bring him?” I asked.
“Bring who?” inquired Emerson, emerging.
I explained. Geoffrey admitted he had not been able to convince Jack to join us. “Von Bork dropped by while I was there,” he added. “I suppose Jack felt he could not abandon a guest.”
“You should have asked Karl too,” I said.
“Oh, I couldn’t presume to do that.”
He had presumed to invite Jack, though. I reminded myself that the situation was entirely different, and gestured to Nefret to pour. Geoffrey jumped up, took the cup from her, and carried it to me. “Here you are, Mrs. Emerson.”
“Thank you. I think perhaps you ought to start calling me Aunt Amelia, if you would care to.”
“May I?” His face lit up. “I hoped I might, but I did not want—”
“To presume,” said Emerson, around the stem of his pipe. He said it fairly pleasantly, however, and the dimple in Geoffrey’s thin cheek deepened as he glanced from Emerson to me. I gathered he had been warned not to refer to Emerson as Uncle Radcliffe.
“So how is Jack?” I inquired. “Ought I to call on him, do you think?”
“He isn’t drinking,” Geoffrey said. “At least not to excess. One can’t mistake the signs, you know. I would say he is still suffering from melancholia.”
“Depression is the modern psychological term,” I remarked.
“Peabody,” said Emerson, in an ominous growl.
“Yes, my dear, I beg your pardon. I know how you feel about psychology. Call it what you will, Jack is not in a healthy state. We must shake him out of it!”
“I agree,” Geoffrey said earnestly. “I tried to persuade him to come with us tonight to the reception at the Agency, but he said he had another engagement.”
“I am not going to the Agency,” said Emerson, in the same tone in which he would have announced that the sun was due to rise in the east next day.
“Oh, no, sir, I never supposed you would.”
Nefret sat immobile, her cup in her hand. “Did you suppose I would?” she asked in a very gentle voice.
“But darling, you said you would!” Geoffrey turned impulsively to her. “Yesterday. Don’t you remember? Sir John Maxwell will be there, and you know what influence he wields with the Department of Antiquities. A word in his ear—especially from you—might do great things for the Professor.”
“Oh.” Nefret put her cup down on the table. “I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention. Are you sure you feel up to it?”
“What is wrong, Geoffrey?” I asked.
“Nothing at all, ma’am. Honestly. I told Nefret she mustn’t fuss.”
He gave his wife a look of gentle reproach. She flushed. “All right, then.”
“Wear your new frock,” Geoffrey urged. “The one that has all the colors of the sea off southern Greece. It makes your eyes sparkle like aquamarines. Er—would you care to go with us, Mrs.—er—Aunt Amelia?”
“I suppose you don’t need a chaperone,” I remarked dryly. “Did you tell Fatima you would not be dining at home?”
“Good heavens, I forgot,” Geoffrey said apologetically.
Fatima, passing round a plate of little cucumber sandwiches, hastened to assure him it did not matter. Emerson had been grumbling to himself. “I don’t want people fawning on the Department of Antiquities on my account,” he announced loudly.
“Someone had better do it,” I informed him. “Since you keep antagonizing M. Maspero and you won’t let me—”
He interrupted me, of course, and we had a refreshing little discussion.
After tea Nefret and Geoffrey went to change, and Emerson and I proceeded to the nursery. I had been forced to forbid Sennia to join us for tea until Emerson learned to behave himself. Not only did he allow her to eat every biscuit on the plate but he smuggled sweets from the kitchen in his pockets. We had a very enjoyable little interlude, though Sennia kept demanding Ramses, and Emerson had to play lion before she was pacified.
Later we found ourselves a deux at the dining table. The situation was so unusual that at first all we could do was stare blankly at one another.
Emerson burst out laughing. “Alone at last! Good Gad, Peabody, has it come to this? What