The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [164]
I am afraid I paid less attention than I ought to have done. The Reader need not doubt whither my thoughts had strayed.
After a restless (on my part) night we were up betimes. Again mist veiled the windows; again I hastened downstairs. Nefret and Geoffrey were already there, and Fatima had served the food before the others finally came. It was with inexpressible relief that I beheld them, but a second look at Ramses brought a quickly repressed exclamation to my lips.
It was repressed, to be precise, by Emerson, who placed his serviette firmly over my mouth. “A bit of butter on your chin, my dear,” he said. “Let me remove it.”
My dear Emerson and I communicate without words, nor had he missed the signs of exhaustion that marked his son’s face. It was not long before his keen wits and amiable paternal concern had determined on a course of action.
“Pay attention, everyone,” he said. “Certain changes in our schedule have become expedient. Ramses, I need to borrow you back from Reisner for a few days. He can have Geoffrey instead.”
Geoffrey choked on a swallow of coffee and had to retreat behind his serviette.
“You can’t trade people back and forth as if they were picks and shovels, Emerson,” I exclaimed. “Have you spoken with Mr. Reisner about this?”
Geoffrey cleared his throat. “I’m afraid he won’t agree, sir.”
Emerson’s fist came down on the table. “Reisner is not the Lord God Jehovah! He will have to agree because I have said so. I need Ramses to go over the proofs of the text volume of my history. I received another cursed letter from the cursed Oxford University Press yesterday saying they will have to delay publication for six months unless they receive the proofs by the end of February. I respect your acquaintance with the language, Geoffrey, but I trust I do not offend you when I point out it is not the equal of Ramses’s. Besides, he is familiar with the material.”
It was a suspiciously detailed explanation for Emerson, who does not often condescend to explain at all. I felt sure I understood his real motive, and I was filled with admiration for his ingenuity.
“No further objections?” Emerson inquired, glowering at each of us in turn. “Hmph. I will stop by Harvard Camp on the way to the dig and tell Reisner
what I have decided. You had better ride with me, Geoffrey, and stay at Giza if you are wanted. Ramses, come up to my study and I will show you what needs to be done before I leave. The rest of you be ready to go.”
“Yes, sir,” said Ramses. He followed Emerson out of the room.
I gave them five minutes, and then followed. Emerson was just coming out of his study. Through the open doorway I saw that Ramses was already asleep on the sofa, motionless as an effigy of a knight on a tombstone and looking remarkably innocent with his hands limp at his sides and his lashes dark against his cheeks. Emerson closed the door.
“I couldn’t wait,” I explained. “Did they have any luck last night? Er … he is all right, isn’t he?”
Emerson gave me a quick kiss. “Sleep is all he needs. This was the only way I could think of to explain his absence from work.”
“And very clever it was, Emerson.”
“Hmph.” Emerson fingered the cleft, or dimple, in his chin, as he does when deep in thought. “I’ve never seen him drawn quite so fine, Peabody. It is more than physical exhaustion, it is nervous strain as well. Was he in love with that girl?”
“Maude? Oh, no.”
“And you would know.” He drew my arm through his and led me toward the front of the house. “Good Gad, we sound like a pair of society gossips. As for last night, you can and undoubtedly will quiz David once you’ve got him to yourself. I will arrange matters so that he gets a few hours’ rest today.”
“Are they going out again tonight?” “I don’t know. Ramses was asleep on his feet and I didn’t want to keep the others waiting.”
The mist was lifting, but it still lay thick upon the Giza plateau; after Geoffrey and Emerson