The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [21]
“Oh, really?” A trifle overwhelmed by all this cordiality, Ramses realized his response had sounded stiff and pompous. Smiling, he went on, “The most complimentary thing he ever said to me was that if I kept at it another ten years I might be half as good an excavator as my father.”
Maude stared at him, lips parted. Her brother burst out laughing. “That was a compliment, all right. I sure hope we’ll see a lot of you folks this season. Where are you going to be working?”
“The Professor never tells us until the last minute,” Nefret said, pouting prettily. “But say, now, Maudie, what have you been doing in London? I hope Jack hasn’t made you spend all your time at that dusty old British Museum.”
It was an outrageous parody of poor Maude’s speech and mannerisms, but it passed unnoticed by the victim, who responded with matching vivacity. The girls discussed shops and gossiped about mutual friends while Jack talked archaeology and Ramses tried to listen to all three of them, wondering what the devil Nefret thought she was doing—aside from eating most of the sandwiches and ridiculing her friend. Finally she pushed her plate away and demanded a cigarette.
“We didn’t mean to ignore you ladies,” Jack said, with another of his hearty laughs. “I guess you get tired of all this Egyptology talk.”
Nefret looked as if she were about to say something rude. Ramses hurriedly fished in his pocket and drew out his cigarette case and a parcel wrapped in tissue paper. He offered the case to Nefret and struck a match. In his haste he dropped the little parcel onto the table. The contents spilled out in a glowing tangle of purple and gold.
Maude sucked in her breath. “Say, that’s pretty. Is it real?”
Nefret blew out a cloud of smoke, smiled at Maude, and said sweetly, “Genuine, do you mean? Ramses just now bought it for me, wasn’t that cute of him? At Esdaile’s. Do you know the place? This necklace is authentic, but be on your guard if you shop there; we—er—acquired something recently that was a very well-made fake.”
“Why’d you buy it then?” Jack asked.
“We have our reasons,” Nefret said mysteriously.
Ramses decided it was time to change the subject.
Darkness had fallen before they left the Savoy. One of the attendants brought the car round and lighted the lamps. Nefret slid into the driver’s seat while Ramses was handing out tips.
“Well?” she demanded, inserting the vehicle into the stream of evening traffic along the Strand.
Ramses opened his eyes. She had never actually hit anything, but watching her perform the maneuver was a nerve-racking experience.
“Well what? Nefret, that omnibus—”
“He sees me.”
“Now what are you doing?”
“Putting on my driving helmet. My hair’s blowing all around.”
“I noticed that. Why don’t you change places with me? Assuming that regalia of yours takes both hands, and so does steering.”
She made a face at him, but did as he asked, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the roadway. She drove like an Egyptian—and David, who was Egyptian, drove like a cautious little old lady. So much for stereotypes, Ramses thought, hurrying round the car as frustrated drivers of various vehicles hooted and yelled at them.
“What did you think of the Reynoldses?” she asked, tucking her hair under her cap.
“Surely you don’t suspect him of being our forger?”
“I suspect everyone. Let me sum up what we know about the wretch so far.” She turned toward him and began counting on her fingers. “First, he’s a trained Egyptologist; you said yourself no amateur could concoct that text. Two, he’s a relative newcomer to the field—”
“Possible but not certain. Esdaile bought the objects this past April, but we don’t know that others weren’t sold earlier.”
“It’s a reasonable assumption,” Nefret said firmly.
“Three, he’s young—no wrinkled old man could pass for David.