The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [50]
“Get the dirty thing off the table and eat your pilaf,” I ordered.
“Yes, Mother.”
“What are we doing this evening?” Nefret asked.
“Shopping.”
Emerson groaned.
“Not you, Emerson. All you do is complain and look at your watch. Nefret and I will attend to the purchase of necessary furnishings. You and Ramses can begin packing books.”
“There is no hurry,” Emerson began.
“Considering the rate at which you pack books, there is. I intend to be moved in before Christmas. I instructed Selim to meet us at the house tomorrow with a full crew—carpenters, masons, painters, and cleaning persons.”
Emerson’s brows drew together. “I told Selim—”
“I countermanded your order.”
FROM LETTER COLLECTION B
Dearest Lia,
It is most inconsiderate of you to be elsewhere when I yearn desperately to talk with you. A honeymoon is no excuse. Something happened this afternoon that has left me feeling wretched and uncomfortable, and I must confide in someone. You will see, as I proceed, why I cannot confide in Aunt Amelia or the Professor or Ramses. Especially Ramses!
I told you in my last that Percy had turned up. I wish you could have been there when he greeted us; I suppose he had no idea how absurd he looked in that ostentatious uniform, with his pink sunburned face and his huge mustache. His reception would have discouraged a less confident man. Aunt Amelia went absolutely rigid and her gray eyes took on a steely glitter; the Professor let out one of his ripest oaths and would have elaborated on it if I had not pretended to lose my footing and stamped heavily on his foot. Ramses? Well, my dear, what would you expect? He’s become even more the stone pharaoh. I used to be able to break through his shell by teasing him, but these days he doesn’t turn a hair, no matter what I say or do. If I walked into his room stark-naked he would just blink and ask if I weren’t afraid of catching cold.
I seem to be losing the thread of the narrative, as Aunt Amelia would say. To resume: I didn’t suppose we would see much of Percy, even after we heard that he had returned from Alexandria; the young officers spend most of their time at the Turf Club or the socially acceptable hotels or at various private parties. I underestimated his persistence. He didn’t call on us—I think it has dawned on him that the Professor wouldn’t be pleased to see him—but he invited me to several parties and dances. I refused, by return messenger, explaining I had no time for social activities.
This wasn’t strictly true, since we have seen more than I would like of Maude Reynolds and her set. She and her brother are such close neighbors, it’s impossible to refuse all their invitations. I don’t mind Geoffrey and Jack; they have been very helpful on the dig and I’ve become rather fond of them, especially Geoff. He turned up at the house one morning with a cartload of flowers—roses, poinsettias, lemon and orange trees and various climbing vines, which he proceeded to plant with his own hands all round the courtyard. He couldn’t have done anything to please Aunt Amelia more; the two of them were at it all morning, digging and fertilizing and watering and discussing horticulture.
Ramses and I have had the devil of a time trying to satisfy both the Professor and Aunt Amelia; he wants us on the dig every day, and she wants us at the house. It’s like walking a tightrope! We will be making the move in a few days—inshallah!
I’m losing the thread again. You can guess why. I will gird up my loins (figuratively speaking! as Aunt Amelia would say) and get it over.
Most men take the hint after one has consistently refused their invitations. The young officers here in Cairo are often more persistent; their gaudy uniforms and swashbuckling ways make quite an impression on girls fresh out from England, and some of them find it difficult to believe any woman can resist them. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Percy turned up, in person, when I was alone on the dahabeeyah. Aunt Amelia had dragged Ramses and the Professor (protesting