The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [69]
He put his book aside and rose. “You haven’t adopted another animal, have you? Mother has barely become resigned to that mangy dog. A camel or a family of orphaned mice would be the last straw.”
“Narmer is going to be a perfectly splendid watchdog,” Nefret insisted. “As soon as I teach him to stop barking at scorpions and spiders. Stop trying to be sarcastic, Ramses, and come.”
She led him into the opposite wing and flung open a door.
“What’s this?” he asked. The room was sparsely furnished in true Egyptian style. Along one wall ran a wide, low divan covered with printed cotton; the wall above it was filled with shelves containing books and prints. A few European-style chairs had been provided for those who preferred them. Oriental rugs in glowing shades of crimson and burgundy covered the floors.
“Our sitting room. I told you I was going to ask Aunt Amelia if we couldn’t have our own quarters. My room is on one side, and yours is on the other. There are connecting doors.”
He hoped his face didn’t betray his feelings. It was bad enough having her in the same house. Connecting doors … I can always lock myself in and throw the key out the window, he thought wryly.
This part of the house had been the harem. Exquisitely carved wooden screens covered the windows, admitting light and air through pierced holes that formed part of the decoration. Ramses inserted several fingers into the holes and shook the screen. It was firmly fixed on both sides. “This won’t do,” he said.
“Curse it, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right; we may want to get out the window.”
“Ibrahim can probably fit the screens with hinges and handles. It would be a pity to remove them altogether; they’re quite handsome.” He moved away from the window. “Very nice, my girl. How did you manage it?”
“I nobly offered to move us over here and give our nice clean furnished rooms to the Vandergelts. Then I enlisted Kadija and her daughters to do a whirlwind overnight cleaning. I washed the floor myself. On hands and knees!”
“It’s very clean.”
“What an effusive compliment!”
“What more can one say about a floor? Did you also paint the walls?”
“I thought I’d got all the paint off my hands.” She inspected them critically.
“Under your nails. It doesn’t show very much.”
“But you saw it, Sherlock.” She gave him an amused smile. “I didn’t do it all. Geoff helped me.”
“Geoff.”
“Yes, he’s been sweet. Now come and see your room.” She opened the next door. “Doesn’t it look nice? I helped paint your walls too. I hope you like the color. I bought new furniture for both of us—your old mattress is as lumpy as a sack of coal, you ought to have asked for a replacement years ago—so all you need do is move your books and clothes and things.”
The walls were pale blue. The curtains and the matching coverlet were printed with improbable flowers ranging in color from magenta to pink.
“Cheerful,” said Ramses.
Her face fell. “You hate it.”
“No, dear, really. The flowers are—er—cheerful.”
“Men have such dull tastes,” said Nefret. “If you really can’t stand the pattern I’ll get something else. Plain or stripes. Come on, I’ll help you move your things.”
“Now?”
“The sooner the better. You haven’t unpacked your books anyhow.”
She would have carried the heavy boxes herself, or dragged them, if he had let her. When she got behind the bureau and tried to push it, her forehead wrinkled with effort and the tip of her tongue protruding, he began to laugh helplessly. It was that or give her a brotherly hug, and he hadn’t dared do that for years. “Leave off, Nefret. I’ll take the drawers out and empty them into the elegant new bureau you supplied.”
“That would make better sense, wouldn’t it?” She pushed the damp curls back from her forehead and grinned at him. “I’m so excited I’m not thinking straight. I insist on helping, though; you’d just turn the drawers upside down and dump the contents.”
“Let