The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [70]
“What on earth have you got in there?” she demanded. “Rocks? Oh. I might have known! Potsherds! Really, Ramses. They’re crumbling all over your cravats. What’s this?”
The loose tissue-paper wrapping fell away as she lifted the object out of the drawer.
Similar statuettes depicting Egyptian gods and goddesses with human bodies and animal heads were sold in the better souvenir shops on the Muski and in the hotels. This example was approximately a foot high, with a falcon’s head atop a male body wearing the typical knee-length kilt and wide jeweled collar. The baked clay had been painted in colors bright enough to make one’s eyes water, the kilt in stripes of red and white, the collar in turquoise and orange with touches of gold. The beak of the bird, the tall plumes crowning its head, and the sandals on the human feet were also gilded.
“Good heavens,” said Nefret, inspecting it with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “I hope this isn’t your Christmas gift for me.”
“It’s for me. From Maude.” Carrying the drawer, he started to leave the room.
“Really?” Nefret drawled. “Stop a minute. It’s meant to be Horus, I suppose. The young Horus, defender of his father, opponent of Set, falcon of gold, and so on. Very appropriate.”
“Hardly. Father isn’t Osiris or about to be, and it’s generally he who rescues me, instead of the other way round. I would greatly enjoy coming to grips with our friend Sethos, but father has always taken care of that as well. What an unbridled imagination you have.”
The criticism did not deflect her from her purpose. “When did she give it to you?” “Last night.”
“Oh. You saw her last night?”
“She asked me to stop by.” He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck. Might as well have it out, he thought, and turned to face her.
“Any further questions?” he inquired.
Nefret looked from him to the statue and back again. “There is a certain resemblance.”
“Especially the head.”
Nefret chuckled. “Your nose is a bit large, but it does not in the least resemble a beak. I meant from the neck down. Especially the chest and shoulders. You really shouldn’t go about on the dig without your shirt, it’s not fair to the poor girl. She couldn’t take her eyes off you the other day.”
Ramses clenched his teeth to keep from swearing. It was at times like this that he was tempted to shake his beloved till her teeth rattled. Her blue eyes were bright and merciless and her smile full of mockery.
He hadn’t been able to think of a reasonable excuse for refusing Maude’s invitation, especially when she gave him that pleading look and explained she had a gift for him. The little statue had left him at something of a loss for words—he couldn’t imagine why she should have supposed he would want such a travesty—but he managed to thank her properly. She had then gone on to apologize for her “dizzy spell” in the pyramid that morning, while he drank the coffee she had pressed upon him and tried to think of a graceful exit line. It was not a private tête-à-tête—the aunt-in-residence (he could never remember the poor little old lady’s name) sat knitting in the corner the whole time—but after he had said good night, Maude had followed him, out into the starlit garden.
Nefret had told him more than once he didn’t know a thing about women. She had been right this time. He had taken Maude for a spoiled little creature who was accustomed to getting what she wanted. She was; but no woman would have said the things she had said to him unless she was past caring about her pride. It had been horribly embarrassing and rather pathetic, and when she started to cry …
Nefret had always had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. “Did she cry?” she asked sweetly. “And then you kissed her? You shouldn’t have done that. I’m sure you meant well, but kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake.”
“Have you quite finished amusing yourself?” Ramses asked, in the icy voice he knew she particularly disliked.
After a moment her eyes fell and her face reddened.