The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [81]
“No, Emerson!” I said firmly. “Cyrus is not dressed for such an expedition.”
Impeccably attired in one of the white linen suits he had specially tailored for him, Cyrus stroked his goatee and smiled.
“Thank you, Amelia. I believe I will postpone that little treat. You know I’m not as crazy about the insides of pyramids as some people. How about the private tombs? Sometimes you find interesting objects in the private tombs.”
“Will you never get over this dilettante’s obsession with interesting objects?” Emerson inquired good-humoredly (good-humoredly for Emerson, that is). “The only objects I care about are those that would enable me to identify the builder of this pyramid. If it’s private tombs you want, come have a look at the West Cemetery. So far the graves are small and poor, but I am determined to make a complete clearance of the area, unlike some other excavators, who …”
They went off arm in arm, with Emerson continuing to lecture and Nefret trotting alongside. After inquiring whether we wanted him to stay with us—to which we replied with a decided negative—Ramses followed the others.
Watching the tall erect figure of my son I let out a little sigh.
“Something is worrying you,” Katherine said, with the intuitive sympathy of a friend. “Something to do with Ramses?”
“I am not worried. Not at all. But I do wish he would settle down. He can’t seem to make up his mind what he wants to do.”
“My dear Amelia! For a young man his age he has already accomplished a great deal. The beginning Egyptian grammar, those volumes on the Theban temples—”
“That’s just the trouble, Katherine. He has been working too hard and not taking proper care of himself.”
“Aren’t you contradicting yourself?” Katherine asked with a smile. “You just want him to stay home so you can fuss over him.”
“I have never been one of those doting mamas, Katherine, you know that. The truth is Emerson has missed him a great deal.”
“Emerson?”
“And Nefret, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Well, never mind. Allah will decree, as dear Abdullah would have said. Would you care to go inside the pyramid?”
“Not today or any other day.” Her amused and affectionate smile faded into sobriety. “Nor will Cyrus, if I can prevent him. Since you left he has been increasingly bored and restless. Luxor is just not the same without you. I believe Cyrus would even abandon his beloved castle and ask for permission to excavate in the Cairo area in order to be near you. It would please me, too, but I don’t want Cyrus climbing around inside pyramids. Can’t you find him a nice safe group of tombs?”
I took the hand she offered and gave it a little squeeze, for I was greatly moved at this declaration of affection, but I could not help smiling a little at her naïveté. She had learned a great deal about Egyptology since she married Cyrus, but her chief interest in the subject was how it would affect her husband.
“My dear Katherine, nothing would delight me more than having you and Cyrus as neighbors again. Would that it were in my power to do as you ask, but we have absolutely no influence with M. Maspero these days; as you see, my dear Emerson has been forced to settle for insignificant cemeteries and unfinished pyramids. However, Cyrus is on better terms with M. Maspero than we. Perhaps with a little judicious flattery … What sort of tombs did you have in mind?”
“It is a matter of complete indifference to me, Amelia dear, so long as the tombs in question don’t have deep shafts and collapsing tunnels.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Cyrus would rather die than admit it, but he is not as young as he once was.”
“None of us is,” I said. “Not even Ramses and Nefret.”
“It is a silly cliché, isn’t it? But you know what I mean. Your enthusiasm for deep, pitch-dark passageways filled with bat guano and moldering mummies is one I cannot share.”
“Ah, well, tastes differ,” I said cheerfully. “And a good thing, too, Katherine, or we would all be fighting like Kilkenny cats