The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [116]
Emerson let out a loud “Hmph,” turned it into a cough, and glanced at me. He objects to my “pompous aphorisms,” as he terms them, and this was certainly in the same category. I could have put it better, though.
“I am very sorry,” I said. “Was it a recent loss?”
“Fairly recent. But,” said Mrs. Bayes, smiling at her “brother,” who was patting her hand with a look of concern, “I promised Algie not to dwell on that. I am determined to enjoy these new experiences to the full, and they have been delightful. Algie has been a splendid guide. He knows the antiquities so well!”
“A sister’s fondness exaggerates,” said Smith with a modest cough. “I may claim, however, to be exceedingly keen. My interest was aroused during my first visit to Luxor—perhaps you do me the honor of remembering our meeting at that time . . .”
He transferred his gaze to Ramses and Nefret.
“Very well,” said Ramses. Nefret, her lips forming a line almost as thin as Smith’s, said nothing.
“We must not keep you from your dinner,” I said. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bayes. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”
“Aren’t you dining here?” the lady asked innocently.
“No,” I said, and took Emerson’s arm. “Good night.”
I led our little party out of the hotel.
“What about Carter?” Ramses asked.
“I would be very much surprised to find that Howard is here. Smith sent the message.”
“I wonder what he wants,” Nefret muttered. She had very tight hold of Ramses’s arm. “If he thinks he can—”
“Not now, Nefret,” I said firmly.
“Where are we going?” Emerson asked. “I want my dinner.”
“The Luxor will suit, I believe. We must have a little chat before he tracks us down again.”
Emerson waved away the carriages that sought our custom. It is only a short walk from the Winter Palace to the Luxor, and it was a lovely evening, the dark sky star-strewn and the air fresh. The scent of night-blooming jasmine tried (in vain) to counter the other scents of Luxor, but even these had a certain charm—the smell of cooking fires and camel dung; of unwashed donkeys, camels, and humans.
We were greeted with pleasure and seated at one of the best tables in the dining saloon. After consulting with Ramses, Emerson ordered a bottle of wine and then shoved his plate aside and planted both elbows on the table, a habit of which I have given up trying to break him.
“You think he will follow us here, do you?” he inquired.
“Yes. What other reason could he have for being in Luxor?”
“It may be a perfectly innocent reason,” Ramses said. “Do you suppose the lady is really his sister?”
“Possibly,” I replied, studying the menu. “Men of his sort are not above using personal relationships for their own purposes. It was only her presence that prevented your father from being rude. I believe I will start with lentil soup. They make it very well here. Nefret?”
“I don’t care. Mother, how can you think about food, when you know that bas—— that man is after Ramses again?”
“He can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do,” Ramses said, somewhat sharply. “You are getting yourself into a rage about nothing, Nefret. There is no inducement they could offer that would make me change my mind.”
“Damn right,” said Emerson. “Who’s he working for anyhow? I can’t get all these departments and bureaus and agencies straight in my mind. Not that I care to,” he added.
“Nobody’s got them straight,” Ramses said with a wry smile. “At one time there were four separate intelligence groups, and the police. I believe they’ve been reorganized, but there is still a certain amount of infighting between the civilian branch, which reports to the high commissioner and the Foreign Office, and the military branches, who are under the C-in-C—that’s General Murray—in Cairo. The Admiralty has, or had, its own group. God knows where Smith fits in.”
“I don’t give a damn where he fits in,” Nefret declared. “So long as you aren’t in it with him.”
I was tempted to intervene, for her voice had risen and Ramses’s eyes had narrowed—sure signs, in