The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [192]
“But I want—”
“You have been ill. You need your rest.”
“I feel much better!”
She looked almost her old self, eyes bright, cheeks pink. The eyes were fixed on Ramses, with an expression that made him want to run for cover. His mother snapped, “Do as you are told.”
Ramses went to the door with Selim while Jumana was collecting her wrap. “I owe you for that, Selim,” he murmured.
“I only said what the Sitt Hakim told me to. But why are you angry? I know what you did, and if I had done such things I would tell everyone. But,” Selim said, struck by a new idea, “we do it to make the men fear us and the women admire us, yes? All men fear the Brother of Demons, and you have won the heart of the only woman you want. When Nur Misur looks at you, it is as if the sun were shining in her eyes.”
“I’m not angry, Selim.” Ramses embraced him in the Egyptian manner. “You are a good friend—and a shameless romantic.”
“And what is wrong with that?”
Selim’s grin faded into a scowl when Jumana came out of the house. He mounted his horse and hauled her up in front of him with no more ceremony than if she had been a sack of grain. Ramses heard them exchanging insults as they rode off. Serves them both right, he thought.
When he returned to the drawing room, his mother had taken charge of the proceedings. “Unbelievable or not, that story is what Selim told Daoud. By the time Daoud finishes embellishing it, it will bear little resemblance to fact.”
“And I’ll sound like even more of a posturing ass,” Ramses said sourly.
“Stop complaining,” his mother said. “Goodness gracious, I did the best I could! It was necessary to account for our absence in some way. Our friends at Atiyeh saw the motorcar and realized we were preparing for a long desert trip. By the time we left Khan Yunus, everyone knew who we were; they will pass the story on, and sooner or later our activities will be gossiped about throughout Egypt and Palestine.”
“It was a pretty good yarn,” Cyrus admitted. He lit one of his cheroots and leaned back. “And no wilder than a lot of your adventures. I’m sorry, though, I can’t believe in the beautiful maiden. Khan Yunus is only ten miles from Gaza. Need I say more?”
His knowing smile brought a responsive twinkle to her eyes. “Oddly enough, Cyrus, the beautiful maiden is one of the true facts. However, there is no use denying that our mission involved more serious matters. You’ve known for some time that we have had dealings with the secret service, haven’t you?”
“A fellow would have to be pretty durned stupid not to have strong suspicions, Amelia. With a war on, and the way you keep appearing and disappearing without explanation, and your expertise in certain areas . . .” His eyes moved to Ramses. “Well, I’m not asking for details. I just hope to God the filthy business is over soon. You can’t keep on taking chances without something bad happening, and we couldn’t spare you. Any of you.”
“Amen,” Katherine said.
“Er—quite,” Bertie added.
“It is over,” declared Emerson, squirming a little in the warm flood of friendship. “A bloo——excuse me, Katherine—a blooming nuisance too. Now we can—”
“Just one more question,” Cyrus interrupted. “You don’t have to answer it, but I’m real curious. Was that so-called beggar anybody I know?”
Caught off-guard and at a loss as to how to answer, Emerson turned for help to his wife. “You have met the gentleman,” she said smoothly.
“And he’s on our side now?”
“Oh, yes. Cyrus, would you think me rude if I asked for a whiskey and soda?”
She looked so smug, her son had to fight to keep from laughing. Trust his mother—she never lied “unless it was absolutely necessary,” and this time she had spoken the literal truth. Cyrus had been well acquainted with Sir Edward Washington, but it had not been that gentleman he meant.
Naturally, Emerson felt obliged to criticize me for encouraging Selim to tell a pack of lies and, with typical inconsistency, for telling Cyrus more than he deemed advisable. We had quite a refreshing little argument about it on the drive home. I had always felt somewhat