The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [196]
He found him in one of the alcoves talking to Jumana. “Don’t ask her to dance, this one is mine,” Albion said, with one of his jolly laughs. “I can’t prance around with the young folks, but we’re having a nice time talking Egyptology. She’s a clever girl.”
“She is,” Ramses agreed, glancing at the glass she held. “That isn’t champagne, is it?”
“Soda water,” Albion said. “You don’t think I’d ply a young lady with alcohol, do you?”
The answer to that was a resounding “Yes, if you hoped to gain something by it.” Since courtesy forbade honesty, Ramses said, “I’ll join you, if I may. What were you talking about?”
“Those sites your pa told me about” was the prompt reply. “We’ve just about decided not to do any more digging. The young lady agrees with me that it’s a waste of time.”
“The western wadis are too far away and too dangerous,” Jumana explained. “And there is nothing in that part of the Valley of the Queens.”
“Father will be glad to hear that,” Ramses said.
The music ended. Jumana looked at her dance card. “The next one is Bertie,” she announced importantly. “Will you excuse me, sir?”
“Why, sure. You go right ahead.”
Trying to watch all three Albions and fulfill his social obligations kept Ramses fully occupied for a while. Mr. Albion wouldn’t stay put; he wandered around the room, talking to his wife and to various other people. Seeing Mrs. Albion head purposefully for the door of the ballroom, Ramses caught Nefret’s eye, gestured, and trod on Katherine’s toe. Nefret went in pursuit, abandoning her partner.
“I beg your pardon, Katherine,” Ramses said.
“Quite all right, my dear. Is your injury bothering you? Perhaps we should sit down.”
“What? Oh, that. Well, yes, a little. Not much. It’s all right.”
He’d lost sight of Sebastian too. What was taking his father so long?
Mrs. Albion came back, followed by Nefret. Her nod and smile reassured him; they must have gone to the ladies’ parlor.
He was still scanning the room, trying to locate Sebastian, when he caught sight of his father. He let his breath out in a sigh that ruffled Katherine’s hair.
“Let’s do sit down, Ramses,” she said.
“Did I tread on your foot again?”
“No, dear, but the music has stopped.”
Her husband claimed her for the next dance, and Ramses headed straight for his father. Emerson’s appearance would have roused his wife’s direst suspicions. His hair was standing on end, his tie had come undone, and his smile was reminiscent of that of the Great Cat of Re after a tasty meal. Ramses drew him aside.
“Here, let me fix your tie before Mother sees you.”
“What’s wrong with it? Oh.” Emerson glanced down. “Thank you, my boy.”
“Well?” Ramses demanded.
“It went off without a hitch. What did you expect?”
“Did you find anything?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Don’t do this to me, Father.” He jerked the knot tight.
“I can’t tell you about it now,” Emerson said reproachfully. “But in a word— Oh, curse it. Hullo, Bertie. Were you looking for me? I just stepped out into the garden for—”
“No, sir. That is—did you see Jumana?”
“In the garden? Er—no.”
“Is something wrong, Bertie?” Ramses asked.
Bertie passed his hand over his hair. “It’s just that this is my dance, and I can’t find her. She was with Sebastian, and he doesn’t seem to be in the room either.”
“They must be around somewhere,” Emerson said vaguely. “Damn! There’s your mother. Your mother, I mean, Ramses. Am I supposed to be dancing with her?”
“I’ve no idea,” Ramses said. His mother was advancing on them with a firm stride and a look in her eyes that boded ill for Emerson. “You had better report to her, she probably noticed you were conspicuous by your absence.”
“Jumana—” Bertie began.
“Yes, right. I expect she’s gone to the ladies’ parlor. Let’s ask Nefret.”
Nefret had just returned from the ladies’ parlor. “Mrs. Albion has gone there three times! She keeps taking off her gloves and washing her hands. I hate to speculate about why. Is Father—”
“Dancing with Mother,” Ramses said.
“Thank goodness!”
“Yes, but Jumana has gone missing,” Ramses said. “She wasn’t in the ladies’ parlor?”
“Sebastian