The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [206]
“Yes.” He was prowling restlessly around the sitting room, picking up a book and putting it down, straightening a stack of papers. Hands folded in her lap, she watched him for a while and then took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding.
“I have something to tell you,” she said.
He came to her at once, dropping to his knees in front of the chair and taking the hand she offered.
“I wondered.” His other hand came to rest lightly on her waist. “But I didn’t want to ask.”
“Why not? You had every right.”
“No, I hadn’t. When did you know? Nefret, look at me. Before Gaza?”
She might have equivocated, mentioned the various factors that made certainty difficult. She met his troubled gaze squarely. “Yes.”
“And you risked that? That awful trip, the danger, the—”
She took his face between her hands. “I knew it would be all right. I can’t tell you how I knew, but I did. I would have risked it anyhow. I want this very much, but you are the dearest thing in the world to me. I let you go—I let you take the risk—but I’d have died of suspense waiting in Cairo. Oh, darling, aren’t you glad?”
“Do you suppose I don’t feel the same about you? I’m beginning to understand what you went through, all those times when I was off on some bloody damned job without you. Glad? I suppose I am. Will be. At this moment, I . . . I’m afraid, I think. I can’t take this risk for you. I can’t even share it.”
She had never seen tears in his eyes before. Her heart turned over. He hid his face against her and she held him, her arms tight around his bowed shoulders.
“It’s too late to change our minds now,” she murmured.
He let out a long breath and when he raised his head she saw again the boy she had loved so long without realizing how much she loved him. His eyes were bright with laughter and dawning joy. “Are you sure you’re prepared for this, Nefret? You’ve heard Mother’s stories. What if it turns out to be like me?”
The house was very quiet. I was alone, without even a cat to keep me company. Many duties awaited me, but for some reason I didn’t feel like tackling any of them. Seating myself on the sofa, I found my sewing box and took out the crumpled scrap of linen.
The sitting room door opened. One look at their faces was all I needed. Hand in hand, they came to stand before me.
“We wanted you to be the first to know, Mother,” Nefret said.
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. I got out four words before my voice failed me. “Well! Naturally, I am . . .”
“Oh, Mother, don’t cry.” Nefret sat down beside me and put her arms round me. “You never cry.”
“Nor will I mar the happiness of this moment by doing so,” I assured her, somewhat huskily. I held out my hand to Ramses, who seated himself on my other side, let out a yelp, and sprang up. He had sat on my embroidery.
We laughed until the tears came; they had not far to come. Returning to his seat, Ramses held up the miserable object.
“She’s going to claim she has known for weeks. What is this, Mother?”
I wiped my eyes. “A—er—a bib. Babies dribble quite a lot. These blue bits are violets, and these . . . It is rather nasty-looking, isn’t it? I think the bloodstains will wash out.”
“It’s the most beautiful bib I’ve ever seen,” Nefret said, wiping her eyes. “And I hope the bloodstains never wash out. You did know!”
“Not until this moment,” I said firmly. It would have been the height of unkindness to spoil such a wonderful surprise. “I was making it for Lia’s little girl.”
“Girl?” Ramses’s eyebrows tilted.
“I suppose Abdullah told you,” Nefret said with a chuckle. “Did he happen to mention ours?”
“He never tells me anything important,” I said. Nefret laughed, and I saw Ramses shape the word with his lips: “Ours.” He was still trying to take it in.
I had known, of course, for some time. To an experienced eye the symptoms are unmistakable.
“When?” I inquired.
“September,” Nefret said.
“Ah. So the worst is over, and you are obviously in splendid health. If bouncing across the desert in that motorcar and stealing horses didn’t bring on a miscarriage, nothing will.”
I spoke