The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [21]
We had all fallen silent except for Sennia, who had no idea who the high commissioner was and cared even less. Emerson looked at his son. “Er—Ramses . . .”
“Yes, sir. When?”
“Later. He says ‘at our convenience.’ It is not convenient for me at present.”
Sennia understood that. “Ramses will have time to give me my lesson,” she announced firmly. Sennia was in the habit of making pronouncements instead of asking questions; it usually worked.
Ramses rose, smiling. “A short lesson, then. Let’s go to your room where we won’t be distracted.”
The door closed behind them—and Horus, who went wherever Sennia went unless forcibly prevented from doing so. Having got Sennia out of the way, Emerson turned stern blue eyes on Gargery, who stood with arms folded and feet slightly apart, exuding stubbornness. “Go away, Gargery,” Emerson said.
“Sir—”
“I said, go away.”
“But sir—”
“If there is anything you need to know, Gargery, I will tell you about it at the proper time,” I interrupted. “That will be all.”
Gargery stamped out, slamming the door, and Nefret said quietly, “Do you want me to leave too?”
“No, of course not.” Emerson leaned back in his chair. “It isn’t the military or the secret service this time, Nefret. Wingate probably wants us for some tedious office job.”
“Are you going to accept?”
“That depends.” Emerson got to his feet and began pacing. “Like it or not, and God knows we don’t, we cannot ignore the fact that there is a bloody war going on. They won’t let me carry a rifle, and Ramses won’t carry one, but there are other things we can do, and we have no right to refuse.”
“You and Ramses,” Nefret repeated, with a curl of her lip. “Men. Never women.”
“You offered your services as a surgeon, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Nefret’s eyes flashed. “The military isn’t accepting women physicians. But that would have been saving lives, not—”
“There are other ways of saving lives, or at least minimizing suffering. You can’t keep him out of this forever, Nefret; I’ve seen the signs, and so have you. He’s feeling guilty because he thinks he is not doing his part.”
“He’s done his part and more,” Nefret cried. “It wasn’t only that ghastly business two years ago, it was the same sort of thing again last winter; if he hadn’t risked his life twice over, the War Office would have lost its favorite spy and a German agent would have got away. What more do they want from him?”
It did seem to me as if she were underestimating my contribution and that of Emerson, but I did not say so; where her husband was concerned, Nefret was passionately single-minded. Her eyes were bright with tears of anger. Emerson stopped by the chair in which she sat and put his hand on her shoulder.
“I know, my dear,” he said gently. “But I cannot suppose they want us to go chasing spies again. The situation has changed. With the Turks driven out of the Sinai, the Canal is no longer in danger, and the Senussi are in full retreat. There is nothing going on that requires Ramses’s unusual talents, or,” he added with a grin, “mine.”
“Unless,” I said, “this has something to do with Sethos.”
Emerson shot me a reproachful glance, but I had only voiced aloud what was in all our minds.
“There’s been no further word from him?” Nefret asked. I shook my head.
“If Ramses gets in trouble because of him, I’ll murder him,” she muttered.
She did not go to the hospital that morning. She did not want to leave the hotel, though I pointed out that we could probably not expect Emerson and Ramses back before luncheon. Finally I managed to persuade her to go walking in the Ezbekieh Gardens with Sennia and me. I always say there is nothing like the beauties of nature to distract one from worrisome thoughts. The Gardens are planted with rare trees and shrubs and the air is harmonious with birdsong. Sennia was even more of a distraction; it required both of us to keep track of her as she ran up and down the graveled paths. It did Nefret good, I believe. When we started back, both of us holding tight to Sennia’s hands, she said ruefully, “You think I’m behaving like a silly coward, don