The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [210]
“We know them slightly,” I said. “Do you?”
“Albion was one of my best customers. I stopped dealing with him a few years ago, after he tried to cheat me.”
“Cheat you?” Emerson repeated. “I wouldn’t have thought anyone could.”
“Dear me, Radcliffe, was that meant to be sarcastic? He didn’t succeed. Watch out for him, that’s all I’m saying.”
When we parted for the day, Cyrus apologized for not inviting “Cousin Ismail” to dinner. “Got to stand guard tonight,” he explained. “But we’re expecting the door to arrive in a day or two; once that is up and secured, we hope, sir, to see a great deal of you. I would very much enjoy a private chat.”
“Thank you,” said my brother-in-law.
I had assumed he would stay with us. He said he had made other arrangements, but would be delighted to join us for tea and an early supper. Jumana’s presence prevented conversation of a personal nature, and when we got to the house Sennia was waiting on the veranda.
“So this is Sennia,” said Sethos, offering his hand. “I have heard a great deal about you—all to your credit, and all well deserved, I see.”
He had a way with women of all ages, and Sennia was no exception. Immensely flattered at the grown-up speech and gesture, she gravely shook hands with him. “Thank you, sir. I have not heard about you, though. Are you a friend of ours?”
“A very old friend” was the smiling reply. “Isn’t that so, Radcliffe?”
“You call him Radcliffe?” Sennia spread her skirts in a ladylike manner and took the chair he held for her. “He doesn’t like to be called that, you know.”
“I had no idea,” Sethos exclaimed. “What shall I call him, then?”
“Well, I call him Professor,” Sennia explained. “Aunt Amelia calls him Emerson, or ‘my dear,’ and Nefret calls him Father, which he is, and Ramses calls him ‘sir,’ and some people call him ‘Father of Curses.’ ”
“Perhaps ‘sir’ would be best,” said Sethos, wrinkling his brow. “What do you think, Sennia?”
I decided it was time to intervene. Emerson was biting his lip and muttering. “Speaking of names,” I said, “perhaps you would allow us—your old friends—to use your given name.”
“Call me anything you like, Amelia dear” was the smiling and uninformative response.
At least it got us off the subject of names, though Sethos continued to address his brother deferentially as ‘sir,’ which made Emerson swear under his breath.
“Do you know Mr. Vandergelt too?” Sennia asked.
“Oh, yes. One might say I know him as well as he knows himself.” He left Sennia to puzzle over this enigmatic remark, which the rest of us understood quite well. “I have not met Mrs. Vandergelt, though, or her son.”
“Can we have a party?” Sennia asked eagerly.
“We must certainly arrange something,” I remarked. “But it will have to wait until the tomb is locked up.”
“A wise precaution,” Sethos agreed gravely. “One never knows, does one?”
“We are glad to have you here, sir,” Nefret said. “You will stay, we hope, for Cyrus’s celebration.”
“He has good reason to celebrate,” Sethos said. “And I understand you and your husband have another cause for rejoicing.”
“How did you—how do you—?” Nefret gasped.
“I have my sources,” said Sethos. He held out his hand, and when he spoke the mockery was gone from his face and voice. “I wish you joy, Nefret. And you, Ramses. I suppose you’ll be returning to England before long?”
“Our child will be born in Egypt, as is fitting,” Nefret said. “Do you suppose I’d allow a pompous male English physician to take care of me, when there are two trained women obstetricians on the staff of my hospital?”
“What about you?” Emerson demanded of Sethos.
“I’m in no hurry to leave. England hasn’t much to offer me.” He smiled wickedly at his brother.
Emerson’s face reddened. “Neither has Luxor.”
“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your activities. In fact, I would be delighted to assist in any possible manner.”
“Ha,” said Emerson.
Nefret turned her chuckle into a cough.
After dinner the men went off to stand guard. Emerson declined, with thanks, Sethos