The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [211]
“Do you suppose he will ever get over suspecting my intentions?” inquired my brother-in-law, after we had retired to the sitting room.
“Perhaps,” Nefret suggested, “if you would get over teasing him . . .”
“I can’t resist, Nefret. He’s such an easy mark. I was teasing, though, when I implied I would stay on here. I must leave tomorrow.”
“So soon?” Nefret exclaimed. Impulsively she placed her hand on his shoulder. “You will miss Cyrus’s party. We want to keep you with us a while longer.”
“You really mean it, don’t you?” The strange gray-green eyes were, for once, very kind. “I’d like to, Nefret, but I can’t.”
“You are going back to the war, aren’t you?” I asked composedly. “I thought you had promised Margaret this would be your last assignment.”
“The job’s not finished yet, Amelia dear. I made a quick trip here because—well, for two reasons. I must be getting old; I did want to see all of you. The other reason is more . . . difficult.”
“Would you like me to leave?” Nefret asked.
“No. Please stay. Did Amelia tell you about a conversation we had recently concerning my daughter?”
Nefret’s eyes widened, and I said, “I considered it a private confidence. I have not even told Emerson.”
“Thank you, Amelia. I wasn’t quite myself at the time; what precisely did I say?”
“You said she held you accountable for her mother’s death, and that she had run away from home. You attempted to find her at that time, I presume. A girl of fifteen or sixteen should not have been able to elude a determined search.”
“She was sixteen. But very precocious in a number of ways. Like her mother. I did search, long and hard, without result. I believe she had help, from one of Bertha’s former friends—the same one who told Maryam—Molly—about her mother’s death. Recently I heard that she had found a—a protector, and was in Egypt. I’ve been playing with the Turks ever since; haven’t had time to look for her here.”
“I am very sorry,” Nefret said gently. “Can nothing be done to save her?”
“She doesn’t want to be saved. Especially by me.”
He had not given way, nor would he, but I knew he cared more for the girl than he would admit and that guilt as well as affection motivated his search. I began, “There is a chance that we might—”
“You may encounter her; our Egypt is a small world, in a sense. That is why I brought the subject up. But, Amelia dear, don’t assume that because you managed to reform me—up to a point—you can redeem the entire damned universe. If Maryam blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?”
He rose, rather heavily. “I’ll say good night, and good-bye. My regards to Ramses and—er—Emerson.”
“Won’t we see you again?” Nefret asked.
“Not this time. I have business in Luxor before I leave tomorrow. If you learn anything about Molly, a message to our mutual friend with the preposterous name will reach me eventually. He will notify you of any change in my situation.”
“Your death, you mean?” I asked steadily.
“Now, Amelia, it isn’t like you to look on the dark side. Who knows, it may be a wedding invitation!” His mocking smile faded and he said hesitantly, “If you should hear from Margaret—”
“I will write her tomorrow,” I promised. “Someone must know her current address.”
“Thank you.” He took my hand. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
She let out a gasp and so did I. Sethos laughed and caught me in his arms and kissed me—on the brow.
“You will always be the woman I love,” he said. “That doesn’t prevent me from loving Margaret as much. You understand, I think.”
“Yes,” I said. “Turn your back, Nefret.”
Cyrus was bitterly disappointed when he learned of Sethos’s departure, though the arrival of the steel door, a day ahead of schedule, distracted him temporarily. Selim assured him the men would bend their best efforts to have it in place the following day.
“Then I can send out my invitations to the fantasia,” Cyrus said. “Shame Ismail had to leave so soon, I was looking forward to seeing more of him.”
“Typical,” Emerson growled. “Comes and goes at his own convenience.”
“He has other