The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [73]
The other girl, Ghazela, was her cousin; they were all cousins to some degree. The name was not especially appropriate; she was no slender-limbed gazelle, but a round-cheeked sturdy young person of perhaps fourteen. She was delighted to have been chosen to work for Nefret and told me so at some length. Like most of the younger generation, even the girls, she had had some schooling. We were chatting about her plans and aspirations—and I was making a few small, tactful suggestions about cleaning the stove—when Nefret, who had gone to get her handbag and a more suitable hat, came in.
“I thought I’d find you here, Mother. Is everything satisfactory?”
“I see you have used the stove.”
“Only for morning coffee. Najia makes it perfectly.”
“So the girls suit, do they?” I inquired, after we had left the house.
“Oh, yes. What are we looking for today?”
“Don’t you have a list?” I whipped mine out.
“It’s in my head,” Nefret said cheerfully. “Anyhow, half of the fun of shopping is to find something one didn’t know one wanted.”
We went first to the shop of Abdul Hadi, since the sooner we got him started, the better. Nefret did have a list in her head; she ordered a number of things, chairs and tables and chests, and made rough sketches of each, including the dimensions. Abdul Hadi kept bobbing up and down, his knees creaking every time he bent them, and assured her that the honor of her patronage would spur him on to work day and night. We left him creaking and bowing, and Nefret said, “Two weeks.”
“He said one week.”
“That was just his usual habit. But I think I can get some of them in a fortnight, if I keep after him.”
The merchants all knew us, and they brought out their best, including some lengths of beautifully handwoven fabric that Nefret intended to have made into cushions for the parlor. I consider myself an efficient buyer, but never had I been whisked in and out of shop and suk as quickly as I was that day. We ended up at a potter’s, where Nefret purchased a quantity of vessels of all shapes and sizes.
“Some of them will do for the courtyard,” she declared. “I want hibiscus and lemon trees and roses, and bougainvillea.”
“Then,” I said, and stopped to clear my throat. “Then . . . you do like the house? It is satisfactory?”
“Yes, Mother, of course. Did you doubt it?”
I hadn’t—not really—I had not given them much choice! But with two such strong-willed individuals one can never be certain. I knew now that I had them. A woman does not purchase new furnishings for a house unless she means to stay.
We treated ourselves to luncheon at the Winter Palace, where we had a merry time. No one is a better companion than Emerson—when he is in a friendly state of mind—but it is impossible to discuss household arrangements when men are present. After we finished, I suggested we call on Mohassib.
“Was that your real purpose in coming to Luxor?” Nefret asked, frowning slightly.
“Not at all, my dear. It only just occurred to me. We have plenty of time, and Heaven knows when we will get to Luxor again, and I promised Cyrus I would have a chat with Mohassib about—”
“Did you really?”
“Promise him? Implicitly.”
“I see. All right, Mother. But you aren’t fooling me. You are trying to track Jamil down.”
“Someone must,” I declared. “Emerson has lost interest—I knew he would, as soon as he became involved with his work—and no one else takes the wretched boy seriously.”
The clot of dragomen and guides that infested the steps of the hotel parted before us like the Red Sea. We strolled on, past the Temple of Luxor. I could never pass those magnificent columns without a sidelong glance, but for once Nefret did not appear to notice them. Striding along with her hands clasped behind her back and her head bowed, she said, “Has it occurred to you that it might have been Jamil from whom Aslimi got those artifacts you bought in Cairo?”
“Certainly it occurred to me. The description fits. He secreted those particular items when they were clearing the tomb—they all do it,