The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [9]
At this point he had to pause in order to breathe. “Ha!” I exclaimed. “You did the same. And you learned, as did I, that after being incommunicado for several months she had been accredited as a war correspondent and was in France. You also tried to get information about him from the War Office—without success, as you ought to have anticipated. Why won’t you admit that you care about the man? After all, he is—”
“Mother, please!” Nefret said. “You are becoming heated. And so are you, Father. Perhaps you might allow someone else to offer an opinion.”
“Well?” Emerson demanded of his daughter. “What have you to say?”
“Nothing, really.”
“Ah,” said Emerson. “Ramses?”
He had remained silent, only smiling faintly as he looked from one speaker (Emerson) to the other (me). Now he shrugged. “Speculation about the motives of my uncle are surely a waste of time. One never knows what he will do until he does it.” Reddening, Emerson started to speak. Ramses raised his voice a trifle. “Thus far, all he has done is greet you. An encounter of that sort would appeal to his peculiar sense of humor, and he couldn’t risk a face-to-face meeting, not if he is still working undercover.”
“I don’t give a curse about that,” Emerson declared forcibly, if not entirely accurately. “What I want to know is whether he is still in the antiquities game. Ramses, supposing you and I make the rounds of the cafés tonight and interrogate the dealers. If ‘the Master’ is back in business—”
“They won’t tell you,” I said.
“No,” Nefret agreed. After the waiter had removed the plates without incident (Emerson’s attention being otherwise engaged), she planted her elbows on the table and leaned forward, her blue eyes sparkling. “Your methods are too direct, Father. Do you remember Ali the Rat and his—er—young friend?”
Emerson choked on a sip of wine, and I said uneasily, “Ramses can’t be Ali the Rat again, Nefret. His masquerade was discovered.”
“But the people who knew of it are dead,” Nefret argued. “And I made a very pretty boy, didn’t I, Ramses?”
She turned to look him squarely in the eyes. He did not respond at once. Then he said equably, “Very pretty. I’d prefer not to risk Ali, in case some of the old crowd are still hanging about, but we might try a variation of the same thing.”
I had been afraid of this, though I had not expected matters would come to a head quite so soon. Nefret was as courageous and capable as any man, and utterly devoted to her husband. He was equally devoted to her, and I could only imagine what a struggle it must have been for him to admit she had the right to share his adventures and his danger. Naturally I was in full agreement with her demand for equality; had I not demanded and (more or less) received the same from Emerson? That did not mean I liked Nefret’s doing it. Principles do not hold up well when they are challenged by personal affection.
To my relief, Ramses went on, “Not tonight, though. It will take me a while to collect the appropriate disguises.”
“Certainly not tonight,” I said. “It has been a long day. We should retire early.”
“An excellent suggestion,” said Emerson, cheering up.
“Yes, Mother,” said Ramses.
We had a little private conversation, Emerson and I, sitting cozily side by side before the dying fire in the sitting room and sipping a last whiskey and soda. I summed it up by saying, “So it is agreed that we leave Cairo as soon as possible?”
Emerson nodded emphatic agreement. “It is worrisome enough having Ramses prowling the suks and the coffeeshops looking for criminals, without her going with him.”
“Not so worrisome as having him take on another filthy job from the War Office. Smith’s presence