The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [90]
“Allow me to repeat that there is nothing to see here,” Emerson declared, hands on hips, feet apart, and brows thunderous. “This is an archaeological dig, and you are interrupting my work.”
“But, sir . . .” One of the officers—for so their insignia proclaimed them—turned with visible relief to me. He was of something over medium height, his frame heavyset and his face square, particularly around the jaw. The hair exposed when he whipped off his pith helmet, which he did immediately upon seeing me, was a nondescript shade of brown, slightly darker than his carefully trimmed mustache.
“Mrs. Emerson!” he exclaimed. “I dare not hope that you remember me—I had the good fortune to be introduced to you last year in Cairo, by my colleague Woolley, of the Arab Bureau.”
“Certainly I do, Major Cartright,” I replied, before Emerson could say something rude about the Arab Bureau. “Mr. Woolley is an old friend. I was very sorry to hear he had been taken prisoner by the Ottomans.”
“The fortunes of war, ma’am, the fortunes of war.”
“Stupidity and ineptitude,” Emerson declared. “Sailing up and down the coast in that distinctive yacht, trying to put agents ashore under the very noses of the Turks. He was bound to be caught sooner or later.”
Cartright flushed angrily, but kept his temper. “Yes, sir. May I have the honor of introducing another admirer of yours—Lieutenant Algernon Chetwode.”
I have never seen a countenance so prototypically English. Like his hair, the brave mustache was flaxen-fair; the lashes framing his blue eyes were so pale they were almost invisible, and his cheeks were as smooth as a girl’s. They turned pink as he stuttered out a series of incoherent compliments.
“Can’t express my pleasure . . . such an honor . . .”
“Yes, how nice,” I said, and since they showed no intention of going away, I added, “I would offer to show you around, gentlemen, but as my husband mentioned, there is nothing here that would interest you. I presume you are on leave from Cairo? May I suggest the Valley of the Kings or the temple of Medinet Habu, which is in that direction.”
“You are most kind, Mrs. Emerson,” Cartright said, with a smile that showed he was well aware of my real motive. “We only dropped by to pay our respects. We had hoped—that is to say—is your son with you?”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed and I felt a constriction in the region of the diaphragm. Naturally and necessarily, Ramses’s activities on behalf of the War Office had been a closely guarded secret. Had his courageous sacrifices been generally known, he would have been a hero; since they were not, he was regarded by many of our acquaintances in Cairo as a coward and a pacifist. (The two words being synonymous in the views of the ignorant.) There was hardly an officer in Cairo who would have spoken to him last year—and here were two of them actually seeking him out.
I might have been tempted to lie, but I could not; Ramses had seen us and was approaching. It was not in his nature to avoid a confrontation. Nefret had hold of his arm. She was biting her lip, a sure sign of worry or annoyance.
If young Lieutenant Chetwode had fawned over us, he did all but genuflect before Ramses. He paid no more attention to Nefret than courtesy demanded, which was in itself highly suspicious; most men paid attention to Nefret.
Unsmiling and composed, Ramses shook hands with both men. “On holiday, are you?” he inquired.
“A brief holiday,” Cartright replied. “I have just got back from the Gaza front, and after I had reported to the general, he was good enough to give me a few days’ leave.”
“I’m sure you deserved it,” I said politely.
“Ha,” said Emerson. “What the devil are you people doing? You pushed the Turks across the Egyptian border early in January, and you’ve been squatting outside Gaza ever since. We need a victory in the Middle East, gentlemen; God knows the news on other fronts is bad enough. Why isn’t General Murray pushing ahead toward Jerusalem?”
“I’m sure you know the terrain, sir,” Cartright said deferentially. Glancing at me—a mere female, who presumably knew nothing