The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [118]
‘He certainly seems to have made a complete recovery,’ said Willoughby, looking at Emerson, who was, to judge by his impassioned gestures, arguing about philology with Walter.
‘It was just as you predicted,’ I said. ‘As his physical health improved the – er – nervous disorder disappeared.’
‘I am delighted to hear it. And so would my patients be,’ he added with a smile, ‘if I were so unprofessional as to discuss my other cases with any but the patient and his family. But I may tell you, Mrs Emerson, that your husband’s case aroused my interest in – er – nervous disorders, and I have been able to help several individuals who have consulted me with similar problems. My practice is constantly increasing.’
‘Luxor is becoming known as a health resort,’ I agreed, ‘and the presence of a physician of your reputation must attract many invalids to the city.’
After a further exchange of compliments the doctor returned to his table, and Cyrus, who was studying me curiously, remarked, ‘So Ramses has had another little accident – and one serious enough to require the attention of a surgeon?’
‘The maternal instinct quite frequently inspires an exaggerated response,’ I replied, and, in the hope of changing the subject, went on without pausing. ‘Are the other people at the doctor’s table patients of his, I wonder? Some of them seem to be suffering from nothing more serious than overindulgence.’
‘That fellow in the red fez could certainly profit from a few weeks on bread and water,’ Cyrus agreed with a chuckle. ‘He is a Hollander, Mrs Amelia, and quite a bon vivant. The lady in black next to him is a subject of the Emperor of Austria. She lost her husband not long ago in a tragic accident; he was an ardent sportsman who tripped over a root and shot himself instead of the stag he was after. The poor lady appears to be very frail; that forbidding female at her left is a hospital nurse, who accompanies her everywhere.’
‘What a mine of information you are, Cyrus. Do you know everyone in Luxor?’
‘I am not acquainted with the other ladies at Willoughby’s table. Wouldn’t mind an introduction, though. Nothing wrong with any of them that I can see.’
‘Too much money and too few brains, no doubt. Which do you fancy, Cyrus, the dark lady or the one with the Titian hair? I doubt it is the original colour.’
‘Why, either one. I make no bones about my admiration for the fair sex, Mrs Amelia, and since you are unavailable I must seek consolation elsewhere.’
I am sure I need not explain to the Reader that vulgar curiosity was not the cause of my inquiries. In recent days I had seen no signs of the vultures, but I did not doubt they were still hovering, intent on gaining control of the empire Sethos had left leaderless. The trouble with unknown enemies is that they are so hard to identify. Any or all of these seemingly innocent tourists could be such a foe.
After dinner we retired to the garden for coffee. Lanterns hanging in the trees cast their soft glow on luxuriant greenery and tender blossoms; the cool pure air was a welcome refreshment after the crowded atmosphere of the dining salon. Emerson promptly proceeded to pollute the air with his pipe and Cyrus, after politely requesting my permission, lit one of his cheroots.
‘So,’ said the latter, getting down to business, ‘when do you expect to reach the burial chamber?’
With a glance at Kevin, seated at an adjoining table, Emerson said, ‘One can almost see his ears prick, can’t one? Don’t bother straining your neck, O’Connell. The answer to Mr Vandergelt’s question is an unequivocal ‘How the devil should I know?’ It will be several more days before I finish with the antechamber, and then there is a passage of unknown length to be cleared of rubble. We will be lucky to reach the burial chamber, wherever it is, before March.’
‘Another month?’ Kevin exclaimed,