The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [119]
‘At least.’
‘But I can’t be hanging around Luxor so long! My editor won’t stand for it.’
‘Neither, I fancy, can The Times and the Mirror,’ said Emerson with a sinister smile. ‘You have my permission to pass the information on to them, O’Connell. Now, Vandergelt, you were asking about the next volume of my History. I mean to discuss at length the development of the temporal power of the priesthood of Amon and its effect . . .’
With a muttered ‘Begorrah!’ Kevin got up and walked away. The ruse had been successful. He and his readers were not interested in Emerson’s theories about the priesthood of Amon. I was, of course, so much so that it was not until after we had finished a refreshing little argument about Akhenaton that I realized several of our party had disappeared.
‘Curse it!’ I exclaimed. ‘Where is Nefret? If that girl has gone off with –’
‘With Ramses, I expect,’ Emerson said ingenuously. ‘It is a fine moonlit night, Amelia, and young people are too restless to sit still for long.’
‘Have Evelyn and Walter gone for a moonlight stroll too?’
‘It would appear so. Sit down, Peabody, what are you in such a state about?’
‘It is her maternal instincts,’ Cyrus declared seriously. ‘I sympathize, Mrs Amelia; the responsibility for two such young people must be stupendous. What with Ramses’ propensity for accidents and Miss Nefret’s pretty face . . . You’ll be up to your – er – neck in lovesick swains before long, Emerson.’
‘Oh, good Gad,’ said Emerson, with a stricken look at me. ‘Peabody, perhaps you had better go look for her – them.’
It was so like him to have ignored all the obvious signs, including my warnings, until a casual comment from another man caught his attention! I said coolly, ‘I intended to do just that, Emerson. Please do not disturb yourself.’
Picking up my parasol (crimson, to match my frock) I followed the path leading into the shrubbery.
There were others enjoying the tropical beauty of the night – shadowy forms in the darkness, many of them arm in arm. As I went on, I began to regret I had allowed momentary pique to prevent me from urging that Emerson accompany me. Egyptian nights are made for romantic encounters – stars, soft breezes, the languorous scent of jasmine and roses heavy on the air. The moon, nearing the full, cast silvery rays across the path. How could I, who had been and still was susceptible to sentiments of that nature, entirely condemn a young person who yielded to its exquisite sensations?
Because she was fifteen years old, not . . . not as mature as I had been when I was swept off my feet by moonlight and Emerson.
It was the moonlight that betrayed them, glinting in his fair hair. Her form was in deeper shadow, half-concealed by a flowering vine. A breeze rustled the branches; the sound must have hidden the even softer brush of my skirts along the grass. I stopped; and then I heard a woman’s voice.
‘What is it they say here? Word of an Englishman?’
It was not Nefret’s voice. In fact, it was hard to identify, for she spoke in a whisper and a hint of laughter coloured the tones. I knew it must be Gertrude, though, even before the response came in the equally soft but unmistakable voice of Sir Edward Washington.
‘You have it. Do you doubt me?’
‘Give me your hand on it, then – as gentlemen do when they strike a bargain.’
The only answer was an intake of breath. The gleam of fair hair vanished as he moved, and since I did not know whether he was moving forwards or back towards me, I retreated at once.
Returning to the table, I was relieved to find the wanderers had come back.
‘We went for a short stroll,’ Evelyn explained. ‘The view across the river is beautiful.’
‘Did you see the others?’ I asked casually.
‘We ranintoMrO’ConnellandAmherst,’ Walter replied. ‘They were looking for tobacco. The shops are open half the night during Ramadan, you know.’
‘Sir Edward and Miss Marmaduke were not with you?’ Well, I knew they had not been, at least not all the time, but a proper investigator takes nothing for granted.
‘What business is it of yours?