The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [23]
The upper deck, which formed the roof of the cabins, had been fitted out with chairs and lounges, awnings and little tables, to form a pleasant open-air parlour. My housewifely eye could not help noticing that the awnings sagged and that the rugs clashed horribly with the upholstery of the chairs; but my full attention was captured by the individual who sprawled upon the largest of the sofas – yet scarcely large enough, I feared, to stand up under the strain.
He occupied its full length, his head and shoulders raised by a pile of cushions, his enormous girth swelling up from his chin and down to feet as small as a woman’s. On them he wore dainty slippers so heavily embroidered with gold and sequins that the underlying fabric could not be seen. An emerald the size of a pullet’s egg adorned his cloth-of-gold turban. By contrast, his robe was puritanically plain, without so much as a row of braid: light grey in colour and voluminous as a tent, it caught the light with the rich glow of velvet. Squatting behind him, motionless as statues, were two men wearing a kind of livery consisting of loose trousers and matching vests and turbans of the same unadorned grey.
Emerson had come to a dead stop. ‘So,’ he said. ‘You are still alive. I hoped one of your innumerable enemies had finished you off.’
Though the vast shape of his body resembled that of a beached whale, the fellow’s face was heavy rather than fat, especially around the clean-shaven jaws and chin. They protruded like the muzzle of an animal, and when the wide lips parted, they displayed teeth yellow as old ivory.
‘Courteous as ever, O Father of Curses,’ he said, in English almost as pure as Emerson’s. ‘Will you not present me to the honoured Sitt your wife and to your beautiful and talented children?’
The beautiful and talented children had, as I might have expected, followed us. The visitor appeared quite struck by them, especially by Nefret. He stared, openly and rudely, until Emerson stepped in front of the girl as if to shield her from that intent gaze.
‘No, I will not,’ he said. ‘Nefret, we will join you in the saloon shortly. Go with her, Ramses.’
When Emerson speaks in that particular tone, not even Ramses disobeys him. The visitor laughed. ‘Then I will present myself. You need no introduction, Sitt Hakim; your fame is in the streets and the sûks and the palaces. I am Giovanni Riccetti.’
‘Good heavens. I know your name, of course.’ And indeed I did. Emerson had mentioned it on several occasions. In his time Riccetti had been the most notorious antiquities dealer in Egypt.
‘You do me too much honour, Sitt. I have long looked forward to this moment.’
‘Never mind that,’ said Emerson. ‘What are you doing here? They said you had retired.’
‘I have. I live in scholarly seclusion, enjoying the modest fruits of my labours – my flowers and fountains, my books, my studies, other harmless –’
‘Ha,’ said Emerson. ‘Your habits were not always so harmless, Riccetti. Come to the point. What do you want?’
‘To be of service to you. Only the regard I feel for one so distinguished could have drawn me from my quiet courtyard, where the tinkle of fountains and the scent of roses . . .’ He broke off and raised a long pale hand, sparkling with gems. ‘Now, my friend, don’t lose that notorious temper of yours, it is bad for your health. There are rumours in the sûks that may affect your health as well. Did you have a visitor last evening?’
The flush of anger faded from Emerson’s face, leaving it hard as granite. ‘You must know I did, or you would not ask.’
‘Would you care to tell me what transpired at that meeting?’
‘No. Would you care to tell me why you have the impertinence to inquire? Do you know the fellow?’
‘He was well known in certain circles.’
‘Those same circles in which you were once so prominent?’
‘Whatever connections I once had were severed long ago. But I still . . . hear . . . of certain matters.’
Neither of them paid the least attention to me; eyes locked, they exchanged questions