The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [18]
“Oh, very well,” said Emerson. He took the box from his pocket and handed it to me. “Do the honors, Peabody, and then return it to my desk. Excuse me. I have a number of things to do before I catch the evening train.”
“Where are you going?” Cyrus demanded in surprise.
“Cairo.” Emerson threw the word over his shoulder and vanished inside.
Fatima brought out the tea things, assisted by the unfortunate youth who was her latest candidate for the role of footman. I wondered how long this one would last. Fatima’s standards were exacting and her criticisms forceful.
Jumana exclaimed over the statuette, and after she had held it for a while, we passed it round. Its effect was increasingly hypnotic. The shimmer of the golden surface and the subtle curves of the body and face made one want to stroke it. Emerson returned, portmanteau in hand, in time to take it from Cyrus and return it to the box. He got a cup of tea for himself and drank it standing.
“So when are you going to talk to Mrs. P.?” Cyrus asked.
“We did so this afternoon,” I replied. “It was an extremely exasperating discussion. She still insists on the absurd notion of a curse, but when Emerson said he had no intention of accepting the statue as a gift I noticed a smug little smile on her face.”
“She knew she could trust the Professor to deal honorably with her,” Jumana said.
“Very smart of the lady,” said Cyrus. He added, with a grin, “I don’t know that I could have withstood the temptation. Is she willing to sell it, and does she have the right to do so?”
“She was deliberately ambiguous,” I said. “But I have the distinct feeling that she would be open to the right offer. As for the second question, she said her husband had left the collection to her.”
Emerson drained his cup. “I wouldn’t take her word if she swore on a stack of Bibles.”
“Aha,” said Cyrus. “Is that why you’re going to Cairo?”
“One of the reasons,” said Emerson.
“Well, while you’re there you ought to see Lacau.”
Emerson did not reply, but my forthright spouse is not very good at hiding his feelings and I have become expert in reading his countenance.
“Why should he see the director of the Antiquities Service?” I asked suspiciously. “We paid our courtesy call on him when we were in Cairo.”
“Well, I guess you didn’t get around to mentioning what we talked about at the end of last season,” said Cyrus. “We were gonna reconsider our plans, remember? The French Institute has expressed an interest in Deir el Medina. They’re prepared to make it a long-term project.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson, trying to look as if this news came as a surprise to him.
“Why, Emerson,” I said in surprise. “Are you thinking of giving up Deir el Medina? You might at least have consulted the rest of us.”
“I have every intention of consulting you,” said Emerson loftily. “Vandergelt is obviously in favor of the idea. Getting bored with your little private tombs, are you, Cyrus?”
Cyrus did not answer directly, but his reply made his feelings plain. “I was up at Deir el Bahri the other day, where the Metropolitan Museum crew are working. They’ve found some darned fascinating things. That queen’s sarcophagus with the painted scenes inside, as fresh and bright as if they had been finished yesterday…” He sighed longingly.
“That’s true,” Emerson said. “But you haven’t a prayer of getting permission to work in their area, Cyrus.”
“No, but there’s lots of other places that have possibilities.”
“Possibilities of new tombs, you mean,” Emerson said. “Is that all you can think of, Vandergelt? Our excavations at Deir el Medina have contributed—”
“Yeah, sure. Be honest, Emerson, you’re losing interest too. You’re as set on temples as I am on tombs.”
“Well, well. As a favor to you, I will discuss the matter with Lacau. Good-bye. Peabody, my dear, I will see you in a few days.”
My husband’s machinations were clear to me now. Emerson had had no intention of giving up Deir el Medina until a more glittering prize glimmered like a mirage on the horizon. He had his eye on the Valley