The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [44]
On this occasion I had misjudged Nefret. She burst out laughing and settled herself on Ramses’s lap, winding her arms round his neck. “I’m not accusing you of anything, darling, except being irresistible to women—through no fault of your own.”
“Oh,” said Ramses. He gave me a self-conscious look, then grinned and put his arm round his wife, who wriggled into a more comfortable position. I smiled benignly at them.
“Never mind the Pethericks, your father will be back tomorrow and we will be in a better position to deal with them. Should we not meet the train?”
“Not under any circumstances” was Ramses’s emphatic reply. “We would be followed to the station by every journalist in Luxor, and there is a faint chance Father may be able to escape their attentions if his arrival is not heralded by us.”
“They will find out,” I predicted. “Emerson is a conspicuous individual.”
Emerson’s arrival the following morning was certainly conspicuous. As he told us later, several persons on the train had recognized him, and as he made his way through the streets of Luxor, his entourage grew. When we first beheld him striding up the road he was followed by a crowd of people. They stayed at a respectful distance, since Emerson kept swatting at them and shouting threats. Seeing the rebuilt guardhouse, he stopped and stared at it. We could hear him all the way to the veranda.
“What the devil is this?” he demanded of Wasim, who had returned to his duties. Wasim’s reply was inaudible, but Emerson nodded in satisfaction. “If anyone, male or female, attempts to get past you, shoot to kill.”
He came on at his usual brisk pace. A thrill of pride and admiration ran through my limbs at the sight of that stalwart form, unbowed by the years, impressive as a Roman god. To be sure, his suit was in a frightful state of wrinkles, his necktie was askew, and his black hair (what the devil had he done with his new hat?) looked as if it had not seen comb or brush for days. A smile spread across his tanned face when he saw me waiting at the door, and he quickened his steps.
A slight diversion was occasioned by the arrival of the twins, who were followed by the dog, who was followed by the Great Cat of Re. Emerson’s immediate reaction—quite understandable, I admit—was to push both children behind him and aim a blow at the dog’s head. The blow missed, since the beast immediately collapsed at his feet.
“Good Gad,” said Emerson, as the children tugged at him, emitting shrill cries of explanation and expostulation. “Who—what—where—”
“It’s all right, Father. She’s perfectly harmless. Ramses thought we needed a watchdog.” Nefret opened the door. Emerson, not entirely convinced, pushed the children in and followed. The dog would have done the same had not the Great Cat of Re stepped in front of it. The dog backed off, the Great Cat of Re walked in, and Amira lay down outside, her face pressed to the screen.
“Well, well,” said Emerson. “Not a bad idea.” He directed a malignant glare at the crowd gathered round the guardhouse. “If you are sure the creature won’t harm the children.”
“Amira is a noble beast,” said David John.
“She would let us ride her, but Mama says we may not,” Carla said. “What did you bring me, Grandpapa?”
With a self-conscious look at me, Emerson removed two small packets from his pocket and handed one to each child. He had visited the suk and bought a silver bracelet for Carla and a box of colored pencils for David John. “Now run along,” he said. “And take the dog with you.”
Carla gave him a huge hug. “I don’t want to leave you, Grandpapa. Fatima has made sugar cakes.”
Emerson chuckled and I said, “You may not have any sweets, Carla, it’s too close to luncheon. Go to Fatima.”
Emerson removed his coat, tie, and waistcoat, tossed them onto a chair, and sat down on