Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [134]
“Quite some time. I was lurking, you see,” Sethos explained. “I wanted to have a cheering word with Sennia before she went to bed. Well, Margaret? You wouldn’t want to disappoint Daoud, would you?”
The look she transferred from Sethos to Daoud brought the latter to his feet. “It does not matter,” Daoud said quickly. “I will go now.”
And go he did, after hasty but heartfelt good wishes. Margaret closed her notebook. The crimson scarf hung limp round her neck, as if she had been tugging at it. “Are you ready, O’Connell?” she asked.
“Come, don’t break up the party,” Sethos exclaimed. “Have another whiskey.”
“Well, now,” said Kevin.
Margaret snatched her wrap. “Thank you for a delightful evening,” she snapped, and stalked out of the room.
“Aren’t you going to escort her back to the hotel?” I asked Kevin. He was in a mellow mood, as he always was after a lot of wine and a few whiskeys, and he was basking in the air of goodwill. His freckles glowed and so did his peeling nose.
“No need, no need, Mrs. E. The carriage we hired is waiting and I don’t doubt she’ll take it, leaving me stranded.”
“Sufficient unto the day is the transportation thereof,” said Sethos, taking the empty glass from Kevin’s hand.
I turned to my son and discovered he had already left the room. He returned almost at once to report that Margaret had indeed got into a waiting carriage and driven off before he could offer his services as escort.
Nefret admitted she was tired—not surprising, after such a day—and Ramses went away with her. The rest of us settled down to what proved to be a very enjoyable time. Emerson insisted we sing, and rendered “Here we come a-wassailing” a cappella, very loudly and very off-key. Kevin sang several songs in a sweet tenor, and Sethos joined him in “The Cherry Tree Carol.” We hailed the dawn of the day of the Savior’s birth with a final chorus and went to the door with Kevin. He refused Emerson’s offer to drive him to the river in the motorcar, declaring the fresh air would do him good. He strolled away, not too unsteadily, followed by our repeated farewells of “Happy Christmas,” for on that day of all days it would have been churlish to remember Kevin’s past offenses.
I will not deny that the whiskey may have had something to do with our state of mind.
Emerson seldom overindulges, but on the rare occasions when he does he is a perfect bear next morning, demanding sympathy and denying that he has taken too much to drink.
“Sethos has given me his bloody damned cold,” he insisted.
“You haven’t sneezed once,” I retorted. “A cold shower and a few aspirin will put you right. Pull yourself together. The children are joining us for breakfast.”
Deprived of the sympathy he did not deserve, Emerson followed my instructions, and by the time we were all gathered round the tree and the remaining presents, he was almost himself again. Sethos had pulled himself together too, though he winced whenever one of the children let out a shriek.
“I see your cold is much better,” I said to him. “How is your head?”
“Fatima gave me aspirin,” Sethos said, pressing his hand to his brow.
Over the past weeks we had received several parcels from England; it was these we had saved for Christmas morning, knowing that most of them would be for the twins. Everyone except dear Evelyn had long since given up on Emerson. He conjured up a smile when he opened her gift of a nice pair of gloves, and put them carefully aside. He had no others, since he kept losing them, and I did not suppose these would last any longer.
At my suggestion the grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins had bought books for David John. I hoped they would hold him for a while, since children’s books in English were difficult to obtain in Luxor, but I noticed that he already owned several of them, and that some others were far below his reading ability. However, as I said to David John, he must express proper appreciation and refrain from mentioning the duplications.
I always insisted that the twins write thank-you letters immediately upon