Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [169]
Her eyes moved to a couple whirling past—Nadji and Suzanne, whose healths we had all drunk in Cyrus’s best champagne. They were to work with Cyrus for the remainder of the season, Nadji as staff artist, and Suzanne as Jumana’s assistant.
“Seeing Sir William’s appalling behavior,” Katherine resumed, “made me realize that I had not overcome my own prejudices. It was like a caricature of my worst attitudes. Look at those two—blissfully happy—and I would once have said their marriage was doomed from the start.”
“They will have difficulties to overcome,” I admitted. “Including the differences in their religions. However, marriage is always a chancy business, Katherine. I have known individuals who appeared perfectly suited, by family background, religion, and nationality, who were thoroughly miserable.”
“So you believe in taking the chance?”
“Certainly. What is life without some risk?”
She laughed and cut off another another bit of frosted cake. “That is my resolution, then. To take a few risks, and let others take theirs.”
“Ah,” I said. “Excuse me, Katherine. I have just remembered something I must do.”
Jumana was dancing with Sethos, who was, in my opinion, holding her too tightly. She did not seem to mind. When the waltz ended, I asked if I might have a few minutes of her time.
“The next is Ramses’s,” she said, glancing at her dance card.
“He can wait. This cannot, it has gone on too long. You do care for Bertie, and not only as a friend. Don’t deny it. Why won’t you marry him?”
Jumana went white and then bright red. “How did you know?” she gasped.
“Detecting romantic attachments is one of my talents,” I replied. “Why won’t you?”
She looked me straight in the eye. “It would break his mother’s heart. She has been good to me. I will not go where I am not wanted.”
“Pride,” I said, shaking my head. “It is cold comfort when one is unhappy, Jumana. Why not take a chance? Who knows, you might be pleasantly surprised.”
Ramses turned up to claim his dance; I handed Jumana over to him with a comfortable feeling that matters were proceeding nicely. I took the additional precaution of saying a few words to Bertie, and sure enough, by the end of the evening we had another pair of lovers to toast. Cyrus’s look of pride and pleasure was very nice to see, and so was Katherine’s maternal embrace. The engaged couple appeared to be somewhat stupefied. But they would get over it.
All in all, it was a thoroughly satisfactory evening. The final touch was delivered in the form of a telegram, which we found waiting on our return home. Mr. Smith was as brief as Emerson would have been, but much more original. “The wrong has failed, the right prevailed. Happy New Year.”
I had always suspected the man had the rudiments of a sense of humor.
Our own family gatherings were made more poignant by the knowledge that they were for the last time. The last game of chess (lost by David), the last little books of Charla’s, to be delivered to the grandparents in England, the last of Fatima’s magnificent teas, the last visits to the Valley of the Kings.
David couldn’t stay away from the Valley. He took his drawing materials with him, and watched the removal of each item with yearning eyes. The crowds around the tomb had become a real nuisance, and I would have felt sorry for Howard had he not behaved so badly. Yet one could hardly blame the sightseers. The clearance had proceeded apace. Item after astonishing item had been taken along the path to the tomb of Seti II. Howard had made some concession to the visitors by allowing the artifacts to be carried uncovered.
After we had returned to the house following one such visit, Ramses sought me out. “There is a matter I’ve been wanting to discuss with you, Mother.”
“I can guess what it is.”
“Can you?”
“My dear, one is always en rapport with those one loves. You are thinking of David, wishing you could gain him entry to Tutankhamon’s tomb. I have racked my brains for a means of doing so, but to no avail. I even lowered myself by writing to Howard,