Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [3]
“How nice to see you, Howard,” I said. “We tried several times this summer to communicate with you, but without success.”
“Sorry,” Howard muttered. “I was in and out, you know. Busy.”
“I ran into him by accident at the office of the director,” said Emerson, who had been haunting that spot for two days. He relapsed into gloomy silence. Ramses gave me a meaningful look and tried to revive the conversation.
“Like ourselves, you are out early this year, Carter.”
“Had to be.”
The waiter approached with a tray. He had, with the efficiency one expects at Shepheard’s, noted our number and brought cups and biscuits for all.
“The area where I mean to excavate is very popular with tourists,” Howard resumed. “Want to get it over before they arrive in full force.”
“Ah,” said Ramses. “So Lord Carnarvon has decided on another season. We had heard he was thinking of giving up the firman.”
Emerson made a soft growling sound, but Howard perked up a trifle. “One more season, at least. I persuaded him we must examine that small triangle we left unexcavated near Ramses VI before we can claim we have finished the job we set out to do.” He glanced at Emerson, and added, “I have the Professor to thank for that. Initially his lordship was of the opinion that another season in the Valley would be a waste of time, but when I told him that Professor Emerson had offered to take over the concession and my services, Carnarvon had second thoughts.”
“Naturally,” I said, managing not to look at Emerson. “Well, Howard, we wish you good fortune and good hunting. When are you off to Luxor?”
“Not for a while. I want to visit the antiquities dealers. Though I don’t suppose I will come across anything as remarkable as that statuette you found last year.”
“I doubt you will,” said Emerson, cheering up a bit.
Howard asked about our own plans, and we thanked him for allowing us to continue working in the West Valley, which was properly part of his lordship’s concession. After we had finished tea and Howard had taken his leave, I turned to Emerson.
“Don’t say it,” muttered my husband.
“Emerson, you know I would never reproach you for failing to follow my advice. I did warn you, however, that making that offer to Lord Carnarvon would have an effect contrary to what you had hoped. Given your reputation, your interest was bound to inspire a spirit of competition in—”
“I told you—” Emerson shouted. People at a nearby table turned to stare. Emerson glared at them, and they found other objects of interest. With a visible effort he turned the glare into a pained smile, directed at me. “I beg your pardon, my dear Peabody.”
That brief moment of temper was the most encouraging thing I had seen for months. Ever since my near demise the previous spring Emerson had treated me as if I were still on my deathbed. He hadn’t shouted at me once. It was very exasperating. Emerson is never more imposing than when he is in a rage, and I missed our animated discussions.
I smiled fondly at him. “Ah, well, it is water over the dam. We will not discuss it further. Ramses, when are Nefret and the children due back from Atiyeh?”
Ramses consulted his watch. “They ought to have been here by now, but you know how difficult it is to extract the twins from their admirers in the village.”
“You ought to have gone with them,” said Emerson, still looking for someone to quarrel with.
“Nonsense,” I said briskly. “Selim and Daoud and Fatima went with them, which was only proper, since they wanted to visit with their friends and kinfolk. They ought to be able to keep two five-year-olds from taking harm.”
“It would take more than three or four people to keep Charla from doing something harmful, to herself or others,” said Emerson darkly.
In this assumption he was justified, since his granddaughter had a more adventurous spirit than her brother, and an explosive temper. However, it was not Charla who returned cradled in the muscular arms of Daoud. We had returned to our sitting room in the hotel, and when Emerson saw David John limp as a