Free The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense by Elizabeth Peters

always get a position with Reisner, at Giza.” She looked so horrified, he put his hand over hers. “I don’t want to work with anyone but Father, you know that. But I have to be with her and I want her to be happy. Why should I expect her to give up her work when I’m not willing to make a reasonable compromise?” “Honestly, Ramses.” His mother gave him a look of exasperation. “I would expect any son of mine to appreciate the talents and aspirations of women, but you are carrying fairness to a ridiculous extreme. What makes you suppose Nefret wants to abandon archaeology? Have you asked her?” “No. I didn’t want —” “To force the issue? Well, my dear, Nefret is not the woman to keep her opinions to herself. You are leaping to unwarranted conclusions and tormenting yourself about something that will never happen. It is a bad habit of yours.” “D’you really think so?” “I am certain of it.” She hesitated, but not for long. Indecision was not one of his mother’s weaknesses. “She once told me something that perhaps you should know. ‘I would leave the hospital forever, without a backward glance, if it would help to keep him safe.’ ” “She said that?” “I do not claim to remember the precise words, but that was unquestionably the gist of her remark. Goodness gracious, Ramses, don’t look so stupefied. If you are really unaware of the strength of your wife’s affection, you have not been paying her the proper attentions.” He didn’t dare ask what she meant by that. Her prim circumlocutions always amused him, but he said humbly and without a smile, “You are right, Mother, as always. I haven’t said anything to her, and I never shall. Please don’t tell her.” “Why, Ramses, I would never betray another individual’s confidence.” She patted his hand. He flinched, and she let out an exclamation of distress. “Oh, dear. I forgot I was holding the needle. Suck it.” Ramses dutifully obeyed. “What is that you’re making?” he asked. It was hard to tell the bloodstains from the pattern. “It’s just a little something to keep my hands occupied. Stop fretting, dear boy, I will talk to Nefret myself. Tactfully.” She stuck the needle into the fabric and folded her work. “It is past time for luncheon. Emerson is late as usual.” He turned up a few minutes later, with Sennia, and dropped rather heavily into a chair. Emerson could work under the hot Upper Egyptian sun from dawn until sunset without any sign of fatigue, but a few hours with Sennia left even him worn out. “Are we ready for lunch?” he asked. “Nefret isn’t back yet,” his wife said. Ramses had been watching the clock. It was after one. His father gave him a critical look. “Is she waiting for you to fetch her?” “No,” Ramses said, and went on, before his father could voice his opinion of a man who would allow his wife to walk the alleys of el-Wasa unattended. “I expect she’s got involved and lost track of the time. The rest of you go down, I’ll run over to the hospital.” He wasn’t worried — not really — but she knew they were due to leave that evening, and she had said she’d be back before luncheon. He took the most direct way to the hospital, the one they always followed, expecting at every turn of the street to see her hurrying toward him. The foul alleys were deserted; the denizens were indoors, resting during the heat of the day. Anger, born of concern, quickened his steps. She had no business worrying him like this, after he had done her the courtesy of leaving her free of his escort. He had almost reached the hospital when a man stepped out into his path. “You must come with me, Brother of Demons.” “Get out of my way, Musa. I haven’t time to listen to el-Gharbi’s compliments.” “You must!” the other man repeated. He held out his hands. Stretched between his palms was the filmy scarf Nefret had worn round her neck that morning. Seeing Ramses’s expression, Musa