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

“I was afraid you would see it that way. What of future favors, then? I am at your command.” “There is nothing I want from you. Nefret, let’s go. The parents will be getting anxious.” “Yes, of course.” She rose. “Good-bye, Mr. el-Gharbi.” She used the English words, possibly because the Arabic terms of farewell invoked a blessing or an expression of goodwill. El-Gharbi didn’t miss the implications. He chuckled richly. “Maassalameh, honored lady. And to you, my beautiful young friend. Remember what I have said. The time may come . . .” “I hope to God it won’t come,” Ramses muttered, as they left the room. “Nefret, are you all right?” “Musa was very polite. No damage, darling, except . . .” She scratched her arm. “Let’s hurry. I expect Father is frantic by this time, and I’m being devoured by fleas.” “That makes two of us.” “My poor darling. What you suffer for me!” The narrow back door was still unbarred. Ramses did not bother replacing the boards. Taking the coward’s way out, he sent a servant to the dining saloon to announce their return, and they went straight to their room and the adjoining bath chamber. When he emerged, wearing only a towel, his father was sitting in an armchair, pipe in hand. “Where is she?” he demanded. “Still bathing. I’ll tell her you’re here.” “Oh,” said Emerson, belatedly aware of his intrusion on their privacy. “Oh. Er —” Ramses opened the door to the bath chamber and announced his father’s presence. Water splashed and Nefret called out, “I’ll be with you in a few minutes, Father.” It wasn’t often that Ramses could embarrass his father and he was rather inclined to enjoy those moments. Emerson was blushing. “You’ve been the devil of a long time,” he complained. “We are due to leave in a few hours, you know.” “It couldn’t be helped.” Ramses dressed as he told Emerson what had happened. He expected an outburst; Emerson had nothing but contempt for procurers in general and el-Gharbi in particular. Instead of shouting, Emerson looked thoughtful. “I wonder if he knows anything about — um — Sethos.” “I didn’t ask. I don’t want to be in his debt, and I was in a hurry to get away. It’s highly unlikely, Father. The illegal antiquities trade was only a sideline, and he’s been shut up in Hilmiya for weeks.” “Hmm, yes.” Emerson brooded. The door of the bath chamber opened and Nefret appeared, wreathed in steam. She was wrapped in a long robe that covered her from chin to bare feet, but Emerson fled, mumbling apologies. Getting my family onto the train — any train — is a task that tries even my well-known patience. Emerson had sent Selim and Daoud on to Luxor a few days earlier, to survey the site and determine what needed to be done. That left seven of us, not counting the cat, who was more trouble than anyone. The railroad station is always a scene of pure pandemonium; people and luggage and parcels and an occasional goat mill about, voices are raised, and arms wave wildly. What with Horus shrieking and thrashing around in his basket, and Sennia trying to get away from Gargery and Basima so she could dash up and down the platform looking for acquaintances, and Emerson darting suspicious glances at every man, woman, and child who came anywhere near him, my attention was fully engaged. The train was late, of course. After I had got everyone on board and in the proper compartment, I was more than ready for a refreshing sip of whiskey and soda. Removing the bottle, the gasogene, and the glasses from the hamper, I invited Emerson to join me. As I could have told him — and indeed, did tell him — it had been a waste of time to look for Sethos. He never did the same thing twice, and he had had ample time to communicate with us had he chosen to do so. Emerson said, “Bah,” and poured more whiskey. I had dispatched telegrams to the Vandergelts and to Fatima, our housekeeper,