Free Night Train to Memphis by Elizabeth Peters Page B

it. You’ll have to tell me how you – ’
    ‘Quiet, please.’ Feisal clapped his hands like a teacher calling a class to order. ‘We have only fifteen minutes, there is another group waiting. The reliefs in this chamber .
. .’
    He was a good lecturer, crisp and witty and, so far as I could tell, absolutely accurate. I had a hard time concentrating, since Suzi kept whispering and nudging me. After a while Feisal broke
off and fixed a stern eye on her. ‘Suzi, you are a bad girl, you do not pay attention. Come here and stand by me.’
    Giggling happily, Suzi obeyed. Feisal caught my eye and lowered one eyelid in a discreet wink.
    The sun was high and hot when we left the tomb and set out across the uneven surface of the plateau. Sunlight bleached the sand and rock to a pale buff; though the distance wasn’t great,
several of my companions were puffing and complaining by the time we reached our destination.
    The bus was waiting. I collapsed into a seat with a sigh of relief and accepted a glass of water, tinkling with ice, from a smiling waiter. Not for us the crowded rest house where ordinary
tourists ate and drank, risking not only discomfort but the pharaoh’s curse; the seats had attached trays, like those on planes, and we were served chilled wine and food on fine porcelain.
Even as I thought how easy it was to accustom oneself to such luxuries, my scholar’s conscience reminded me that the exhaust was pouring out pollution that gnawed away the very stones of the
pyramids.
    As soon as everyone was settled, Feisal addressed us. ‘Some of you know that one of our friends was taken ill this morning. You will be glad to hear that Mrs Tregarth is now comfortably
resting in a Cairo hospital . . .’
    I didn’t hear the rest. One word had forced its way through the layers of stupidity that enrobed my brain.
    Cairo. The Cairo Museum was in Cairo. Take it slow, Vicky, slow and easy; you obviously aren’t up to complex reasoning. Right. No question about it. The museum was in Cairo. And now
John was too.
    Not only was he in Cairo (where the museum was) but his departure had been sudden, unexpected, off schedule. I had told myself I had three more weeks. I should have known – damn it, damn
it, I should have known! – that John never stuck to schedules and that the unexpected was his stock-in-trade. The mere sight of me would have warned him that someone had got wind of his
scheme. He wouldn’t abandon it, not John, not until he had to; he’d change his plans, catch me off guard, find an excuse to get to the scene of the crime ahead of schedule, a nice valid
excuse like . . .
    Poisoning his own mother?
    It seemed a trifle extreme, even for John.
    All the same . . .
    I blundered up out of my seat, squeezing past the tray with its load of china and glasses. Bright and Sweet were a few rows ahead of me; I could see Bright’s thick, brown expensive hair
over the top of the seat. They beamed a welcome, but I didn’t wait for an exchange of greetings.
    ‘It’s a shame about Mrs Tregarth, isn’t it?’
    ‘Very sad,’ Sweet said cheerfully. ‘But Feisal says she is on the road to recovery. It should be a lesson to us all, you know; the poor dear lady was constantly overeating.
That is especially dangerous when one is unaccustomed to strange food and water.’
    Bright nodded vigorously. He probably wouldn’t have spoken even if he had been able to, but in this case he wasn’t; he had just shoved an entire stuffed egg into his mouth.
    ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I wonder how long they’ll stay in Cairo. Where the – ’ I managed to stop myself. Larry, in the seat across the aisle, was watching me with a
bewildered smile.
    ‘Let us hope she will be able to join us again soon,’ Sweet said. ‘A pity to lose part of such a delightful trip.’
    I tried again. ‘Especially when it’s also a honeymoon. I suppose her son will stay in Cairo with her?’
    ‘I suppose so.’ Sweet gave me a puzzled look.
    I