Part 23 (2/2)
”And then what?” She responded as any woman of spirit would, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes and heightened color in her cheeks. ”Will you take me to live with you and your latest mistress?”
I feared that would arouse the sort of cutting response at which Sethos was so expert. Instead he replied quietly, ”The lady to whom you refer is my dear companion, and will be my wife as soon as I can persuade her to accept my proposal of marriage.”
”She has refused you? Why?”
It might not have been intended as a compliment, but her tone of surprise made it sound like one.
”She doesn't consider me reliable. I can't imagine why.” His rueful smile would have been hard for any woman to resist-and, as I had realized from the start, she did not want to resist. Hards.h.i.+p and suffering had softened her; only stubborn pride had prevented her from yielding at once. Her lips trembled and her wide hazel eyes overflowed. She turned to him; slowly, almost timidly, he held out his arms and gathered her into his embrace.
It was a touching sight. Emerson would have been sniffing and clearing his throat. I put my cup on the table and rose. ”I will leave you alone now,” I said. ”You have everything you need, I believe.”
Over the tumbled brown curls that rested against his breast, Sethos looked up at me. ”Everything,” he said. ”Thank you, Amelia.”
They were all waiting for me on the veranda. I had to admire six or seven crayon scribbles before the children retired to make more, and I was able to satisfy the curiosity of the adults. I waved aside Evelyn's offer of tea. Emerson immediately handed me a stiff whiskey and soda.
”All's well,” I said. ”When I left them she was sobbing in his fatherly embrace.”
The reactions were somewhat mixed. Evelyn's sweet face glowed, Emerson gave a great sigh, and David and Lia murmured words of approval and congratulation. My son's phlegmatic countenance did not change.
”I find it difficult to picture Sethos as a doting father,” he said. ”Now what, Mother?”
”I have made all the arrangements,” I replied, holding out my empty gla.s.s to Emerson. I felt ent.i.tled to the indulgence, for really, it had been a tiring day. ”They will dine together on the dahabeeyah, where Sethos is staying, and afterward he will escort her back to the Isis. She will give in her notice and then . . . Then I suppose she had better come to us until he makes permanent plans for her. I have a number of ideas about that, but I did not want to mar the warmth of their reunion with practical suggestions.”
The last of the sunlight vanished as the sun sank below the western mountains; in the dusky twilight the lights of distant Luxor twinkled like fallen stars. The genial beverage-I refer in this case to whiskey and soda-had its usual soothing effect; I was somewhat slow to realize that silence had followed my statement, instead of the eager questions (and commendations) I had expected.
”I trust there was no difficulty getting Lieutenant Wickins and the aeroplane away safely?” I inquired.
”He got off all right,” Ramses said. ”Whether he makes it to Cairo is another matter. It will be a near thing-the range of that aircraft is between three and four hundred miles-but he seemed to regard it as a fine lark. He was carrying extra petrol. Nefret, shouldn't the children go to bed?”
This process ordinarily took quite some time. It began to dawn on me, as the young parents hurried their offspring through good-night kisses and embraces, that something had happened, something they did not want to discuss in front of the children. My affectionate concern pictured one disaster after another: Selim mangled by the propeller of the aeroplane, Cyrus suffering a heart attack, Bertie pale and dead of poison, a suicide note clutched in his stiffening hand . . . No, that was too absurd. He had better sense, even if I did suspect him of writing poetry on the sly.
Sennia was the last to leave-she considered that her right, since she was the eldest. Horus followed her out, and the Great Cat of Re emerged from under the settee, his tail waving like a plume of dark smoke.
”Well?” I cried. ”Do not keep me in suspense, Emerson. Something terrible has happened, I know it. Is it Cyrus, or-”
”Nothing like that, Peabody. Good Gad, you must learn to control your rampageous imagination. There's been a body found. The remains of one, rather.”
”Ah,” I said, relieved. ”No one we know, then.”
”That seems to be the question,” said Emerson. ”The police think the fellow was not an Egyptian. They've asked Nefret to come to the zabtiyeh and examine him. Them. Bones.”
”Where were they found?”
”In the desert east of Luxor.”
”In that case,” I said, rising, ”I will tell Fatima to serve dinner immediately. I had hoped I would not have to ride that horse again today.”
”Can't wait to get at a corpse, can you?” Emerson inquired, baring his large white teeth. ”Dismiss the idea, Peabody. It can wait until tomorrow. He isn't going anywhere.”
As Ramses explained during dinner, the determination of s.e.x and race had been arrived at because of the sc.r.a.ps of clothing found with the bones. I expressed my surprise at the deductive powers of the police official, and at his request for Nefret's services. He could have spared himself considerable trouble by disposing of the remains without bothering to mention them to the British authorities.
”He's a new broom,” Ramses replied. ”The old chief tottered off into retirement a few months ago. Ibrahim Ayyad is young, ambitious, energetic, and canny enough to avoid stirring up trouble until he's certain of his conclusions.”
I had reached certain conclusions of my own, but like the admirable Mr. Ayyad, I was canny enough not to commit myself. If the others shared my suspicions they did not say so.
I had intended to pay a quick visit to the dahabeeyah before accompanying Nefret to Luxor, but it did not prove necessary. Sethos arrived at break of day. Informed of his presence by Gargery, I hastily finished dressing and went to the veranda, where I found that Fatima had brought him coffee. He looked reasonably respectable in flannels and tweed coat, which Nasir must have pressed for him. The bruises had faded to a greenish yellow, and the beard was now well developed.
”Breakfast will be served shortly,” I informed him.
”So Fatima told me, with apologies for the delay. Sit down, Amelia, and let us watch the sunrise together. You will no doubt appreciate the symbolism.”
Pale clouds of rose and amber washed the cerulean blue of the heavens. It was the same sight I had watched so often with Abdullah, from a greater height. The symbolism did not elude me.
”You have made your peace with Maryam, then?”
”We had quite an emotional few hours,” said Sethos, at his ease. ”She's a moist young woman, isn't she? I don't recall her weeping so much.”
”She has had cause for tears.”
The tone rather than the words themselves conveyed the reprimand I intended. His eyes avoided mine. ”My remark was in poor taste. You have reason to believe me a poor parent, but I did spend time with the child whenever I could. I don't . . . The truth is . . . Confound it, Amelia, I felt as if I were speaking with a stranger-a pretty, mannerly young woman so unlike the rebellious child I once knew that I found it difficult to believe she was the same person.”
”The change is for the better, isn't it?”
He nodded without speaking, his face still averted. ”Children change a great deal as they become adults,” I said. ”One might say that they do become different people. Just look at Ramses!”
He looked up, his strangely colored eyes brightening from pale hazel to paler gray as the light caught them. ”A most encouraging example, it is true. Oh, we got on quite well, avoiding by mutual consent such delicate subjects as her mother's career as a murderess.”
”You will have to face that subject sooner or later.” I spoke rather sharply. Cynicism was his defense against emotion, but it was high time-in my opinion-he dropped those defenses against his daughter. ”Get it out into the open and set her straight. I doubt she has heard the true story.”
”She did seem chastened. She spoke gratefully of you.”
”All the more reason to clear the air. I will do it if you s.h.i.+rk the task.”
”Better you than I. You are very good at setting people straight.”
”I will find a suitable opportunity,” I promised. ”So you took her back to the Isis last night?”
”Yes. The old lady had retired, so I did not present myself. I am to fetch Maryam and her belongings, such as they are, later today, and bring her back to the dahabeeyah.”
”It would not be proper for her to stay there with you.”
”For G.o.d's sake, Amelia, she's my daughter!”
”Do you want everyone in Luxor to know that?”
Sethos scratched his chin. The scruffy beard and the healing cuts itched, I supposed. ”I am becoming weary of inventing new ident.i.ties and preposterous plots, Amelia. So far as her employer is concerned, I am an old friend of her father. Maryam says the old lady is a trifle vague, so she won't ask awkward questions; the busy gossips of Luxor certainly will, however. I have decided to be Major Hamilton again. Retired, of course. There's an outside chance that someone may remember Maryam as Molly, and that's the easiest way of explaining my interest in her.”
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