Mummy Dearest (2 page)

However, because of whoever it was, we had an all-expenses-paid honeymoon to an exotic locale. We had a suite in the Winter Palace, where the idle rich had come for more than a hundred years to play whist, gingerly poke around dusty tombs, and enjoy the balmy fall and winter weather. Situated at one end of the third floor, the suite had a large parlor with fiercely floral upholstered sofas and chairs, and an eclectic mix of antique (sideboard, framed paintings, gaudy vases) and contemporary (mini-bar, TV) furnishings. Massive arrangements of flowers and a tray of fresh and dried fruit had awaited us. I had not yet seen the girls’ bedroom, but the master bedroom had a fireplace, a sitting area, and a bathroom with a stall shower, a marble vanity, and a bathtub in which one might swim laps.

There was a knock. Caron hurried past me to the front door of the parlor.

“She ordered coffee from room service while you were taking a shower,” Inez explained.

“Oh,” I murmured, somewhat unnerved by their display of thoughtfulness. Although Caron was still plagued by fits of adolescent pique, she was beginning to show more frequent outbursts of maturity. I didn’t know if it was due to the arrival of her seventeenth birthday, her ascendancy to status of an upperclassman, or my marriage. September had been a month fraught with significance for all of us.

Caron came out to the balcony and whispered, “Am I supposed to tip him?”

I looked back at the elderly man in a white coat, who was gathering up orange and banana peels from the coffee table. He was bald, his scalp dappled with dark blemishes; his face was creased like a walnut shell. “I don’t know,” I said, “so let’s not worry about it now. I’ll ask Peter when he gets here.”

“This was delivered to the front desk,” she said, handing me an envelope. Peter’s meticulously proper prep school handwriting on the front was easy to identify. “The guy in there brought it for you. This is a bizarre honeymoon, Mother. I mean, what’s the point if all the two of you are going to do is correspond? We could have stayed home.”

Ignoring her, I went into the parlor and nodded at the man. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “It is my pleasure. My name is Abdullah, and I will be your houseman for your time with us. If there is any little thing I can do to make your stay most pleasant, please call the desk and they will send me here. Are your rooms to your liking?”

“Everything is lovely,” I said.

“Would madam care to order breakfast, or will you prefer the buffet on the patio adjoining the restaurant? It is served until ten o’clock.”

Caron gave him a wary look. “I don’t know about this buffet. I need something more substantial than pickled onions and hummus.”

“Oh no, miss,” Abdullah said. “Many of our guests are British or American. You will find toast and eggs, cereal, and fruit, and also cold meats and cheeses. The bacon and sausages are made of turkey meat, but I am told they are tasty.”

Inez sounded disappointed as she said, “No traditional Arab dishes?”

“Those, also,” he said, smiling at her.

“We’ll go down to the buffet,” I said to Abdullah. “I don’t believe there’s anything else we need right now. Thank you very much for the coffee.”

After he’d left, I poured myself a cup of coffee. I opened
the envelope and read Peter’s note, then said, “He apologizes for missing our arrival, but will be here in time to take us out to dinner. He suggests we spend the day resting or exploring the area around the hotel. There are plenty of shops within a block or two. We can have lunch here.”

“Is that all?” asked Caron.

“The rest is personal.” I tucked the note in my bathrobe pocket. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed; then we’ll go downstairs for breakfast.” The girls were wearing shorts, T-shirts, and sandals. The guidebooks had sworn that such attire was suitable for tourist activities, with the exception of holy Muslim sites. I opted for slacks and a cotton blouse, ran a comb through my red curls, and put the heavy room key in my purse.

When we reached the multi-leveled lobby, with its impressively high ceiling, plush carpets, brass urns holding plants, and grandiose staircase, the manager hurried over. I vaguely recognized him from the previous afternoon when we’d staggered into the hotel, bleary and shell-shocked.

“Good morning,
Sitt
Malloy-Rosen,” he said, beaming at me. “I hope you had a nice long sleep and that the traffic did not disturb you. Some nights the drivers honk their cars and drummers gather on the pier. In the old days, our valued guests were obliged to endure only the clopping of horses as they pulled carriages along the corniche. Now, the youths have radios that blare more loudly than braying camels. We at the Winter Palace can only apologize and beg your forgiveness.”

It seemed to me that “in the old days” the manager was more likely to have been wearing diapers instead of a black suit and a striped tie. “It’s not a problem,” I said. “All cities are noisy.”

“Yes, you are so very correct. Cairo is much, much worse. Here we have only one hundred and fifty thousand citizens. Cairo has ten million, with air that smells very bad and much poverty and crime. You and Mr. Rosen are wise to bring your young ladies here to Luxor. I do hope he will be joining you soon.”

The final remark was more of a request for information than a sentiment. I chose to overlook it. “We’re looking forward to seeing all the wonderful archeological wonders of Luxor, but right now we’re more interested in breakfast. If you’ll be so kind as to point us in the right direction …”

“I shall escort you.” He barked something in Arabic to a desk clerk, then gestured at a short flight of steps up to a hallway. “The restaurants and patio dining are in the New Winter Palace, which was added to accommodate those who are unable to afford the Winter Palace. You are in the Presidential Suite. Directly across the hall is a stairwell that will take you to the New Winter Palace. This will save you the necessity of walking down the corridor to the elevators to come through the lobby. The entrance is not so grand there, but you may find it convenient. We at the Winter Palace are very proud of our marble staircases from the driveway to the lobby, which have been shown in many American movies. Perhaps you have seen
Death on the Nile
, based on a novel by Agatha Christie? She was a very fine writer of mystery novels. She visited Cairo when she was a girl, and her second husband was a noted archeologist. Many famous archeologists have stayed here at the Winter Palace, including Howard Carter, who found King Tut’s tomb almost ninety years ago. You will see many photographs of him and his benefactor, the Earl of Carnarvon, in our bar.”

I silently vowed to avoid the lobby in the future. Behind me I heard a noise that was either rumbling or grumbling, which suggested I was not the only one with the same idea. By the time we reached the patio door, I knew that the manager’s name was Ahmed, that he was born in Luxor, learned English as a purser on an British ship, had a cousin in Milwaukee, and would die in order to protect us from speeding taxis. I stopped him before he could seat us at a table and drape napkins on our laps, and sent him away as graciously as possible. The girls and I perused the buffet and returned to our table with standard American fare.

“That man is a menace,” Caron said as she spread jam on a roll.

Inez nodded. “It’s tempting to go stand in the middle of the corniche and see if he keeps his word.”

“He’s just trying to be helpful,” I said. “Egyptians are friendly, and they cherish tourists, who are vital to the economy. Ever since the—” I caught myself before I blurted out the phrase “terrorist attacks.”

“Ever since what?” demanded Caron.

“The discovery of the tomb of King Tutankhamun,” I said quickly. “In 1922, by Howard Carter. Nearly ten million tourists come to Egypt every year.”

Inez gazed at me. Unlike Caron, whose sole preparation for the trip had been to watch
Lawrence of Arabia
and shop for sunglasses, Inez had read everything I had at my bookstore, then moved on to the Farber College library. I’d overheard her trying to teach Caron a few words of Arabic. I could tell from Inez’s expression that she knew about the terrorist attack at the Temple of Hatshepsut in 1997 and the more recent incidents at resorts on the Red Sea. She also knew how Caron would respond if the topic was aired.

“Oh yeah,” Caron said, examining the omelet on her plate for any hint that an alien ingredient might have been slipped inside it despite her vigilance.

I asked a waiter to bring me a pot of tea, then forced myself to eat a piece of toast and a few bites of melon. The tedious trip had not only exhausted me, but also confused my body. We’d been plied with food and drink along the way, although not with any reference to my internal rhythm. It would be wise, I thought, to take things easy for a day or two until I was acclimatized. Caron and Inez appeared to have already done so, but they were seventeen and thought nothing of staying up all night to watch movies, feast on junk food, and paint their toenails cerise.

“Howdy, ma’am and little ladies. You reckon I might join you?” The speaker, a tall man with thick gray hair combed into a sculpted pompadour, pulled out a chair and sat down across from me. He wore a white suit, ornately detailed leather boots, and a bolo tie; all that was missing was a broad-brimmed hat with a rattlesnake band. “Please send me
off with my tail between my legs if I’m interrupting, ma’am. I’ve spent the last week minglin‘ with the natives, and I was thinking it would be right nice to talk to some Americans for a change. Name’s Sittermann, from Houston in the great state of Texas. I’m what you call an entrepreneur. I’m lookin’ into building a theme park outside of Cairo, with a roller coaster, water slides, rides, and costumed characters like King Tut and Cleopatra.”

“You’re welcome to join us,” I said inanely, since he already had and was waving at a waiter.

“This your first time in Egypt?” he asked.

Caron and Inez were both glaring at him. I frowned at them, then said, “Yes, it is, Mr. Sittermann, but not yours, I gather.”

He spoke in Arabic to the waiter, then sat back and said, “You’re very astute, Mrs….?”

“Malloy. This is my daughter, Caron, and her friend, Inez.”

“I hope you enjoy yourselves. There’s all sorts of places to see in Luxor, presuming you like to look at old rocks. The Temple of Luxor’s right next to the hotel, but you got to walk a good ways to the entrance to go inside.”

Inez regained control of herself. “Primarily built by Amenhotep, from 1390 to 1352
B.C.
, on the site of a sanctuary built by Hatshepsut and dedicated to the deities Amun, Mut, and Khons. Amun was the most important god of Thebes, later worshipped as Amun-Ra.”

Caron threw her napkin on the table. “Enough, okay? I am not going to spend the next two weeks in a dreary documentary that drones on and on about every stupid little name and date. I would rather throw myself off the balcony. Mother, promise that you’ll take my body home for a proper burial. I don’t want to spend eternity being gnawed by jackals.” She shoved back her chair. “I’m going up to the room to see what’s on TV. I’m sure Egyptian cable will be more fascinating than this.”

She stalked into the hotel. After a moment, Inez placed her napkin next to her plate and followed her. A waiter
swept in and removed their glasses and plates. A nondescript brown bird fluttered to the table and began to peck at crumbs.

“We’re all tired,” I said to Sittermann. “We arrived late yesterday afternoon.”

“No need to apologize, Mrs. Malloy. I know how it is with young folks. One minute they’re all courteous and charming, and the next minute they’re spoiled brats. Jet lag brings out the worst side in some folks.”

“They are not spoiled brats,” I said with a trace of coldness, not mentioning that this was hardly their worst side.

“Why, I’d never imply they were. I was just making a general observation. I’m sure that your young ladies will recover their good spirits when they’ve rested up.” He refilled his coffee cup from the small pot. “Will Mr. Malloy be joining you soon?”

Only as a mummy, I thought, resisting the urge to giggle at the image that popped into my mind. Carlton Malloy, my first husband, was residing in the cemetery in Farberville, due to an unfortunately close encounter with a chicken truck on a snowy mountain road, and, more unfortunately, in the company of one of his more curvaceous blond students. The scandalous details had been hushed up by the college administration, but their exposure by a romance writer had resulted in murder. Lieutenant Peter Rosen had had the audacity to suspect me, then almost crossed the line by accusing me of flouncing. It had made for a tenuous start to our relationship. “I very much doubt that,” I said, then took a sip of tea.

“It’s brave of you to travel without a man to watch out for you. Egypt’s not as bad as some of the Arab countries, but pretty women like yourself are liable to attract unwanted attention.”

“I’m sure they do,” I said, “but the girls and I are capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“All the same, I’d be honored to escort you all on any of your excursions. I’ve been doing business over here for a long while. I can’t say that I understand how they think, but
I know for a fact that they’re more than willing to take advantage of single women, especially Westerners. Be real careful about being overcharged, even by the hotel staff. Any man who so much as opens a door for you will expect baksheesh, but just brush ’em off like flies. Don’t ever get in a taxi without settling on a price first.”

“Thank you for your advice,” I said, wondering if he was distantly related to the hotel manager. “However, my husband will be joining us this evening, so you need not concern yourself further.”

I expected my boorish companion to question this, but he merely shrugged. “That takes a load off my mind, Mrs. Malloy. I just didn’t want to think about you and the little fillies being pestered and cheated on account of your sex. How long will you be staying here in Luxor?”

“I really couldn’t say, Mr. Sittermann. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on the girls. It’s a long drop from the balcony, and my daughter is capable of almost anything.”