The Golden One (38 page)

‘He can’t be that bad,’ Nefret protested.

‘Ha! D’you remember Lieutenant Chetwode?’

‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Not that ingenuous baby-faced young man who came to Deir el Medina with Cartright?’

‘Cartright claims he is his best man,’ Ramses said. ‘He must be older and less ingenuous than he looks, since he has been in intelligence for over two years.’

‘Doing what?’ Nefret demanded. ‘Sitting behind a desk filing reports?’

‘What does it matter?’ Emerson said. ‘His assignment is not to assist Ramses but to make sure he does what he has said he will do. That bastard Cartright doesn’t trust
him.’

Nefret let out an indignant expletive. I said judiciously, ‘He does have a nasty suspicious mind. To be sure, a sensible individual, which Ramses is not, would go into hiding for a few
days and then report that he had determined that Ismail Pasha was not the man they are after. Perhaps if I were to have a little chat with General Murray – ’

‘No, Mother,’ Ramses said, politely but emphatically. ‘He wouldn’t have approved the scheme if I had not agreed to take Chetwode with me. He’s a likable boy, and
not as hopeless as Father makes him sound. It’ll be all right.’

‘Every time you say that, something disastrous occurs,’ I exclaimed.

‘Now, Mother, don’t exaggerate. It doesn’t always.’ He was back to normal, his smile broad and carefree, but the concern of a mother informed me he was holding something
back.

‘What other orders do you have?’ I asked.

Emerson, who had been deep in thought, looked up. ‘Oh, nothing much,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Scout the Turkish defences, look for weak points, and while you’re at it,
sound out the governor to see if he would accept a bribe.’

‘Hold your fire, Mother, I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort,’ Ramses said quickly. ‘The chaps in charge still labour under the delusion that “Johnny
Turk” is a white-livered coward. You’d think they’d have learned better after Rafah and Gallipoli.’

‘But the military mind is slow to accept new ideas,’ I agreed. ‘Are they planning a direct assault on Gaza?’

‘I have not been taken into their confidence,’ Ramses said dryly. ‘I’d bribe the damned governor if I could. It would save countless lives.’

‘You can’t,’ Emerson said positively. ‘Anyhow, von Kressenstein is the one in command of the Gaza defences. He’d have you shot if you offered him a bribe. Stick to
your primary aim, my boy, and get the hell out of Gaza as soon as you can.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Ramses said.

‘When do you leave?’ Nefret asked steadily.

‘It will take a while to make the necessary arrangements,’ Ramses said. She gave him a reproachful look, and he went on, ‘I’m not being deliberately evasive, dear. I need
to learn all I can about our present dispositions in south Palestine before I decide on the best way of getting into the city. Then there’s the little matter of transport. They’ve
pushed the rail lines as far as Rafah, but most of the traffic is military, and if I tried to pass as a British officer, it would mean being subject to orders from people who didn’t know who
I was, or letting too many military types in on the secret. I don’t want even Cartright to know my plans: I politely refused several of his suggestions.’

‘You don’t trust him?’ I asked.

Ramses began pacing restlessly up and down the room. ‘I don’t trust any of the bas— any of them. I still don’t know how Bracegirdle-Boisdragon fits into this; he’s
made no further attempt to communicate with us, and when I posed a carefully phrased question to Cartright, he stiffly informed me that I was taking orders from him and no one else.’

‘It’s the usual interservice rivalry, as I said,’ remarked Emerson, with a curling lip. ‘They keep more secrets from one another than from the enemy.’

Ramses shrugged. He had said all he was going to say on the subject.

‘What makes them suppose Sethos – if it is he – will stay in Gaza?’ I asked. ‘Ramses, you won’t go haring off to Constantinople or Jerusalem after
him?’

‘Even if he’s left by the time I arrive, there will be news of him. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

He was being deliberately evasive now, and we all knew it. He was right, though; it was impossible to plan ahead.

For the next several days we were all busy about our different affairs. At my insistence, we kept up the pretence that we were in Cairo for personal reasons – a little holiday away from
the family, the need to do a little research at the Museum. We dined out every evening, at one of the hotels, with as carefree a mien as we could manage, and if Emerson shouted at the waiters more
often than usual, no one thought anything of it.

I remember one of those evenings with a particular poignancy. We were lingering over coffee after an excellent dinner at Shepheard’s and listening to the orchestra render a selection from
The Merry Widow
. Emerson came out of his fog of frowning introspection when he heard the familiar strains of the waltz, and asked if I would like to dance. I pointed out to him that the
dancing had not yet begun. It did soon thereafter, and several couples took the floor. Emerson asked me again, and I pointed out to him that the tune was not a waltz. It was another of the ballads
that had become popular in the past few years – the kind of song Ramses had once described as tools of the warmonger, with their sentimental references to love and duty and sacrifice. I knew
this one very well. Nefret had played it the night we got the news of the death in battle of our beloved nephew Johnny.

Ramses rose and offered Nefret his hand. I don’t know what had moved him to want to dance to that song; perhaps the memory of Johnny, who had loved music and gaiety and laughter, perhaps a
sudden need to take her in his arms. In my opinion the new dances were not nearly so pretty as the waltz, but they certainly offered the opportunity for close embraces.

It was always a pleasure to watch them dance together, they moved with such matching grace, even in the clumsy (in my opinion) two-step. She was wearing a gown of pale blue voile printed with
little flowers, a copy of a favourite garment of Ramses’s that had been worn to shreds and discarded. Her skirts floated out as he turned her.

My sentimental husband cleared his throat and reached for my hand. There was no need for speech; we were both thinking the same thoughts: of Johnny, only one of the millions of gallant young men
who were lost forever; and of another young man, even dearer, who was about to disappear into the dark underworld of war. Would we ever see our children dance together again?

‘Yes,’ I said emphatically.

So closely attuned are my dear Emerson and I (some of the time) that he required no explanation. He squeezed my hand. ‘Yes,’ he repeated. ‘How are your arrangements coming
along, Peabody?’

‘Very well. And yours?’

‘I will be ready when the time comes.’

Ramses was in and out at odd hours; all he would say, when I questioned him, was that he was exploring various sources of information. He spent a good deal of time alone with
Nefret. I did not begrudge them this, but I could not help asking her, one morning when we were alone, whether he had told her anything I wasn’t supposed to know.

‘If I had promised not to tell you, I wouldn’t,’ she said with a smile that took any possible sting out of the words. ‘But there’s nothing.’

‘Are you all right, Nefret?’

‘Yes, of course. Why do you ask?’

‘You are too calm. More than calm – serene. Misty-eyed.’

‘Good Gad, Mother!’ She burst out laughing. ‘You do have a way with words. Perhaps I’ve become a fatalist. If I could go with him I would, but I’m beginning to
realize – finally! – that my whining and my clinging only make it harder for him. There are some dangers one must face alone.’

‘True,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘However, there is nothing wrong with attempting to minimize the danger if one can.’

‘You’ve got something in mind, haven’t you?’ She looked alarmed. ‘Mother, don’t tell me unless you want Ramses to know. We keep nothing from one
another.’

‘And quite right, too. Perhaps I had better not, then. He would only fuss. Fear not, my dear, I won’t do anything that might endanger him.’

I had not expected Ramses would give us much notice of his departure, so I went ahead with my own schemes as quickly as was possible. Sure enough, my son turned up one afternoon in time for tea,
with the news that he would be leaving immediately.

‘There’s a new batch of Labour Corps “volunteers” going off tomorrow. I’ll stay with them as far as Rafah, where I am to meet Chetwode.’

At the beginning of the war, Britain had promised the Egyptians they would not be asked to take part in the conflict. That promise, like so many others, had been broken. Some of the poor fellows
who made up the Labour Corps had volunteered, but most had been conscripted by local magistrates to fill their quotas. I didn’t doubt Ramses could blend in perfectly; for a man who had played
the parts of beggars, camel drivers, and mad dervishes, a peasant from Upper Egypt presented no difficulty. It sounded like a very uncomfortable method of getting where he wanted to go, but there
was no use asking Ramses to explain.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘In that case, we had better start packing.’

Ramses must have known there wasn’t a hope of persuading us to remain in Cairo, but he tried.

‘Mother, too many people already know about this supposedly secret expedition. The three of you marching purposefully on Gaza will be a dead giveaway. You’re too well known,
especially Father.’

‘Ah, but we will be in disguise,’ Emerson said.

Emerson loves disguises, and is not allowed to indulge in them as often as he would like; he looked so pleased, his lips parted in a broad smile, his blue eyes shining, that Ramses hadn’t
the heart to object. Instead he gave me a critical look. ‘You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you, Mother? Nefret, why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘She knew nothing of it,’ I said quickly. ‘I couldn’t ask her to keep secrets from you, now could I?’

‘Oh, God.’ Indignation and reluctant amusement mingled on his face, to be replaced by remorse. He went to Nefret and took her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry,
sweetheart.’

‘Your apology is, for once, appropriate.’ She looked up at him with a smile. ‘I accept it. Mother only told me she had the situation well in hand. I didn’t ask for
details. I trusted her, and I suggest you do the same.’

‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Your father and I have it worked out. He has a dear old friend in Khan Yunus – ’

‘Of course,’ Ramses said resignedly. ‘Mahmud ibn Rafid. Is there any place in the Middle East where Father doesn’t have a “dear old friend”?’

‘Not many,’ said Emerson, smoking. ‘Khan Yunus is only ten miles south of Gaza, and Mahmud owns a villa there.’ He chuckled. ‘When he told me “My house is
your house”, he may not have meant it literally, but he cannot object if I take him up on the offer. He’s scampered off to Damascus, so that will be all right. It is quite a comfortable
house. Even your mother will be pleased with it.’

I doubted that very much, but at such a time I would have settled into a cave or a tent in order to be nearby when Ramses carried out his hazardous mission. ‘Quite,’ I murmured.
‘Emerson, I presume you have made the other arrangements we discussed? I cannot think of anything I dislike more than a long journey by camel, but there seems to be no alternative.’

‘Ah, but there is,’ Emerson said. Self-satisfaction is too weak a word for the emotion that illumined his countenance and swelled his broad chest. ‘I will give you three
guesses, Peabody.’

A hideous sense of foreboding came over me. ‘Oh, no, Emerson. Please. Don’t tell me – ’

‘Yes, my dear. I have acquired a new motorcar.’ Avoiding my stricken expression, he turned to Ramses and explained. ‘It’s a splendid vehicle, my boy, one of the T Model
Ford Light cars the military has been using. It has – ’

‘How did you – uh – acquire it?’ Ramses asked.

‘Ah, well, you know my methods,’ said Emerson with a grin.

‘You stole it!’

‘No. Well. Not exactly. It has – ’

‘You can’t drive it yourself, you know,’ I interrupted. This obvious fact had occurred to me once I got over my initial consternation, and it cheered me quite a lot.
‘Think how absurd you would look at the wheel, in turban and caftan.’

‘I have considered that,’ said Emerson, with great dignity. ‘You said you would leave the problem of transport to me.’

‘Hmmmm. Frankly, I do not see how we can drive all that distance without getting bogged down in sand dunes and blowing up tyres; but if all goes well – ’

‘It won’t,’ Ramses muttered.

‘If it does, we should arrive within a few days of one another. Mind this, Ramses; you are to report yourself to us before you go to Gaza. You know where we will be. For our own peace of
mind and for safety’s sake, we want to be made cognizant of your plans. Have I your word?’

‘Yes.’ He hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged. ‘You’ll have to follow the road, so I suppose the worst that can happen is that you’ll break down and be forced
to accept help from the military. Speaking of peace of mind, I would like to be made cognizant of
your
plans. Is Father to be a wealthy aristocrat – a wealthy,
bearded
aristocrat – and Mother his favourite wife?’

‘No, that is Nefret,’ I explained. ‘I am the older wife.’

Ramses exchanged bemused glances with Nefret. Her open-mouthed astonishment convinced him, had he doubted it, that she had known nothing of my scheme. He laughed a little, and shook his
head.

‘Mother, you never cease to amaze me. I hope you enjoy yourself. As the older wife you will be in a position to bully Nefret – and Father.’

‘Ha,’ said Emerson meaningfully.

Ramses was gone next morning. When Nefret joined us for breakfast she was a trifle hollow-eyed and pale, but that might have been a normal reaction to such a hard parting. I
did not feel I had the right to ask what they had said to one another – my sympathetic imagination supplied a good deal of the dialogue – but I did venture to inquire whether Ramses had
been angry about our following him.