The Golden One (8 page)

‘There’s been no further word from him?’ Nefret asked. I shook my head.

‘If Ramses gets in trouble because of him, I’ll murder him,’ she muttered.

She did not go to the hospital that morning. She did not want to leave the hotel, though I pointed out that we could probably not expect Emerson and Ramses back before luncheon. Finally I
managed to persuade her to go walking in the Ezbekieh Gardens with Sennia and me. I always say there is nothing like the beauties of nature to distract one from worrisome thoughts. The Gardens are
planted with rare trees and shrubs and the air is harmonious with birdsong. Sennia was even more of a distraction; it required both of us to keep track of her as she ran up and down the gravelled
paths. It did Nefret good, I believe. When we started back, both of us holding tight to Sennia’s hands, she said ruefully, ‘You think I’m behaving like a silly coward, don’t
you?’

‘Perhaps just a bit. But I understand. One becomes accustomed to it, you see,’ I continued. ‘One never likes it, but one becomes resigned.’

‘I know I can’t keep him out of trouble,’ Nefret said. ‘It’s just this particular – ’

‘Little pitchers have big ears,’ I warned.

‘If you are referring to me,’ said Sennia, with great dignity, ‘my ears are not at all large. Ramses says they are pretty ears. Is he in trouble?’

Nefret laughed and picked her up. We were about to cross the street, which was crowded with traffic. ‘No, Little Bird. And we will make sure he doesn’t get into it, won’t
we?’

We had been waiting for almost an hour before they returned. Sennia was reading aloud to us from a little book of Egyptian fairy tales, but the moment the door opened she dropped it and ran to
meet them. Throwing her arms round Ramses’s waist, she asked anxiously, ‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Not unless you crack one of my ribs,’ Ramses said, with a theatrical gasp of pain. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Let us go to luncheon,’ I said.

‘Yes, I am starving,’ Sennia announced, rolling her eyes dramatically. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ramses.’

Emerson detached her from Ramses and swung her up onto his shoulder. ‘We will go down now.’

I let them go ahead. ‘Well, Ramses?’ I inquired.

‘You shouldn’t worry the child, Mother.’

‘It wasn’t Mother, it was me.’ Nefret took his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right.’ He offered me his other arm, and as we proceeded to the dining salon he explained.

‘All he wanted was a consultation. He’s new at the job, and apparently nobody bothered to put him in the picture about certain matters. The military and the civil administration have
always been at odds. He’d heard of some of our activities, and wanted to know the facts.’

‘That’s all?’ Nefret demanded. ‘Nothing about . . .’

‘He wasn’t mentioned.’ Ramses grinned. ‘Under any of his pseudonyms. Father agreed to stay on in Cairo for another day or two, and meet with Wingate again. That should
please you; you’ll have more time at the hospital.’

‘Good Gad, man, if you don’t know who the bastard is and what he’s up to, how should we? Come, Ramses; we have wasted enough time telling people things they ought to have known
anyhow and going over and over facts that are either self-explanatory or irrelevant.’

The new high commissioner took this rudeness better than Ramses had expected. Now in his sixties, he had had a long and illustrious career as governor of the Sudan, and Ramses got the impression
that he was finding it harder to deal with his peers in Cairo than with rebellious Sudanese. As Emerson stalked out of the room, Wingate said mildly, ‘Thank you for your time,
gentlemen’, and returned to his papers.

‘That’s that,’ Emerson declared. ‘It’s high time we got out of this bloody city. Is Nefret ready to leave?’

On the morning of their departure Nefret and Ramses breakfasted alone in their room, at what struck Ramses as an obscenely early hour.

‘I need all the time I can get at the hospital,’ she declared. ‘Since Father is determined on leaving today.’

‘He’d have put it off again if you had asked him.’

‘I couldn’t do that. He’s on fire to get to Luxor and catch a few tomb robbers. There was no need for you to get up so early. You don’t have to escort me.’

‘Would you rather I didn’t?’

‘You can if you like.’ Frowning slightly, she concentrated on the piece of toast she was cutting into strips. ‘It’s boring for you, though. You hardly said a word the
other night when we dined with Sophia and Beatrice.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he began.

‘Don’t apologize, damn it!’ She put her knife down and gave him a rueful smile. ‘There’s no need for you to be so defensive, darling. I didn’t mean it as a
reproach. You couldn’t have got a word in anyhow! It was rude of us not to include you in the conversation.’

‘That’s all right.’ The pronouns jarred, though. Us and you. ‘I think I will come along, if you don’t mind. There’s someone I want to see, if I can find
him.’

‘Who?’

He described his encounter with Musa as they walked through the ornate lobby and out the door of the hotel.

‘You didn’t tell me,’ Nefret said, and then laughed and took his arm. ‘You couldn’t get a word in, could you? Sophia told me about el-Gharbi’s being arrested.
Did you know he had put the word out that we were not to be bothered?’

‘I thought he might have done.’

‘I never supposed I would regret the arrest of the worst procurer in Cairo.’ Her face was troubled. ‘But Sophia says things have got worse. More injuries, and fewer of the
women are coming to us.’

‘Musa wants me to intervene on behalf of el-Gharbi. Shall I try to get him out?’

‘Could you?’

‘Do you want him out?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Nefret said despairingly. ‘How does one choose between two evils? Leave it alone, darling. I don’t want you getting involved with the police
again. Russell would try to recruit you for some rotten job, and I won’t allow it.’

‘Russell’s sticking to ordinary police work these days. There’s a new military intelligence organization – or will be, if they ever get it right. They keep shuffling
people around. Clayton and the Arab Bureau are now – ’

‘How did you find that out?’ Her eyes narrowed and her voice was sharp.

‘From Wingate, for the most part. Plus odds and ends of gossip here and there.’

‘Oh, very informative. Ramses, I don’t care who is doing what with whom, so long as “whom” isn’t you. Promise me you’ll stay away from them. All of
them.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Her tight lips relaxed into one of her most bewitching smiles, complete with dimples, and as a further inducement to good behaviour, she told him she would be back in time for luncheon. Ramses
watched her run lightly up the steps and in the door before he turned away.

Could he get el-Gharbi paroled? The answer was probably no. Unless . . . the idea hadn’t occurred to him until Nefret asked. It had probably been Thomas Russell who reeled him in. If he
could persuade Russell that el-Gharbi had information that could be of use to him . . .

The answer was still no. Russell wouldn’t make a deal with someone he despised as much as he did the procurer. Anyhow, there were only two questions Ramses would like to have answered: the
whereabouts of his infuriating uncle, and the identity of the man who had sold the artifacts to Aslimi. El-Gharbi had once had contacts with every illegal activity in Cairo, but drugs and
prostitution were his chief interests; he dealt with illegal antiquities and espionage only when they impinged on his primary business.

Musa was nowhere to be found, so Ramses spent a few hours wandering through the green groves of the Ezbekieh Gardens, to get the smells of el-Wasa out of his system. It was a little after midday
when he returned to the hotel. Nefret was not there, so he went to see what his parents were doing. He found his mother alone in the sitting room, placidly working at a piece of embroidery.
Wondering what had prompted this unusual exercise – she hated sewing and did it very badly – he joined her on the sofa.

‘Where is Father?’ he asked.

‘He took Sennia for a walk, in order to work off some of her energy. Have you finished packing?’

‘No,’ Ramses admitted. ‘Nefret told me I mustn’t, she says I always make a mess of it.’

‘Just like your father. His notion of packing is to dump the entire contents of a drawer into a suitcase and then throw his boots on top.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Ramses asked, and got a smile in return.

‘I’ll ask Gargery to take care of it,’ she promised.

‘That’s all right, Nefret said she’d be back before luncheon. I suppose you are all ready?’

‘Certainly.’ She looked searchingly at Ramses. ‘Is something wrong? You seem somewhat pensive.’

‘No, nothing is wrong. I’m sorry if I . . .’ Her steely grey stare remained fixed on him, and he felt a sudden need to confess. His mother’s stare often had that effect
on people.

‘I’m jealous – oh, not of another man, it’s even worse. Jealous of the hospital and the time she spends there. Contemptible, isn’t it, that I should resent
Nefret’s skills and interests?’

‘Quite understandable,’ his mother said calmly. She poked her needle into the piece of fabric, muttered something, and wiped her finger on her skirt. Ramses noticed that the skirt
and the embroidered fabric were spotted with blood. ‘Do you want her to give up her medical work?’

‘Good God, no! I’d hate her to do that on my account. I’d hate myself if she did.’

‘She will have to make a choice, though. While we were working at Giza she could spend a certain amount of time at the hospital, but it appears we will be in Luxor for some time to
come.’

‘Someone will have to make a choice.’

His mother dropped her fancywork and stared at him. ‘You don’t mean you would give up Egyptology!’

‘Nothing so drastic. I can always get a position with Reisner, at Giza.’ She looked so horrified, he put his hand over hers. ‘I don’t want to work with anyone but Father,
you know that. But I have to be with her and I want her to be happy. Why should I expect her to give up her work when I’m not willing to make a reasonable compromise?’

‘Honestly, Ramses.’ His mother gave him a look of exasperation. ‘I would expect any son of mine to appreciate the talents and aspirations of women, but you are carrying
fairness to a ridiculous extreme. What makes you suppose Nefret wants to abandon archaeology? Have you asked her?’

‘No. I didn’t want – ’

‘To force the issue? Well, my dear, Nefret is not the woman to keep her opinions to herself. You are leaping to unwarranted conclusions and tormenting yourself about something that will
never happen. It is a bad habit of yours.’

‘D’you really think so?’

‘I am certain of it.’ She hesitated, but not for long. Indecision was not one of his mother’s weaknesses. ‘She once told me something that perhaps you should know.
“I would leave the hospital forever, without a backward glance, if it would help to keep him safe.” ’

‘She said that?’

‘I do not claim to remember the precise words, but that was unquestionably the gist of her remark. Goodness gracious, Ramses, don’t look so stupefied. If you are really unaware of
the strength of your wife’s affection, you have not been paying her the proper attentions.’

He didn’t dare ask what she meant by that. Her prim circumlocutions always amused him, but he said humbly and without a smile, ‘You are right, Mother, as always. I haven’t said
anything to her, and I never shall. Please don’t tell her.’

‘Why, Ramses, I would never betray another individual’s confidence.’ She patted his hand. He flinched, and she let out an exclamation of distress. ‘Oh, dear. I forgot I
was holding the needle. Suck it.’

Ramses dutifully obeyed. ‘What is that you’re making?’ he asked. It was hard to tell the bloodstains from the pattern.

‘It’s just a little something to keep my hands occupied. Stop fretting, dear boy, I will talk to Nefret myself. Tactfully.’

She stuck the needle into the fabric and folded her work. ‘It is past time for luncheon. Emerson is late as usual.’

He turned up a few minutes later, with Sennia, and dropped rather heavily into a chair. Emerson could work under the hot Upper Egyptian sun from dawn until sunset without any sign of fatigue,
but a few hours with Sennia left even him worn out. ‘Are we ready for lunch?’ he asked.

‘Nefret isn’t back yet,’ his wife said.

Ramses had been watching the clock. It was after one. His father gave him a critical look. ‘Is she waiting for you to fetch her?’

‘No,’ Ramses said, and went on, before his father could voice his opinion of a man who would allow his wife to walk the alleys of el-Wasa unattended. ‘I expect she’s got
involved and lost track of the time. The rest of you go down, I’ll run over to the hospital.’

He wasn’t worried – not really – but she knew they were due to leave that evening, and she had said she’d be back before luncheon.

He took the most direct way to the hospital, the one they always followed, expecting at every turn of the street to see her hurrying towards him. The foul alleys were deserted; the denizens were
indoors, resting during the heat of the day. Anger, born of concern, quickened his steps. She had no business worrying him like this, after he had done her the courtesy of leaving her free of his
escort.

He had almost reached the hospital when a man stepped out into his path. ‘You must come with me, Brother of Demons.’

‘Get out of my way, Musa. I haven’t time to listen to el-Gharbi’s compliments.’

‘You must!’ the other man repeated. He held out his hands. Stretched between his palms was the filmy scarf Nefret had worn round her neck that morning.