He did not mention this, not even to his wife. It would worry her, and the others, including his father. Emerson’s pretense of indifference didn’t fool Ramses. “Bastard” was one of Emerson’s favorite epithets. It was indicative that he never used it to refer to his illegitimate brother.
However, there had been no sign of Sethos since, and no indication that he was back in the antiquities business. Ramses was relieved when his father decided to leave Cairo. If Nefret had insisted on accompanying him on a tour of the coffeeshops he could not have denied her; she had demanded a role as equal partner in all his activities, and God knew she had earned it. He believed he had put up a fairly good show of willing acquiescence, but the idea of seeing her facing thieves and murderers still made his hair stand on end.
Anyhow, he preferred Luxor to Cairo and the Theban cemeteries to those of ancient Memphis. Emerson had managed to get official permission to excavate the ancient village at Deir el Medina and Ramses was looking forward to a long, peaceful period of purely archaeological work. They wouldn’t find any buried treasure or long-lost tombs, which was fine with him. As for the recent discovery that had aroused Cyrus Vandergelt’s interest, he hoped he could persuade his father to stay out of that matter. They had had enough trouble with tomb robbers the year before.
His mother’s energetic renovations had altered the house almost beyond recognition. There were new structures all around. The shaded veranda was the same, however, and the sitting room still had its handsome antique rugs and familiar furniture. Nefret went at once to the pianoforte and ran her fingers over the keys.
“Is it not right?” Fatima asked anxiously. “I will find someone -”
“I can’t imagine where,” Nefret said with a smile. “Actually it’s in remarkably good tune, considering.”
“Sounds fine to me,” declared Emerson, who was blissfully tone-deaf. He looked round with an air of great satisfaction. “Help me unpack these books, Nefret. First things first.”
A brief and inconclusive argument with his wife, who wanted him to inspect the new wing, ended with her marching off with Fatima and Selim and Emerson happily wrenching the tops from cases of books, which he proceeded to put in piles all over the floor. He hadn’t got very far before they were interrupted by visitors. News of their arrival had reached Gurneh before them. Abdullah’s extended family numbered almost fifty people, and it seemed to Ramses that most of them had come hurrying to welcome them back. The maids served coffee and mint tea, and a cheerful pandemonium ensued. Sennia was in her element, running from one pair of welcoming arms to another, and Emerson was talking to several people at once.
Ramses looked round for Nefret, and saw she was deep in conversation with Daoud’s wife, Kadija, a very large, very dignified woman of Nubian extraction. According to Nefret, Kadija had a lively sense of humor, but the rest of them had to take that on faith since she never told them any of her stories. She was obviously telling one now; Nefret’s cheeks rounded with laughter. Ramses went to join them. He was disappointed but not surprised when Kadija ducked her head and slipped away.
“What was so funny?” he asked.
Nefret slipped her arm through his. “Never mind. It loses something in the translation.”
“But I understand Arabic.”
“Not that sort of translation.” She laughed up at him and he thought again, as he did several dozen times a day, how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. That lost something in the translation, too.
“Yusuf isn’t here,” she said, a look of puzzlement replacing her smile. “That’s rather odd. As the head of the family, courtesy would demand he welcome us back.”
“Selim says he isn’t well.”
“Perhaps I ought to go to him and see if there is anything I can do.”
“I don’t think your medical skills would help, darling.” Poor Yusuf’s world had been overturned the past year when he had lost his two favorite children. Jamil, the handsome, spoiled youngest son, had fled after becoming involved with a gang of professional thieves. He had not been seen since. Jumana, his sister, had found a happier ending; fiercely ambitious and intelligent, her hopes of becoming an Egyptologist were being fostered by the Vandergelts and Ramses’s parents.
Nefret understood. “I didn’t realize it had hit the poor old chap so hard.”
“Neither did I, but it isn’t surprising. Having his daughter flout his authority, refuse the fine marriage he arranged for her, and go off to become a new woman – educated, independent, and Westernized – must have been almost as great a blow as discovering that his best-beloved son was in trouble with the law.”
“Greater, perhaps, to a man of his traditional beliefs,” Nefret said. “Is it true that he disowned her and refuses to see her?”
“Who told you that?”
“Kadija. She tried to reason with him, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Selim said the same. It’s a pity. Well, we’ll send Mother round to talk to him. If she can’t set him straight, no one can.”
“What about Jamil?”
“According to Selim, there’s been no sign of him. Don’t get any ideas about trying to track him down. There’s a trite old proverb about sleeping dogs.”
“All right; don’t lose your temper.”
“I thought you liked me to lose my temper.”
“Only when we’re alone and I can deal with you as you deserve.”
Before he could respond to that, his mother came back and began organizing everyone. The women of the family carried Sennia and her luggage off to her new quarters. His father refused to budge; he was having too fine a time making plans for the season’s work. He insisted that Ramses and Selim join him, but he lost Nefret to his wife. The two of them went off with Fatima.
“So, Selim,” said Emerson. “Have you got a crew together? I hope you didn’t let Vandergelt take our best men.”
“He has hired my father’s cousin’s son Abu as his reis, but we will have a full crew, Emerson. There is not much work here now.”
Emerson did not ask about Yusuf. He was too busy making plans for work to begin the following day.
A series of high-pitched shouts from the children who were playing on the veranda heralded a new arrival.
“I might have known you couldn’t leave us in peace for a few hours,” Emerson grumbled; but he went quickly to meet the newcomer with an outstretched hand.
Cyrus Vandergelt’s leathery face creased into smiling wrinkles. The American was dressed with his usual elegance, in a white linen suit and polished boots. “Yes, you might,” he said with a grin. “No use trying to sneak into town unnoticed – just got your telegram a while ago, but I’d already heard you were here. Good to see you. Here’s somebody else who couldn’t wait to say hello.”
He had stood back for her to precede him through the door. Once inside, she put her back against the wall and watched them, wide-eyed and unsmiling, like a wary animal. Emerson, always the gentleman with women, took her small hand in his and gave it a hearty squeeze.
“Jumana! Good of you to come, my dear. Er – how you’ve grown the past few months!”
Not so you could notice, Ramses thought. She was a tiny creature, barely five feet tall, with the exotic coloring and wide dark eyes of a lady in a Persian miniature, but her clothing was defiantly English – neat little boots and a divided skirt, under a mannish shirt and tweed jacket. After spending the spring and summer with them in England, being tutored in various subjects and absorbing information as a dry sponge soaks up water, she had returned to Egypt in November with the Vandergelts.