What was wrong with her? Usually her small face was alive with excitement and she could outtalk everyone in the family – which was no small feat. Now she replied to Emerson’s greeting with a wordless murmur and her dark eyes moved uneasily around the room.
“Where is Nefret?” she asked.
“She and Mrs. Emerson have gone off to look at the new house,” Emerson said.
“I will go too. Please? Excuse me?”
She hurried out of the room without waiting for a reply. She’s got something on her mind, all right, Ramses thought. Well, whatever it was, it was not his problem. His mother thought she could solve everything; let her deal with it.
She came bustling in a few minutes later and went straight to Cyrus, holding out her hands. “Jumana told me you were here. Didn’t Katherine and Bertie come with you?”
“Bertie wanted to, but Katherine had some chore or other for him,” Cyrus answered.
Ramses wasn’t surprised to hear it. Katherine disapproved of her son’s fascination with the pretty Egyptian girl.
“She was hoping you’d come to us for dinner tonight,” Cyrus went on.
“Bah,” said Emerson. Cyrus burst out laughing and stroked his goatee.
“I know, old pal, you don’t have time for social engagements. This’ll just be us, nothing formal, come as you are.”
Emerson’s jaws parted, but his wife got in first. “Certainly, Cyrus, we accept with pleasure. Ramses, Nefret wants you to join her. She is at the new house.”
“Oh? Oh, right.”
A sensation his mother would have described as a “hideous premonition” came over him. Why hadn’t he realized? Of course – she had built the house for Nefret and him. It was just like her to do it without consulting them. And there was no way on earth they could refuse without sounding churlish and ungrateful and selfish. Nefret was too fond of his mother to tell her no to her face. She would want him to do it!
He expected to find his wife on the doorstep, vibrating with indignation. She wasn’t there. He had to track her down, looking into room after room as he searched. The place was quite attractive, really – large, low-ceilinged rooms, with the carved mashrabiya screens he liked so much covering the windows, tiled floors, bookshelves on many of the walls. Otherwise the house was almost empty except for a few tables and chairs and couches. She’d had sense enough to leave the choice of furnishings and decorations to them. Not at all bad, on the whole. If it had been up to him…
If it had been up to him, he would rather live in a hole in the rock than tell his mother he didn’t like it.
He found Nefret sitting on the shady porch that looked out on a small courtyard. Jumana was with her, their heads close together.
“I’m sorry, Nefret,” he began.
“You apologize too often.” It was an old joke between them, but when she looked up he saw that her face was grave.
“It’s not so bad, is it?” he asked. “She meant well, and it is some distance from the main house, and -”
“It’s fine,” Nefret said impatiently. “Never mind the house, Ramses. Jumana has something to tell you.”
There were wicker chairs and a table or two. He sat down. “Well?”
She had obviously been talking freely with Nefret, but the sight of him froze her tongue. She twisted her hands together.
“What is it?” Ramses asked. “Something about Bertie? Don’t worry about him, Jumana, you’ll be staying with us from now on. That was the agreement.”
“Bertie?” She dismissed him with a shrug. “He is not a worry. No. I must tell you, but…” She swallowed, hard. “I have seen Jamil.”
“My God.” Ramses breathed. “Where? When?”
“Two weeks ago.” Now that she had got the worst of it out, the words flowed freely. “I went to Luxor Temple, while Mrs. Vandergelt was shopping at the suk and Mr. Vandergelt was at Mohassib’s. Bertie wanted to go with me, but Mrs. Vandergelt said -”
“I understand,” Ramses said. “Jamil was at the temple?”
She nodded. “He had been waiting for days to find me alone. He wanted money. He said that he had discovered a rich tomb, but the others had cheated him and he cursed them all and said he would get even, but he needed money… I gave him all I had.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Nefret said. “The best thing for Jamil would be to turn himself in.”
Her mouth drooped like that of a child on the verge of tears. “He is my brother. How could I refuse to help him? But he said… Oh, I have been so afraid! I didn’t know what to do. But now you are here, you will tell the Father of Curses, and he will not let Jamil -” Her voice broke.
“It’s all right,” Ramses said gently. He took her small shaking hands in his. “He won’t let Jamil hurt you. Is that what he threatened? That he would harm you if you told anyone you had seen him?”
“No, oh, no!” She clung tightly to his hands and looked up into his face. “It is you the Father of Curses must guard. It is you Jamil hates most. He said if I told anyone he would kill you.”
3
“Bah,” said Emerson.
We were seated on the veranda drinking tea. The rays of the sun, low in the west, cast golden gleams through the roses that twined around the open arcades. It was like the old days, when we had so often gathered in that shaded spot; the wicker chairs and settees and tables were not much the worse for wear, and Ramses had taken up his old position, perched on the ledge with his back against a pillar. Now Nefret sat beside him, and her hand was in his. Fatima had insisted upon serving sandwiches and tea cakes, despite the fact that we were to leave shortly to dine with the Vandergelts. Rather than disappoint the dear woman, I nibbled on a cucumber sandwich or two.
After learning of the reappearance of Jamil, I had decided a private council of war was imperative. Sennia, who had expected to take tea with us, strongly objected to being sent away and was only mollified when – before I could stop him – Emerson handed her the entire plate of cakes to take with her. As soon as she was out of earshot Nefret repeated what Jumana had said, and Emerson responded in characteristic fashion.
“That is not much help, Emerson,” I said. “A threat cannot be dismissed so cavalierly.”
“It was an idle threat,” Emerson declared. “How can that miserable little coward constitute a danger to Ramses?” He gave his tall son an approving look, and Ramses replied to the implied compliment with an exaggerated lift of his eyebrows.
“Come to that, why Ramses?” Emerson went on. “I take it as an affront that he didn’t threaten me. Are you going to eat all the cucumber sandwiches, Peabody?”
“I think,” said Nefret, passing Emerson the plate, “that in Jamil’s eyes Ramses was the hero of last year’s affair. Or villain, from Jamil’s viewpoint! Not to take anything away from you, Father – or you, Mother -”
“You are quite right, my dear,” I said graciously. “We did our part, but if it had not been for Ramses -”
“You ought to take it as a compliment, Father,” Ramses said. He does not often interrupt me, but he does not like to hear himself praised. “Jamil would consider it below his dignity to threaten a woman, and he obviously feels I am less dangerous than you. ‘No man dares threaten the Father of Curses!’ ”
“What an annoying development!” I mused. “I had hoped the wretched boy had taken himself off to distant parts, or that he had met with a fatal accident.”
“That is rather cold-blooded, Mother,” my son said.
“Your mother is a practical woman,” Emerson declared. “I suppose now we’ll have to find him and turn him over to the police, which will be cursed embarrassing for everyone concerned, especially his father. We’ve left him alone, and instead of taking to his heels he has the effrontery to challenge us! He must be mad.”