The Golden One by Elizabeth Peters

with Basima and Gargery in close attendance – it required at least two people to hang on to her and keep her from falling overboard – and
Emerson and I in another. On this occasion I wanted to be alone with my dear husband.
    ‘Ah,’ I exclaimed. ‘How good it is to be back in Luxor.’
    ‘You always say that,’ Emerson grunted.
    ‘I always feel it. And so do you, Emerson. Breathe in the clear clean air,’ I urged. ‘Observe the play of sunlight on the rippling water. Enjoy once again the vista before us
– the ramparts of the Theban mountains enclosing the sepulchres of the long-dead monarchs of – ’
    ‘I suggest you write a travel book, Peabody, and get it out of your system.’ But his arm went round my waist and his broad breast expanded as he drew a long satisfied breath.
    After all, there is no place like Thebes. I did not say this, since it would only have provoked another rude comment from Emerson, but I knew he shared my sentiments. The modern city of Luxor is
on the east bank, together with the magnificent temples of Karnak and Luxor. On the west bank is the enormous city of the dead – the sepulchres of the long-dead monarchs of imperial Egypt (as
I had been about to say when Emerson interrupted me), their funerary temples, and the tombs of nobles and commoners, in a setting unparalleled for its austere beauty. The stretch of land bordering
the river, fertilized by the annual inundation and watered by irrigation, was green with growing crops. Beyond it lay the desert, extending to the foot of the Libyan mountains – a high,
barren plateau cut by innumerable canyons or wadis. For many years we had lived and worked in western Thebes, and the house we had built was waiting for us. I moved closer to Emerson and his arm
tightened around me. He was looking straight ahead, his clean-cut features softened by a smile, his black hair wildly windblown.
    ‘Where is your hat, Emerson?’ I asked.
    ‘Don’t know,’ said Emerson.
    He never does know. By the time I had located it and persuaded him to put it on, we were landing.
    Fatima had not received our telegram. Not that it mattered; she had been eagerly awaiting us for days, and the house was in its usual impeccable order. I must say that our relations with Fatima
and the other members of Abdullah’s family who worked for us was somewhat unusual; they were friends as well as servants, and that latter word carried no loss of dignity or implication of
inferiority. Indeed, I believe Fatima thought of us as sadly lacking in common sense and of herself as in charge of the entire lot of us.
    My first act, after we had exchanged affectionate greetings with Fatima, was to inspect our new quarters. The previous winter a remarkable archaeological discovery had necessitated our spending
some months in Luxor. Our old house was then occupied by Yusuf, the head of the Luxor branch of Abdullah’s family, but he had amiably agreed to move himself and his wives and children to an
abode in Gurneh village. It had not taken me long to realize that the house was no longer commodious enough for all of us to live in comfort and amity. I had therefore ordered several subsidiary
structures to be added. In spite of Emerson’s indifference and total lack of cooperation, I had seen the work well under way before our departure, but I had been obliged to leave the final
details to Fatima and Selim.
    I invited Fatima to accompany me on my tour of inspection. Selim, who had been awaiting us, came along, not because he wanted to, but because I insisted. Like his father, he was never quite sure
how I would respond to his efforts along domestic lines. Abdullah had been inclined to wax sarcastic about what he considered my unreasonable demands for cleanliness. ‘The men are sweeping
the desert, Sitt,’ he had once remarked. ‘How far from the house must they go?’
    Dear Abdullah. I missed him still. At least he had tried, which was more than Emerson ever did.
    In fact,