The Golden One by Elizabeth Peters Page A

I found very little to disapprove, and Selim’s wary expression turned to a smile as I piled compliment upon compliment. The new wing, which I intended for Sennia and her entourage
– Basima, Gargery, and the cat – had a number of rooms surrounding a small courtyard, with a shaded arcade along one side and a charming little fountain in the centre. The new furniture
I had ordered had been delivered, and while we were there, one of the maids hurried in with an armful of linens and began to make up the beds.
    ‘Excellent,’ I exclaimed. ‘All it needs is – er – um – well, nothing really, except for some plants in the courtyard.’
    ‘We thought we should leave that to you, Sitt,’ said Selim.
    ‘Yes, quite. I enjoy my gardening.’
    I meant to make a few other changes as well, but they could wait.
    The others were still in the sitting room, with several other members of the family who had turned up, including Kadija, Daoud’s wife, all talking at once and doing absolutely nothing
useful. I made a few pointed remarks about unpacking, to which no one listened, dismissed Selim, and asked Nefret to join me and Fatima for the rest of the tour.
    She had seen only the unfinished shell of the second house, which was situated a few hundred yards away. The intervening space would be filled in with flowering plants, shrubs, and trees as soon
as I could supervise their planting and cultivation. Just now it was desert-bare, but the structure itself looked very nice, I thought, its mud-brick walls plastered in a pretty shade of pale
ochre. My orders had been carried out; the interior was as modern and comfortable as anyone could wish, including an elegant bath chamber and a small courtyard, enclosed for privacy. As we went
from room to room I found myself chattering away with scarcely a pause for breath, pointing out the amenities and explaining at unnecessary length that any desired alterations could be accomplished
quickly and easily. Nefret listened in silence, nodding from time to time, her face unsmiling. Finally she said quietly, ‘It’s all right, Mother,’ and I got hold (figuratively
speaking) of my wagging tongue.
    ‘Dear me,’ I said somewhat sheepishly. ‘I sound like a tradesperson hoping to sell a house. I beg your pardon, my dear.’
    ‘Don’t apologize. You mean this for us, don’t you – for Ramses and me. You didn’t tell me last year that was what you intended.’
    ‘My intentions are not relevant, Nefret. It is entirely up to you. If you prefer to stay on the dahabeeyah, as you used to do, that is perfectly all right. But I thought . . . It is some
distance from our house, you see, and once I have the plantings in place they will provide additional privacy, and we would not dream, any of us, of intruding without an invitation, and –
’
    ‘Can you imagine Father waiting for an invitation?’ Nefret inquired seriously. ‘Or Sennia?’
    ‘I will make certain they do,’ I said.
    ‘It is a beautiful house. But a trifle large for two people, perhaps?’
    ‘D’you really think so? In my opinion – ’
    ‘Oh, Mother!’ Laughter transformed her face, from shining blue eyes to curving lips. She put her arm round me, and Fatima, who had listened anxiously to the exchange, broke into a
broad smile. Nefret gave her a hug too.
    ‘It is a beautiful house,’ she repeated. ‘Thank you – both of you – for working so hard to make it perfect.’
    From Manuscript H
    The appearance of Sethos at the Cairo railroad station had worried Ramses more than he admitted. He would have been the first to agree that his feelings for his uncle were
    ambivalent. You couldn’t help admiring the man’s courage and cleverness; you couldn’t help resenting the fact that he was always one or two steps ahead of you. Affection –
    yes, there was that, on both sides, he thought – a belated understanding of the tragedies that had turned Sethos to a life of crime, appreciation of the risks he had taken