The Golden One by Elizabeth Peters Page B

for them and for
    the country that had denied him his birthright . . . Ramses felt certain he was still taking those risks. Had he turned up to greet them because he was about to embark on another job, one from
    which he might not return? It was a far-fetched notion, perhaps, but Ramses had once been a player in ‘the Great Game’, and he was only too familiar with that fatalistic state of
    mind.
    He did not mention this, not even to his wife. It would worry her, and the others, including his father. Emerson’s pretence of indifference didn’t fool Ramses. ‘Bastard’
was one of Emerson’s favourite 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 permis- sion 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 humour, 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