The Golden One Read Online Free Page B

Father. Do you remember Ali the Rat and his – er – young friend?’
    Emerson choked on a sip of wine, and I said uneasily, ‘Ramses can’t be Ali the Rat again, Nefret. His masquerade was discovered.’
    ‘But the people who knew of it are dead,’ Nefret argued. ‘And I made a very pretty boy, didn’t I, Ramses?’
    She turned to look him squarely in the eyes. He did not respond at once. Then he said equably, ‘Very pretty. I’d prefer not to risk Ali, in case some of the old crowd are still
hanging about, but we might try a variation of the same thing.’
    I had been afraid of this, though I had not expected matters would come to a head quite so soon. Nefret was as courageous and capable as any man, and utterly devoted to her husband. He was
equally devoted to her, and I could only imagine what a struggle it must have been for him to admit she had the right to share his adventures and his danger. Naturally I was in full agreement with
her demand for equality; had I not demanded and (more or less) received the same from Emerson? That did not mean I liked Nefret’s doing it. Principles do not hold up well when they are
challenged by personal affection.
    To my relief, Ramses went on, ‘Not tonight, though. It will take me a while to collect the appropriate disguises.’
    ‘Certainly not tonight,’ I said. ‘It has been a long day. We should retire early.’
    ‘An excellent suggestion,’ said Emerson, cheering up.
    ‘Yes, Mother,’ said Ramses.
    We had a little private conversation, Emerson and I, sitting cosily side by side before the dying fire in the sitting room and sipping a last whiskey and soda. I summed it up by saying,
‘So it is agreed that we leave Cairo as soon as possible?’
    Emerson nodded emphatic agreement. ‘It is worrisome enough having Ramses prowling the suks and the coffeeshops looking for criminals, without her going with him.’
    ‘Not so worrisome as having him take on another filthy job from the War Office. Smith’s presence this evening was highly suspicious, Emerson.’
    ‘Nonsense,’ said Emerson. ‘However . . . Good Gad, what with the intelligence services and my devious brother, Cairo is no place for a family of harmless archaeologists. But
you are worrying unnecessarily, my love. There is no way on earth Ramses could be persuaded to take on another assignment.’
    Emerson’s tender affection did not miss the slight shiver that ran through my limbs. ‘Damnation, Peabody,’ he snarled, ‘if you are having one of your famous forebodings,
I don’t want to hear about it! Come to bed at once.’
    While we breakfasted in our rooms, Emerson looked through the post (distractions of various kinds having prevented him from doing so earlier) and came upon a letter from Cyrus
Vandergelt that aroused such indignation he leaped to his feet, rushed to the door, and would have bolted out in his dressing gown had I not caught hold of him.
    ‘For pity’s sake, Emerson, where are you going?’
    Emerson waved the close-written pages at me. ‘They’re at it again. Another tomb. Looted. The artifacts already at the Luxor dealers. Damnation! Ramses – ’
    ‘If you want to share this with Ramses,’ I said, interpreting his incoherent comments with the skill of long experience, ‘I will send the sufragi to invite him and Nefret to
join us. Sit down, Emerson, or, if you prefer, put on your clothes. A few more minutes’ delay cannot worsen a situation which – ’
    ‘Curse it,’ said Emerson, heading for the dressing room. He took the letter with him. Being accustomed to my husband’s impetuous behaviour, I dispatched the sufragi on his
errand and went on with my breakfast.
    The children must have been already up and dressed, for they came almost at once. ‘Is something wrong?’ Ramses asked.
    ‘Why should you suppose that?’ I replied, over the cries of outrage from the adjoining room. Some of them had to do with his inability to find his shirts, whose location