Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense by Elizabeth Peters Page B

in the bow of the boat, with a curved divan under the windows, and it would be quite charming once she had the cushions re-covered and the new curtains hung and the new rugs on the floor, and the books in their proper places on the shelves. He ought to have been back by now. He had promised he would leave early, but getting away from Emerson when he had put you to work wasn't easy, at least not for Emerson's son. She had learned how to handle him, but she sometimes wondered if Ramses would ever be able to say no to his father and stick to it. She moved restlessly round the room, glancing out the window and moving a few more books, and then her eyes came to rest on the portrait of her mother-in-law that hung over the bookshelf. It wasn't the first time that day those painted eyes had held hers. David had done a wonderful job; his affection for his subject and his whimsical sense of humor made the portrait come alive. She stood looking squarely at the observer, parasol in hand, booted feet planted firmly on the sand. Behind her was a melange of pyramids, camels, minarets, and the Theban cliffs-all of her beloved Egypt-framing her. The direct, steely gaze, and the little half-smile on her lips were Aunt Amelia to the life. Nefret loved the painting. She wondered how long she could stand having it there, staring at her, hour after hour and day after day. Kneeling on the divan, she looked out the window. The Amelia was moored at the public dock not far from the house. The last steamer must be about to leave; the dock swarmed with tourists, all drooping and dusty and bedeviled by the dragomen who were herding them toward the ferry. Her eyes searched the crowd. How could he delay, when he knew she'd be waiting? Once she had wished she could fall in love-head over heels, insanely, madly, passionately. She'd got her wish. Being away from him for more than a few hours left her feeling empty and half alive. She lay down and closed her eyes, picturing him in her mind, recalling the things he had said the night before. "What's your hurry? I want privacy as much as you do, but another day or two here-" "Is a day or two too long! Oh, I know I'm being unreasonable and unfair; it's because they're so fond of us that they want us with them. But the only time we can be alone together is at night; if we steal away during the day they know why, and Sennia is apt to come looking for you, the way she did yesterday-I thought I'd have a heart attack when she started knocking on the door and calling your name." He was laughing soundlessly, his breath stirring her hair. "The moment was certainly not well chosen. Mother would say I had it coming. I can recall at least one occasion when I interrupted them under similar circumstances. It was the only time Father ever threatened to thrash me." "I don't blame him." "Neither do I ... now. My only excuse is that I was too young to comprehend the situation." "How old were you?" "Ten." The rhythm of his breathing changed and the arms that held her tightened. "A few days later I saw you for the first time. I was old enough to know one thing-that there would never be anyone else for me. Don't pretend you felt the same. It took me years just to get past the younger-brother role." They could talk about them now, the misunderstandings and heartaches that had kept them apart so long. Almost all of them. "Was it worth the wait?" "I'm not sure. Feel free to convince me." "As soon as you promise you will help me move first thing tomorrow." "Of course, if it means that much to you." Another man might have made a jesting reference to Lysistrata, who had refused her favors to her husband until he agreed to her demands. His ready understanding melted her completely. "It's just that . . . She watches me all the time. I can feel her eyes examining me. Kadija and Fatima do it too. They're wondering if I'm ..." That was the one heartache she still couldn't face, the word she couldn't say, the guilt that would not go away. If it