Seeing a Large Cat by Elizabeth Peters

recently acquired a Swiss chef whose reputation was of the highest.
    Nefret had cast her vote for the dahabeeyah too. "You always make me wear a hat and tight shoes when we are at the hotel," she had declared. "And the place is full of boring people who want to talk to me about boring things, and you won't let me be rude to them."
    "Certainly not," I said, pretending to look shocked. fa fact, I was secretly pleased that Nefret found most of the young men she met boring. She was a very wealthy young woman as well as a very beautiful young woman, so it was no wonder she always had a string of admirers trailing after her. Most were well-bred idlers, interested only in sport and frivolity and attracted to Nefret for the wrong reasons-her fortune or her beauty. She had much more to offer than that, and I was determined she should not marry until she found a man worthy of her-a man who shared her interests and respected her character, who loved her for her intelligence and independence, her sensitive nature and quick wit; a man of honor and intellectual understanding, but one who was not devoid of the physical characteristics that attract a handsome young woman. A man, in short, like Emerson!
    Thanks to the recalcitrance of that admirable but aggravating man, we had to return to the dahabeeyah to dress. When our party assembled on deck, Emerson was looking fairly affable, since I had relaxed my rule about wearing evening kit, which he detests. After Ramses had got himself as far into his last year's evening suit as was possible (muttering indignantly all the while), I had been forced to agree that it was indeed too small for him. A new wardrobe had been ordered and was in process of construction, but the only thing we had been able to find ready-made was a tweed suit similar to David's. Nefret's golden-tan skin was set off by her white chiffon gown lavishly trimmed with Cluny lace and crystal beads, and I believe my own frock of crimson satin did not detract from the generally impressive appearance of the group.
    Certainly the admiring looks of our friends supported this assumption, and when I took my place at the foot of the table in the dining salon, I saw that Howard Carter, on my right, could hardly take his eyes off Nefret. I did hope he was not going to fall in love with her. No one, I believe, could ever accuse me of snobbishness, and I was genuinely fond of Howard; but his origins were humble, he had no independent means, and his lack of formal education would prevent him from rising much further in his profession than his present position of inspector over the antiquities of Upper Egypt My eyes moved speculatively over the faces of the men who were present. Mr. Reisner, the brilliant young American excavator; our old friend Percy Newberry; Mr. Quibell, Howard's counterpart as inspector in Lower Egypt; Mr. Lucas, the chemist; M. Lacau, who was copying the coffin texts in the Cairo Museum....No, none of them would do. If they were not already married, they were too old or too poor or too dull. Yet it would be a pity if she did not marry an archaeologist; all her interests and her tastes inclined her toward that profession.
    Howard jogged my elbow. "Excuse me, Mrs. E., but you seem to be in quite a brown study. What is on your mind? Another villain pursuing you, another lost treasure to be found?"
    "What a tease you are, Howard," I said with a little laugh. "I was thinking of something else altogether-a subject so frivolous I refuse to confess it. But now that you mention it..." I motioned him to lean closer and lowered my voice to a thrilling whisper. "What is in tomb Twenty-A? "
    Howard stared "Not a bloody- Oh, good heavens, Mrs. Emerson, do forgive me! I cannot imagine why I so forgot myself."
    Emerson had not failed to observe our whispers and exclamations. The dear fellow suffers from the (flattering, I confess) delusion that every man I meet has romantic designs upon me. He broke off his conversation with Mr. Quibell