. .'
He stood by the back door, watching her with that same sad and beautiful expression. 'Yes, very lovely,' he said.
10
HE HOUSE was in an uproar. Rita had all but lost her mind at the idea that she was going to Egypt. Oscar, remaining to keep the house, had been helping the cabbies get the trunks down the stairs.
Randolph and Alex were arguing furiously with Julie that she must not make this trip.
And the enigmatic Mr. Reginald Ramsey sat at the wicker table in the conservatory devouring an enormous meal, with glass after glass to wash it down. All the while he read the newspapers, two of them at a time, if Elliott was not mistaken. And now and then he lifted a book from the pile on the floor, and rushed through the pages as if searching for some dreadfully important item, and once finding it, dropped the book with a careless thud.
Elliott sat in Lawrence's chair in the Egyptian room watching all of this silently; glancing now and then to Julie in the drawing room; and then to Mr. Ramsey, who surely knew that he was being observed but did not seem to care.
The other silent and solitary watcher was Samir Ibrahaim, who stood to the very back of the conservatory, somewhat lost in the remarkable profusion of spring foliage, staring past the indifferent Mr. Ramsey into the shadowy front rooms.
Julie's call to Elliott had come over three hours ago. He had gone into action immediately. And he knew more or less what was going to happen now, as the little drama in the drawing room played itself out.
' 'But you simply cannot go off to Egypt with a man you know nothing about,' Randolph said, trying to keep his voice down. 'You can't take such a trip without a proper chaperon.'
'Julie, I won't have it,' Alex said, pale with exasperation. 'I won't have you do this alone.'
'Now, stop, both of you,' Julie responded. 'I'm a grown woman. I'm going. And I can take care of myself. Besides, I'll have Rita with me all the time. And Samir, Father's closest friend. I couldn't have a better protector than Samir.'
' 'Julie, neither of them is a proper companion and you know this. This is nothing short of scandalous.'
'Uncle Randolph, the boat leaves at four o'clock. We must be leaving here now. Let's get to the business at hand, shall we? I Ve had a power of attorney prepared, so that you can run Stratford Shipping with a free hand.'
Silence. So at last we get to the heart of the matter, Elliott thought coolly. He could hear Randolph slowly clearing his throat.
'Well, I suppose mat's necessary, my dear,' he answered weakly.
Alex tried to interrupt, but Julie overrode him politely. Were there any other papers Randolph wanted her to sign? He could send them on to Alexandria immediately. She'd sign them and send them home from there.
Satisfied that Julie would be leaving on schedule, Elliott rose and walked casually out into the conservatory.
Ramsey went on eating superhuman amounts of food, quite undeterred. He now took one of three different lighted cigars and drew on it, then went back to his pudding, and his roast beef, and his buttered bread. It was a history of modern Egypt that lay open before him, the chapter entitled 'The Mamluke Massacre.' The man appeared to be scanning, so rapidly did his finger move down the page.
Suddenly Elliott realized he was surrounded by foliage. He was almost startled by the size of the fern beside him, and the immense heavy bougainvillea brushing his shoulder, as it partially blocked the door. Good Lord, what had happened here? Lilies everywhere he looked, and the daisies exploding out of their pots, and the ivy gone wild over the entire roof.
Concealing his shock, though from whom he wasn't certain, since neither Ramsey nor Samir took official note of him, he tore off one of the blue-and- white morning glories blooming just over his head.
He stared at the perfect trumpet-shaped blossom. What sweetness. Then slowly he looked up to meet Ramsey's gaze.
Samir roused himself suddenly from his apparent state of meditation.
'Lord Rutherford, allow me . . .*' Then he stopped as if at a complete loss for words.
Ramsey rose to his feet, wiping his fingers carefully on his linen napkin.
Absently the Earl slipped the morning glory in his pocket, and then extended his hand.
'Reginald Ramsey,' he said, 'a great pleasure. I'm an old friend of the Stratford family. Something of an Egyptologist myself. It is my son, Alex, who is engaged to be married to Julie. Perhaps you know.'
The man hadn't known. Or he didn't understand. A faint flush came to his cheeks.
'Married to Julie?' he said in a half whisper. And then, with forced gaiety: 'He is a fortunate man, your son.'
The Earl eyed the table laden with food, because he couldn't stop himself, and the blossoms all but crowding out the sun above. He looked placidly at the man before him, who was certainly one of the handsomest creatures he'd ever seen. Downright beautiful, when you thought of it. The sort of large compassionate blue eyes that drive women mad. Add the ready smile and one has a near-fatal combination.
But the silence was becoming uncomfortable.
'Ah, the diary,' Elliott said. He reached into his coat. Samir recognized it immediately, that was plain.
'This diary,' Elliott said, 'it belonged to Lawrence. It has valuable information on Ramses' tomb. Notes on a papyrus left by the man, it seems. I picked it up the other night. I must put it back.'
There was a sudden coldness in Ramsey's face.
Elliott turned, leaning on his cane, and took a few painful steps toward Lawrence's desk.
Ramsey came along with him.
'The pain in your joints,' Ramsey asked, 'have you a modern ... a medicine for it? There was an old Egyptian remedy. The willow bark. One had to boil it.'
'' Yes,'' Elliott answered, looking up again into those distracting blue eyes. 'In this day and age we call it aspirin, don't we?' He smiled. This was going infinitely better than he had ever anticipated. He hoped the color wasn't dancing in his face as it was in Ramsey's. 'Where have you been all these years that you haven't heard of aspirin, my dear man? We produce it synthetically, and of course you are familiar with that word.''
Ramsey's composure was unbroken, though he narrowed his eyes just a little as if he wanted the Earl to realize he was being appraised.
'I'm not a scientific man, Lord Rutherford,' he answered. 'I'm more an observer, a philosopher. So you call it aspirin. I am pleased to know it. Maybe I have spent too much of my time in distant lands.' He raised his eyebrows almost playfully.
'Of course the ancient Egyptians had more potent medicines than willow bark, didn't they?' Elliott pushed it. He looked at the row of alabaster jars on the table across the room. 'Potent medicines-elixirs, so to speak-which could cure more potent ailments than the pain I suffer in my bones.'
' 'Potent medicines have their price,'' Ramses replied calmly. 'Or shall I say, their dangers. But what an unusual man you are, Lord Rutherford. Surely you don't believe what you read in the notebook of your friend Lawrence.''
'Oh, but I do believe it. Because, you see, I am not a scientific man either. Perhaps, we are both philosophers, you and I. And I fancy myself something of a poet, because so much of my wandering has been in my dreams alone.'
The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.
'A poet,' Ramsey repeated, eyes moving over Elliott almost rudely to take his measure. 'I understand you. But you do say most unusual things.'
Elliott tried to hold steady. He could feel the sweat breaking out under his shirt. The man's face was so unexpectedly open, and almost inviting.
'I should like to know you,' Elliott confessed suddenly. 'I. . . I should like to ... learn from you.' He hesitated. The blue eyes fixed him in silence again. 'Perhaps in Cairo or Alexandria we should have some time to talk to one another. Perhaps even on shipboard, we might become acquainted.'
'You are going to Egypt?' Ramsey asked, cocking his head.
