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He bent forward, his voice dropping to the most intimate whisper. "I love you, Julie. Everything else in my life I take for granted. But not you. And you're more precious to me than all the rest put together. Julie, I mean to fight for you, if that's what must be done."

What could she possibly say to him that would not wound him? He looked up suddenly. Ramses and Samir were here.

For a moment, she was speechless. Ramses was a vision in her father's white boiled shirt and beautifully cut tailcoat. As he took his seat, his every gesture seemed more graceful and more decorous than those of the Englishmen around him. He veritably glistened with vigour and well-being. The smile he flashed was like a light.

Then something happened. He stared at Julie's bare shoulders, at the plunging neck of her gown. He stared in particular at the tiny shadow between her half-naked breasts. And Alex stared at Ramses in polite outrage. And Samir, taking a seat to the left of the Earl, was obviously already alarmed.

She must do something. Still staring at her, as if he'd never laid eyes on a woman before, Ramses took the chair on her left.

Quickly, she opened his napkin for him, whispering:

"Here, in your lap. And stop staring at me. It's a ball gown, quite proper!" She turned at once to Samir opposite. "Samir, I'm so glad you could make this journey with us."

"Yes, and here we are," Elliott said immediately, filling the silence. "All having dinner together exactly as I'd planned. Isn't that marvellous! Seems I got my way after all."

"So you did." Julie laughed. She was relieved suddenly that Elliott was there. He would smooth over one awkward moment after another; he did it instinctively. In fact, he probably couldn't stop himself. It was this buoyant charm among other things which kept him perpetually in demand.

She dared not look directly at Henry, but she could see he was hopelessly uneasy. He was already drinking. His glass was half full.

The waiters brought the sherry now, and the soup. Ramses had already reached for the bread. He had torn off a very large piece from the small loaf and eaten it whole.

"And tell me, Mr. Ramsey," Elliott continued, "how did you enjoy your stay in London? You weren't with us very long."

Why the hell was Ramses smiling?

"I found it an overwhelming place," he said with immediate enthusiasm. "A curious blending of fierce wealth and inexplicable poverty. I do not understand how so many machines can produce so much for so few, and so little for so many...."

"Sir, you're questioning the entire Industrial Revolution," Alex said, laughing nervously, which for him was most certainly a symptom of ill ease. "Don't tell me you're a Marxist. It's rather seldom that we encounter radicals in our ... our circle."

"What is a Marxist! I am an Egyptian," Ramses said.

"Of course you are, Mr. Ramsey," said Elliott smoothly. "And you're no Marxist. How perfectly ridiculous. You knew our Lawrence in Cairo?"

"Our Lawrence. Briefly I knew him." Ramses was staring at Henry. Julie quickly lifted her soup spoon and, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow, demonstrated how the soup was to be eaten. He didn't so much as glance at her. He picked up his bread, dipped it in the soup and began eating it, glaring at Henry again.

"Lawrence's death came as a shock to me, as I'm sure it did to everyone," he said, dipping another enormous piece of bread. "A Marxist is a type of philosopher? I do remember a Karl Marx. I discovered this person in Lawrence's library. A fool."

Henry had not touched his soup. He drank another deep gulp of his Scotch and motioned for the waiter.

"It's unimportant," Julie said quickly.

"Yes, Lawrence's death was a terrible shock," Elliott said soberly. "I was sure he had another good ten years. Maybe twenty."

Ramses was dipping yet another enormous piece of the bread into the soup. And Henry was now staring at him with veiled horror, careful to avoid his eyes. Everyone was more or less quietly watching Ramses, who wiped up the very last of the soup now with another chunk of bread, and then downed the sherry, and wiped his lips with the napkin and sat back.

"More food," he whispered. "It's coming?"

"Yes, it is, but slow down," Julie whispered.

"You were a true friend of Lawrence?" Ramses said to Elliott.

"Absolutely," said Elliott.

"Yes, well, if he were here, he'd be talking about his beloved mummy," said Alex with that same nervous laugh. "As a matter of fact, why are you taking this trip, Julie? Why go back to Egypt when the mummy lies there in London waiting for examination? You know, I don't really understand...."

"The collection's opened several avenues of research," Julie said. "We want to go to Alexandria and then perhaps Cairo...."

"Yes, of course," Elliott said. He was clearly watching Ramses' reaction as the waiter set down the fish before him, a small portion in a delicate cream sauce. "Cleopatra," he went on, "your mysterious Ramses the Second claimed to have loved and lost her. And that happened in Alexandria, did it not?"