Page 51

Mr. Al-Ahmed sighed and turned back to him. “Yes?”

“I thought you slept in one of the tents!” Neil protested.

“Why would I sleep in a tent when I can stay in a nice house?” Mr. Al-Ahmed countered.

“ButI’msleeping in a tent! I thought that was the way it was done!”

Mr. Al-Ahmed made a dismissive noise. “Pssh. My abba always rented a house for his excavations if there was one available nearby for a reasonable rate.”

Ellie hadn’t thought it was possible for her brother to look even more dejected, but somehow he managed it.

They reached the door. Mr. Al-Ahmed paused at the threshold with an awkward look back at the rest of them. “Could you… wait here for a moment?”

A little spill of lamplight fell across the path as he slipped inside.

Ellie could just make out a rapid and tense exchange from beyond the door. Mr. Al-Ahmed’s tones were apologetic. A strong female voice answered him. It sounded frustrated and disapproving.

“I thought he stayed in a tent,” Neil voiced in low, mournful tones as he stared bewilderingly at the house.

The door swung open, framing both Mr. Al-Ahmed and the woman Ellie had heard speaking. She was an Egyptian lady dressed in a fitted yelek gown slit at the sides to reveal loose trousers. The fabric was an emerald hue that set off the green tones in her eyes. The hijab that covered her hair was elegantly embroidered.

She was studying them with obvious irritation.

“Please, come in,” Mr. Al-Ahmed said with an uncomfortable smile.

Past the crooked entryway, Mr. Al-Ahmed led them through a small courtyard into a comfortably appointed sitting room. The furnishings were in a mix of Egyptian and European styles, with a low divan, a few overstuffed chairs, and a coffee table. A pile of books with titles in English, French, and Arabic sat beside a wooden desk clock.

The green-eyed woman planted herself in one of the chairs in a manner that clearly indicated she had no intention of being moved from it.

“Ya habibti,” Sayyid said a little nervously. “I believe you remember Dr. Fairfax. This is his sister, Miss Mallory, and her friends Mr. Bates and Miss Tyrrell. Everyone, this is my wife, Zeinab.”

“Do sit down.” Mrs. Al-Ahmed’s words were ostensibly polite, but they had the air of a general issuing an order. “I am, of course, eager for my dear husband to further explain what brought thisunexpectedvisit about.”

Ellie plopped down onto the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the divan. Mr. Al-Ahmed took the chair beside his wife, eyeing her nervously, while Constance cheerfully made herself at home on an ottoman.

Neil stopped behind a sofa, staring at all of them blankly as though he couldn’t quite fathom how he had come to be there.

Adam crossed to the window, leaning against the wall as he gazed out through the screen, his posture one of careful readiness.

Checking to make sure they hadn’t been followed, Ellie realized.

An awkward silence followed. Ellie took it upon herself to break it. “Do you live here throughout the dig season, Mrs. Al-Ahmed?”

“No,” Mrs. Al-Ahmed replied shortly. “My work is in Cairo. Fridays are the one day of the week when I can visit my husband.”

“Zeinab is a daya—a midwife,” Mr. Al-Ahmed explained with a note of pride. “She is very sought after for her skills.”

“A midwife, did you say?” Constance perked up.

“Yes?” Mrs. Al-Ahmed replied cautiously.

“And you don’t veil or retire to the haramlek when there are guests,” Constance noted. “So you must be fairly modern.”

At Constance’s look of razor-sharp interest, Ellie recalled her curiosity about methods for avoiding pregnancy—to better facilitate her plan of taking a lover.

“Oh drat,” she muttered under her breath.

Adam cast her a curious look.