“To dine?” Nubnofret echoed him. “That is not like you, Khaemwaset. They must have made an impression indeed, to be accorded such an honour.”
He now trusted himself to look up. “They did.”
“In that case, give me three days’ warning. Sheritra, sit straight! Your back is as hunched as a monkey’s.”
The girl obeyed automatically. Her eyes were on her father, and Khaemwaset felt their keenness before she dropped her gaze to her plate once more.
Hori began a conversation to do with the plans for his tomb. He had begun to design it early as every Egyptian should. Nubnofret, after a time, changed the subject to the renovation of the kitchens. Khaemwaset joined in easily and the meal ended cheerfully. Nubnofret excused herself. Hori went to seek Antef. Sheritra, who had said little, stirred on her cushions but made no move to leave. The servants removed her table and Khaemwaset’s and he, seeing her abstract mood, signalled that the harpist should continue to play.
“Have you had a happy day?” he asked her.
“Certainly, Father,” she replied. “I have been particularly lazy though. Bakmut went into the city to run some errands for me and I fell asleep in the garden, then I had a swim. Who was your patient today?”
Khaemwaset inwardly cursed her question. Fleetingly he begun to compose a lie, then discarded it. “I think you can guess,” he answered quietly.
She uncrossed her legs and rearranged her linens, then fell to playing with her gold earring, twisting it round and round, her head on one side. “Really?” she said. “How extraordinary! The woman you seek is placed at your feet like an unexpected gift.”
Her choice of words made Khaemwaset uncomfortable, guilty. “It was indeed a strange occurrence,” he responded awkwardly.
“And were you disappointed?” She could not disguise the hope in her voice.
“Not at all,” Khaemwaset said grimly. “She is lovely, gracious, and well-bred.”
“And coming to dinner.” Sheritra let go the earring. “Is that wise?” Then when he did not reply she burst out, “Oh Father, I wish you wouldn’t! I really wish you wouldn’t!”
It would do no good, Khaemwaset knew, to pretend that he did not know what she meant, and to do so would be insulting. Her homely face was flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright with concern. “I do not think you have anything to fear,” he said deliberately, kindly. “I do not deny to you, Sheritra, that I am almost irresistibly drawn to her, but between a wish and its fulfillment are many decisions, many choices. I have already done the right thing in the eyes of the gods and within the confines of Ma’at. I shall doubtless do so this time.” He did not realize for a moment that he was lying on both counts.
“Is she married?” Sheritra asked a little more calmly, though her colour remained high.
“She is a widow.” Khaemwaset found it very difficult to hold her gaze. “You know that I could offer her a contract of marriage if I wished, my dearest, and put her in separate quarters on the estate with her son, but I don’t think she is the kind of woman who would resign herself to the position of Second Wife. Whatever happens, your mother’s wellbeing is my first concern.”
“So you feel that strongly about her?”
He was immediately irritated. “I have seen her four times and only talked with her once! How do I know?”
She looked away, her hands now restless. “I have upset you, Father,” she said. “I am sorry.”
He was silent. Presently she got up clumsily, shook back her hair and walked out with as much dignity as she could muster. The music of the harp continued to trill and flutter through the lamplit room.
He gave Nubnofret her three days’ notice and was standing above the watersteps with Ib and Amek in plenty of time to greet his guests when they arrived. He wondered if they would disembark hesitantly, climb the stair with the reluctance of the momentarily overawed, but their small craft hove into sight, was challenged by his river guard, tied up, and they emerged and walked towards him without a trace of self-consciousness. Sisenet was simply clad in a plain kilt and leather sandals, but several strands of gold hung with ankhs and miniature crouching baboons lay on his chest, and gold bracelets hugged both his arms. He was carefully painted and wore a gold-and-malachite scarab ring on the index finger of each hand. Harmin was similarly dressed. A gold circlet passed around his high forehead and held down his gleaming black hair just about his ears, and from it a single gold ankh rested against his brow giving startling emphasis to his kohled grey eyes.
But Khaemwaset’s gaze was drawn to Tbubui. She too was in white. He had wondered if for this occasion she might adopt more fashionable dress—flounces and hundreds of tiny pleats, intricate borders and fussy jewellery—and was irrationally relieved when he saw the tight linen sheath that gripped her lithe body from ankles to breasts. She, like Harmin, wore a circlet, but hers was wide silver, though the ankh on her forehead was as plain. A silver necklace with a red jasper pendant descending into her cleavage and a loose girdle of silver net with a red tassle swinging between her hidden knees were the only acknowledgement of formality. Khaemwaset was glad to see the white sandals on her feet. She followed his gaze and laughed. Her perfect, somewhat feline teeth shone against her hennaed mouth and brown skin.