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DEAR SOUTHWEST TRAINS and OTHER GRUMBLES: OR THE MUSINGS OF A LADY IN UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES.
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• Three months in the Soudan.
• DUANGTAWAN HOTEL CHIANG MAI (HOTEL OFFICIAL WEBSITE)
• DEAR SOUTHWEST TRAINS and OTHER GRUMBLES: OR THE MUSINGS OF A LADY IN UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES

I pointed out that Mr. Quibell, the director, was doing the best he could under difficult circumstances. Emerson nodded grudgingly. I suppose we ought to call on him.

Or we might have one of your little archaeological dinner parties, Peabody. The Quibells, and Daressy, and anyone else you can collect. My dinner parties, celebrating our return to Egypt, had been very popular. For the past few years I had been loath to hold them; it was too painful to see the diminished company and reflect on the fates of those who were no longer with us: our German and Austrian colleagues departed, the ranks of the French and English Egyptologists depleted by death or military service.

However, I had already been in receipt of friendly messages from those who were still in Cairo — the news of our arrival had, of course, immediately become known. A brief period of reflection explained his change of heart. There was another reason for his willingness to stay on in Cairo; he was hoping for a further communication from his brother. He had made a point of looking through the messages every day and his disappointment at finding nothing of the sort was evident to me at least.

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I confess I was also somewhat exasperated with Sethos. What had been the point of that brief encounter? Unfortunately I was unable to locate the archaeologist whom Emerson had hoped to interrogate. Howard Carter was not in Cairo. No one knew where he was. However, when the sadly diminished group met next evening, he was the chief topic of conversation. Owing to the short notice, the Quibells were the only ones who had been able to accept my invitation. James was furious. James shrugged. This one was made for her when she was queen, before she assumed kingly titles. It was empty except for a sarcophagus.

She and her husband were not great admirers of Howard; after his falling-out with the Service, he had begun dealing in antiquities, and this did not make him popular with his professional colleagues.

Some of the Gurnawis did. He only followed them. Having failed to locate Howard, Emerson was ready to leave for Luxor at once. However, it was not to be. We were finishing breakfast en famille in our sitting room when a messenger arrived with a letter for Emerson. It was a delightful little domestic scene, with Sennia badgering Ramses to give her a lesson in hieroglyphs and Horus snarling at Gargery and Emerson reading the Egyptian Gazette and smoking his pipe, while Nefret told me about the new arrangements at the hospital.

When I saw the envelope, with its official seal, it was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. He would like me to come to his office at my earliest convenience.

We had all fallen silent except for Sennia, who had no idea who the high commissioner was and cared even less. Emerson looked at his son. Sennia understood that. Sennia was in the habit of making pronouncements instead of asking questions; it usually worked. Ramses rose, smiling. The door closed behind them — and Horus, who went wherever Sennia went unless forcibly prevented from doing so.

Having got Sennia out of the way, Emerson turned stern blue eyes on Gargery, who stood with arms folded and feet slightly apart, exuding stubbornness. Wingate probably wants us for some tedious office job. What more do they want from him? It did seem to me as if she were underestimating my contribution and that of Emerson, but I did not say so; where her husband was concerned, Nefret was passionately single-minded.

Her eyes were bright with tears of anger. Emerson stopped by the chair in which she sat and put his hand on her shoulder. The situation has changed. With the Turks driven out of the Sinai, the Canal is no longer in danger, and the Senussi are in full retreat. She did not go to the hospital that morning.

She did not want to leave the hotel, though I pointed out that we could probably not expect Emerson and Ramses back before luncheon. Finally I managed to persuade her to go walking in the Ezbekieh Gardens with Sennia and me. I always say there is nothing like the beauties of nature to distract one from worrisome thoughts. The Gardens are planted with rare trees and shrubs and the air is harmonious with birdsong.

Sennia was even more of a distraction; it required both of us to keep track of her as she ran up and down the graveled paths. It did Nefret good, I believe. But I understand. Ramses says they are pretty ears. Is he in trouble? Nefret laughed and picked her up. We were about to cross the street, which was crowded with traffic. We had been waiting for almost an hour before they returned. Sennia was reading aloud to us from a little book of Egyptian fairy tales, but the moment the door opened she dropped it and ran to meet them.

The military and the civil administration have always been at odds. Father agreed to stay on in Cairo for another day or two, and meet with Wingate again. The second meeting with Wingate was shorter than the first, and somewhat more acrimonious. He had been itching to do so for some time.

Come, Ramses; we have wasted enough time telling people things they ought to have known anyhow and going over and over facts that are either self-explanatory or irrelevant. The new high commissioner took this rudeness better than Ramses had expected.

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Now in his sixties, he had had a long and illustrious career as governor of the Sudan, and Ramses got the impression that he was finding it harder to deal with his peers in Cairo than with rebellious Sudanese. Is Nefret ready to leave? On the morning of their departure Nefret and Ramses breakfasted alone in their room, at what struck Ramses as an obscenely early hour. There was no need for you to get up so early. You hardly said a word the other night when we dined with Sophia and Beatrice. It was rude of us not to include you in the conversation. Us and you.

He described his encounter with Musa as they walked through the ornate lobby and out the door of the hotel.

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Did you know he had put the word out that we were not to be bothered? More injuries, and fewer of the women are coming to us. Leave it alone, darling. They keep shuffling people around. All of them. Her tight lips relaxed into one of her most bewitching smiles, complete with dimples, and as a further inducement to good behavior, she told him she would be back in time for luncheon. Ramses watched her run lightly up the steps and in the door before he turned away. Could he get el-Gharbi paroled? The answer was probably no.

It had probably been Thomas Russell who reeled him in. If he could persuade Russell that el-Gharbi had information that could be of use to him…. The answer was still no. Anyhow, there were only two questions Ramses would like to have answered: the whereabouts of his infuriating uncle, and the identity of the man who had sold the artifacts to Aslimi. El-Gharbi had once had contacts with every illegal activity in Cairo, but drugs and prostitution were his chief interests; he dealt with illegal antiquities and espionage only when they impinged on his primary business.

Musa was nowhere to be found, so Ramses spent a few hours wandering through the green groves of the Ezbekieh Gardens, to get the smells of el-Wasa out of his system.