“I prefer to be here to greet her on her first day back in Egypt since that dreadful experience,” I said. “Furthermore, if we are to work at Amarna, the dahabeeyah must arrive from Luxor. I am confident Fatima has thoroughly cleaned the Amelia several times from bow to stern, but she will need time to stock the larder. Not even to oblige you, my dear, will I camp out in an abandoned tomb for a lengthy season.” Emerson had, some years back, made a lavishly romantic gesture and acquired a Nile houseboat or dahabeeyah for me, and after refurbishing it fully, named it the Amelia. It has been our floating home in Egypt ever since then, being an efficient and practical way of moving from site to site and avoiding camping (although I am fully capable of running a comfortable and clean camp), as well as of traveling through Egypt on the Nile, as was done by the ancient Egyptians for millennia.

“You did once before,” Emerson replied, advancing upon me with a familiar gleam in his sapphirine eyes.

“I was younger then,” I said as his strong arms enclosed me, rekindling the most passionate of memories, “but I would do it again if it were necessary. I cannot see that a few days . . .” I said no more at that time, for reasons that should be obvious to the sensitive Reader.

Emerson fussed a bit about the delay, but I managed to keep him distracted by one means or another. He is not a companionable shopper; his patience expires long before I have tried on more than three or four hats. I insisted that we purchase some shirts for him, since he is notoriously hard on his wardrobe. With ill-disguised reluctance, he consented to visit Selim’s family, where we enjoyed a simple yet sumptuous feast with aunts, uncles, and cousins of all ages. Other distractions took place in the boudoir and need not be described.

We were sitting on the hotel terrace taking tea when a cab pulled up at the steps and a familiar face appeared at its window, a delicately sculpted face framed by a halo of red-gold hair and adorned with a beaming smile. Emerson leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair, and ran down the stairs with the brash ardor of a besotted schoolboy. He plucked Nefret from the cab and held her close, giving me barely a chance to greet her at all.

“My dearest girl,” I said as she turned to embrace me. “It is wonderful to see you, and even earlier than we had hoped.”

“I left Paris as soon as I heard you were on your way to Egypt,” Nefret replied. “And here I am, just in time for tea.”