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“Hola, Tío Ricardo,” I said.
CAPÍTULO CINCO
My uncle’s shoulders stiffened. He gave a minute shake of his head and then half turned in his chair. He lifted his chin and met my gaze. The sight of him, the familiar hazel eyes he shared with my mother, robbed me of breath. I’d forgotten how much they’d resembled each other. The curling dark hair, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of the nose. He had more wrinkles, more gray strands than my mother, but the shape of his brows and the curve of his ears were identical to hers.
Which meant I looked like him, too.
For one breathless second, fury detonated across his face, eyes narrowed into slits, his breathing harsh. I blinked and then his expression turned welcoming, a smile stretching his lips.
Master of his emotions. What a useful skill set.
“My dear niece,” he said smoothly, getting to his feet. “Take this seat and I’ll request another from—oh, I see they’ve already anticipated me.” Tío Ricardo stepped closer to allow room for an attendant to dart forward, carrying a dining chair. I couldn’t quite believe that after all this time, after the long weeks in getting here, my uncle stood not even a breath away. He towered over me, and while he wore his age in every line of his face, his bearing denoted a subtle strength.
His smile still in place, he patted my shoulder in a way that felt almost fond. “You’re no longer the girl I remember with dirty knees and scraped elbows.”
“Not for some time,” I agreed. “You look well, Tío.”
“And you,” he said softly, “look just like my sister.”
The room softened to a hush. I felt, rather than saw, the stares of everyone in the room. Mr. Hayes and the other gentlemen stood, the latter two watching me with unabashed curiosity.
“Your niece,” one of the men said in a thick French accent. “Incroyable!But this must be the daughter of Lourdes, then.” The Frenchman fell silent, a deep blush marring his pale cheeks. His balding head shined in the soft candlelight illuminating the dining chamber. “Forgive me, je suis désolé. I was very sorry to hear what happened to your parents.”
“Monsieur Maspero, Sir Evelyn, allow me to present my niece, Miss Inez Olivera. She’s come for a quick visit”—I stiffened, but didn’t argue—“to enjoy the sights. My dear, I trust that you’ve met Mr. Hayes?”
Since my uncle had sent him on the errand to the docks, he knew that I had. But I played along. “I have, gracias.”
Sir Evelyn inclined his head and we stood as the waiters brought an additional place setting. We sat down once all was arranged for five guests. My uncle and I were squeezed together on one side, our elbows brushing, while Mr. Hayes sat at the head of the table on my opposite side. Bookmarked by the two people who wanted to send me packing.
Mr. Hayes eyed the cramped space. “I can switch with one of you.”
Tío Ricardo glanced at me. “I’m comfortable, if you are?”
There was the slightest hint of challenge in his voice.
“Perfectamente.”
The waiter brought menus printed on buttercream-hued sheets, the paper thick and luxurious. Conversation lulled as we examined the offerings, the only sound coming from Monsieur Maspero, who murmured appreciatively at the selections. They were extravagant: boiled sea bass, hens glazed in white wine with buttered rice, roasted wild duck paired with a seasonal salad, and Turkish coffee for dessert, with chocolate cake and fresh fruit. I wanted to try one of everything but restrained myself and ordered the chicken prepared the Portuguese way. Everyone else requested the fish, which made me think they knew something that I didn’t. The waiter left, promising to bring several bottles of French wine.
“Next time order the fish,” Monsieur Maspero said. “Caught fresh from the Nile daily.”
“That sounds delicious. I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” I said. “I arrived just in time to hear you insulted, Sir Evelyn.”
Mr. Hayes let out a choked laugh. Monsieur Maspero’s light eyes darted from my uncle to Sir Evelyn. Tío Ricardo folded his arms, angling his face in my direction, amusement lurking in his hazel eyes. I could only imagine the thoughts that swirled in his mind as he tried to figure me out. But the truth was simple. I deplored empty conversation and my uncle clearly had a reason for dining with people he didn’t seem to like. I wasn’t going to let my presence distract him from what he was after.
That wouldn’t put me in a favorable light.
Before anyone could reply, the wine came and was promptly poured into gorgeous, long-stemmed glasses. Mr. Hayes took a prolonged sip. Not partial to just whiskey, then. Sir Evelyn sat stiffly in his chair, coldly silent.
“You are correct, Mademoiselle,” Monsieur Maspero said. “Your uncle sought to offend, and he succeeded. How this will help his cause, I have no idea. But perhaps it’s a clever ruse to get what he wants.”
“And what is his cause?” I asked.
“Are you going to answer that, Mr. Marqués?” Sir Evelyn asked in a frigid tone. “You’ve done most of the talking, so far.”
The two men stared at each other, hardly moving except to breathe. I took my cue from Mr. Hayes, who remained quiet, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the knife next to his side plate. Finally, my uncle turned to me. “Egypt has been overrun with people who spend most of their lives in grand hotels, visiting many lands but not bothering to learn languages, who have looked at everything, but seen nothing. They ruin the planet with their footsteps, and they disrespect Egyptians by taking priceless historical objects and vandalizing monuments. These two men have the means to improve the situation here.”
“Well, you have just said it,” Sir Evelyn said. “We are only two men. How are we to keep tourists from defacing archaeological sites? To keep them from smuggling artifacts in their trunks? It is impossible.”
