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“Miss Olivera, a pleasure. You’re looking a bit more dry,” Mr. Fincastle said coolly.
Tío Ricardo lowered his reading material with a dramatic sigh. He set it aside none too gently and regarded me from across the table as I took my seat.
Isadora cleared her throat loudly and threw her a father a pointed look.
“I do apologize for aiming a gun at your face,” Mr. Fincastle continuedin a begrudging sort of way that spoke volumes. His daughter had clearly given him an earful. She beamed at him and daintily took another sip of coffee.
But the blood drained from Tío Ricardo’s face. His mouth opened and closed, and he sputtered several unintelligible words. “You aimed yourweaponat my niece? She’s a child!”
“You paid me for my services.” Mr. Fincastle gestured toward me. “She’s made a full recovery since. We ought to congratulate you.”
“Congratulations,” Whit said to me cheerfully.
My uncle threw a murderous glare in the direction of Mr. Fincastle, who nibbled on bread slathered with butter. “I’m afraid I still don’t know who you are, and how you’ve become a member of your uncle’s excavation team.”
“She is mostly here to keep me company,” Tío Ricardo said, and then he gestured to the burly man. “Inez, this is Mr. Robert Fincastle, in charge of our security, and his daughter, Isadora. They recently arrived from England.”
That explained Mr. Fincastle’s fascination with the weapons lined against the wall. He had probably brought them on board himself. It also explained how Isadora had stood next to him, firing her own pistol. It seemed no matter where I went, I was going to be surrounded by the British. I narrowed my gaze at Mr. Fincastle. Why would my uncle think we would need weaponry at an excavation site? I squirmed in my seat. It seemed highly unusual.
“Mr. Hayes you’ve met,” Tío Ricardo added, almost as an afterthought.
“True, but I still don’t know what he does for you,” I pressed.
“A little of everything,” my uncle said vaguely. “He’s an enterprising fellow.”
“Thank you,” Whit said in mock seriousness.
“Ricardo, this is highly irregular,” Mr. Fincastle said. “You ought to send her back. Her delicate constitution cannot handle the demands of the journey.”
I bristled. “My delicate constitution?”
Mr. Fincastle gestured dismissively with his hand. “A typical quality found in sheltered females—such as yourself.”
His hypocrisy enraged me. “You’ve brought your own daughter,” I said through gritted teeth.
“We agreed I would during my contract negotiations,” Mr. Fincastle said. “My daughter isn’t delicate. Shealsodidn’t sneak on board, and she knows how to behave herself.”
“That’s not to say that I wouldn’t have if you’d left me behind,” she said with a wink in my direction.
My lips parted in surprise.
“Regardless,” Mr. Fincastle said in an icy tone, “I prepared for all eventualities, and suddenly I have a new person to look after. That will cost you, Ricardo, if you insist on bringing her along.”
I sat back against the chair and clasped my hands tight in my lap. A vehement protest climbed up my throat. Mr. Fincastle’s damning implication of my character grated. He thought me reckless and weak. But my uncle had left me little choice. If he’d been forthright from the beginning, I wouldn’t have gone to such extremes looking for information.
“For the moment, it can’t be helped,” Tío Ricardo said. When Mr. Fincastle made to protest again, my uncle held up his hand, a hard line to his jaw. “I don’t see the need to include you in my decision.”
Mr. Fincastle kept quiet, but I sensed a deep mistrust toward myself and my uncle. Kareem brought several dishes into the saloon. The scent of sweet and savory food filled the room and my mouth watered.
“Have you been to Egypt before, Miss Olivera?” Mr. Fincastle asked.
“Not once. My parents loved this country, and I thought I’d get to know it for myself.” Privately I added,and to discover what happened to them.My attention flickered to my uncle, whose presence seemed to fill up the small space of the saloon. The more time I spent with him, the harder it was for me to view him as a criminal. He seemed passionate about his work, and his love for Egypt and its history and culture seemed genuine.
Could my mother have been wrong somehow?
My uncle must have felt my gaze because his own flicked toward mine. Our matching hazel eyes met, his warm and speculative, mine steeped in uncertainty.
Kareem and another waiter brought out the last of the meal. Everythingwas laid before us. Simple and serviceable plates were piled high with a variety of foods I’d never seen before.
