“?Me permites entrar?”
His shoulders were wide and nearly engulfed the space between the doorframe. He towered over me, and a large part of me wanted to slam the door in his face. I couldn’t get my mother’s letter to Maspero out of my mind. She didn’t trust him. She feared for his safety, for what he might do. I thought of the way he had spoken to Sir Evelyn, arguing about living wages and for Abdullah to have a seat at the table.
Had it all been an act?
I’d never know if I didn’t talk to him. “Of course you can come in,” I said in a softer tone.
He walked forward, his gaze landing on my packed suitcases. My uncle didn’t speak, and I waited for him to reprimand me for disobeying his mandate that I stay inside the hotel room all day. I expected Mr. Hayes had told him every last detail about our excursions. Pressure gathered between my shoulder blades and I braced myself.
“You’re displeased with me,” he said finally.
I raised my brows.
My uncle sighed, tucked a hand into his trouser pocket. “Regardless of what you may believe, I am thinking about you, Inez. I’ve never had the opportunity—I don’t have—” He broke off, flinching. “What I mean to say is that I’m not a parent. But I do know what Lourdes and Cayo would have wanted, and it would have been for you to be at home, far away from all this.”
“But they died,” I said, and for the first time, my voice didn’t crack. “You’re making the decisions now.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I won’t change my mind.”
“Well, you’ve said your good-bye,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
He appeared to be at a loss, looking down at me with a peculiar expression on his face. It was hard to envision his involvement in illegal activities—whatever they were. What did he do in the small hours of the night? I couldn’t imagine him on the other side of the law. Right then, he seemed more like the uncle I remembered. The one with the booming voice and kind smile. Shirt unbuttoned at the collar revealing a bronze throat, and hair scraped back and tucked underneath a leather hat. His pants were well worn, rolled at the ankle over a pair of scuffed workman’s boots.
“I saw you in the lobby.” He swiftly glanced at my parents’ bedroom. “I want you to know that I’ll have Lourdes and Cayo’s things packed away and mailed to you as soon as the season is over. Not long after the new year, I should think.”
I licked my lips. “Please change your mind, Tío.”
Tío Ricardo rubbed his jaw.
“Inez—” He swallowed. His words came out a sharp plea. “I don’t have the time to properly watch over you. I can’t do my work while worrying about you. Look what happened to your parents. What if something happened to you while I was occupied? I’d never forgive myself.” He shook his head and abruptly changed the subject. “Do you have everything you need?”
I thought about the secret supplies I had stashed away and nodded. He looked around and went for my canvas bag. My heart leapt in my chest as he took it in hand. If he were to look through it, he’d find some of my parents’ things. Items meant for surviving out in the desert.
“I’ll help you bring this down.”
“No need,” I said quickly. “Sallam already arranged for it.”
“Oh.” He dropped it back down to the floor, and then cleared his throat. “Do you have money?”
I was about to nod again but then caught myself. It would probably be useful to have some more. I didn’t know what I’d come across in my trek across Cairo to the docks. Tío Ricardo dug into his pocket and pulled out several Egyptian piastres. Wordlessly, he handed everything over.
“What time do you sail?” I asked.
“We leave tomorrow morning, but we’ll spend the night aboard the Elephantine tonight. I want the crew gathered ahead of time to prevent delays in setting off at dawn.” He fiddled with the cuff of his shirtsleeve. “I’ve arranged for your chaperone to meet you downstairs in the lobby in ten minutes. She’s an older lady but happy to make the journey with you, and quite literally the only one available on such short notice. Evidently, she has friends in South America and will join them after dropping you off at home. I’ve also written to your aunt with your arrival details.”
“You’ve thought of everything.” I made one last attempt to persuade him. It would be so much easier to spy on him if he’d only let me come as well. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”
“You will one day,” he said. “And maybe you’ll forgive me then.”
He inclined his head and walked out. I stared after him, unable to rid my mind of what he said—his sincerity surprised me. I worried my lip, considering.
But no matter how long I dwelled on his words and how he said them, I still couldn’t guess what he meant.
*
I was not an easy child to raise. Constantly hiding myself away when I didn’t want to be found, exploring when I ought to have stayed put. Initially, I acted out the most when Mamá and Papá were home. I thought that if they saw how wild I was becoming, they might stay longer. But Papá loved the streak of independence, and he had always encouraged my varied interests. It was Mamá who could rein me in, constantly reminding me of her expectations. And there were a lot of them. And so I learned to behave, but once they left for Egypt . . . my rebellious tendencies flared.
I thanked God for it.
The walk down to the lobby allowed me plenty of time to think through every move and countermove of my hastily formed plan. Outwardly, I schooled my expression, hoping none of my inner turmoil made itself known. By the time I reached the main floor, my hands were slick with sweat.
What if I failed?
Shepheard’s brimmed with elegantly dressed guests, waiting to be let into the dining room. They stood in clusters, and the collective chatter echoed in the crammed lobby. The ladies wore elaborate evening gowns, the gentlemen smart jackets and polished shoes and expertly tied cravats, some of them smoking. Egyptian men chatted idly, the tassels on their tarbooshes swinging from their animated conversation. There might have been one hundred to two hundred people socializing, blocking a straight path to the front doors.
In the crowd, standing a foot taller than nearly half the occupants, was Mr. Hayes, dressed more elegantly than I could have thought possible. His black evening wear contrasted with his tanned face, the clothing neat and pressed. Not a wrinkle in sight. He conversed with my uncle, frowning and gesturing wildly. A gasp climbed up my throat, but I hammered it down. Mr. Hayes was probably ratting me out this moment. I honestly wouldn’t put it past him. Tío Ricardo bore Mr. Hayes’s frustrations with a stony silence.