Read Online Night Train to Memphis by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online Page B

cathedrals would have dwindled in that immensity of sky and sand. This was a dream trip
all right, a trip I had hoped to take one day. But I’d have traded the luxurious suite and the fancy food for an ordinary tourist excursion. How could I concentrate on pyramids and tomb
paintings when my stomach was churning and my nerves were twanging like Grandad’s guitar strings? My eyes kept wandering from the carved lotus columns of the Southern Colonnade to the people
gathered around Feisal.
    I forced my eyes back to the guidebook and read a long paragraph about the Sed festival, but if you want to know what it was you’ll have to look it up, because I’ve forgotten
everything except the name. Many of the fallen columns and walls had been restored, with original materials, and there was now enough to indicate how impressive the structure must have been in its
prime. The slender fluted columns and gracefully curved cornices had a classical elegance. I was staring dreamily at them when I saw Jen heading in my direction.
    I bent my head over the book, hoping she wouldn’t join me. I didn’t want company, especially hers. For a couple of minutes I had actually been enjoying myself.
    She passed fairly close to me but she didn’t stop. Fumbling in her bag, she disappeared from sight behind a low wall. What could she want back there? It was unlike her to wander off alone.
She hadn’t looked her usual energetic self, her steps had been slow and dragging.
    I got to my feet and followed.
    The space was dark and shadowed. Jen was sitting on the ground, her open bag beside her. ‘Jen?’ I said uncertainly ‘Are you – ’
    She turned a blank, grey face toward me and toppled over onto her side.

Chapter Three

    I YELLED . At its loudest my voice is the equal of any Wagnerian soprano’s, in volume if in no other quality. My call
for help was answered sooner than I had dared hope; apparently I hadn’t been the only one to observe Jen’s sickly look. First on the scene was her devoted son, with Mary close on his
heels.
    Jen had resisted my attempt to lift her, curling herself into a ball with knees raised and arms clasped over her midsection, but when she saw John she made a gallant effort to smile.
    ‘Just my silly old tummy,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t worry, darling, I’ll be fine in a minute.’
    Her face was now green instead of grey, and sticky with perspiration. Mary knelt by her with a little cry of sympathy.
    ‘Mother Tregarth!’
    ‘Get out of my way,’ John said brusquely. I didn’t know whether he meant me or his bride. Mary assumed it was me. As she bent tenderly over Jen, the latter was violently and
messily sick. Mary stumbled to her feet and backed off, her face twisted with disgust.
    John hoisted his mother into his arms and put her down again a few feet away. Contemplating the spots on my brand-new outfit I said, ‘Oh, shit,’ took a handful of tissues from my
pocket, and began wiping Jen’s face.
    ‘I do admire a woman with an extensive vocabulary,’ John said under his breath. ‘Don’t just squat there, fetch the doctor.’
    ‘I’ll go,’ Mary said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, darling, I . . . I’ll go.’
    When they returned they were accompanied by several of the other passengers, moved by kindly concern or morbid curiosity. It’s not always easy to tell the difference, I admit. I felt
fairly sure it was the latter emotion that had moved Suzi to join us, but I was willing to give Blenkiron the benefit of the doubt. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
    Jen demonstrated. I had hoped she would throw up on John, but he managed to avoid it, supporting her head and shoulders so she wouldn’t choke. She kept on heaving, poor thing, although she
had obviously got rid of everything in her stomach.
    I hadn’t paid much attention to Dr Carter when he was introduced the night before, except to hope devoutly I would not require his services. He was a particularly unnoticeable man –
middle-aged,