Mummy Dearest Read Online Free Page B

this is my wife, Claire Malloy, her daughter, Caron, and Inez Thornton, our resident scholar. Mahmoud and his wife, Aisha, have invited me for meals at their home several times. Aisha is looking forward to meeting you.”
    We exchanged pleasantries as Mahmoud sat down. Although a relatively young man, Mahmoud had the same air of resignation as that of Peter’s beleaguered sergeant in the Farberville PD. Bureaucracies seem to breed gray hairs and weary smiles, as if they were standard issue along withbadges. Both Mahmoud and Peter needed to have their hair trimmed and their suits sent to a dry cleaner. A waiter in a starchy white jacket materialized at the table. Peter requested a gin and tonic, and I acknowledged that I might enjoy one as well.
    Mahmoud opted for a glass of lemonade. “I am Muslim and do not drink alcoholic beverages. I do not object when others do, although it grieves me to see our younger generation sneering at the old traditions and ignoring their religious training.” He laughed ruefully. “I suppose that is precisely what my parents said about me and my friends, and their parents said about them. It is now the twenty-first century. We must all adapt, or so my children keep telling me when they’re not playing their computer games or downloading music.”
    Caron and Inez rolled their eyes at each other, then realized I was looking at them and returned their attention to the platters of sandwiches and cakes.
    “Peter tells me that you two were married quite recently,” Mahmoud continued. “Aisha and I have been married for nearly twelve years, but she still complains that I work too late and never have time for her and our three children. One day she will be complaining that I never have time for our grandchildren. I can see that you are not as naive as she is,
Sitt
Malloy.”
    “Call me Claire, please. Peter managed to show up for the ceremony, but we haven’t had much time together since then. I hope he’ll be able to show us around. I’m particularly excited at the chance to see the Valley of the Kings.”
    Mahmoud gave Peter one of those indecipherable male glances, then said, “You have at your disposal a car and driver.” He took a card out of his wallet and handed it to me. “Please call this number half an hour before you wish to depart. Bakr will be available day or evening to take you to your chosen destination and wait while you take all the time you wish to appreciate the sites. He will also run errands and make purchases for you, although it might be best to write down specifically what you want. Bakr speaks English fairlywell, but he is no better than any man when it comes to ladies’ cosmetics and toiletries. To us, shampoo is shampoo. I know my wife has exacting preferences as to brands.”
    “Thank you very much,” I said. “Do we have any idea about an itinerary, Peter?”
    My darling husband, with his lovely brown eyes and dazzling smile (all of which could have a profound effect on me in amorous moments), reached over and held my hand. “I have nothing on my schedule tomorrow. You seem a little tired from the trip, so I thought you might prefer to spend a restful day at the hotel. Bakr can take Caron and Inez to the temples at Karnak and arrange for a private tour.” He smiled at the girls, who were looking leery at the idea of a lengthy lecture on history. “Whenever you’ve had enough, Bakr will take you to a café for ice cream or whatever you wish. Later you can return for the sound-and-light show. How does that sound?”
    Caron grimaced. “It sounds like you’re trying to get rid of us for the day.”
    “Yes, I am,” Peter said. “I haven’t seen my wife for a month.”
    “Karnak is cool,” Inez volunteered before Caron could respond. “It has a hypostyle hall and a sacred lake, and all sorts of reliefs and hieroglyphs on the wall. It was the most important place of worship in Egypt during the Theban period. It was called something that means ‘The