Chapter 5
Chapter Five
LOST IN TRANSIT . . .
Sylvie Williams stood in the arrivals hall at Luxor airport and watched the baggage carousel shudder to a standstill.
Her suitcase was nowhere in sight. She checked her watch and frowned.
They’d been waiting for over an hour, and the hall, once bustling, had suddenly emptied.
Even passengers from the recent Manchester flight had collected their bags and filed out to their waiting coaches.
‘Ezra, honey,’ Sylvie called out to her son, who, having collected his own case, was leaning against a column. ‘Check out that official and see if they can help.’ She pointed to a uniformed airport worker.
‘Geez, Mom, you’re better at that stuff. You go.’ Ezra sighed and, turning away, adjusted the backpack on his shoulders, without moving from the spot.
With a sigh of impatience, Sylvie marched towards the official.
Running her fingers through her vibrant crop of red hair, she began to politely explain that they’d arrived from Paris over an hour earlier and there was no sign of her luggage.
Everyone from their flight had collected their bags and left.
The official listened to the broad Canadian woman who towered over him, but it soon became clear that Sylvie Williams would not be reconciled with her belongings that day.
After filling out forms and with the official’s assurance that Sylvie’s bag would be forwarded, as soon as it was located, Sylvie had no choice but to leave the airport empty-handed.
Outside, she flagged down a taxi and, after placing Ezra’s case and their rucksacks in the trunk, instructed the driver to take them to the boarding location for the SS Nefertari.
The taxi carried them past scattered clusters of houses and roadside stalls. As Sylvie glanced at the distant palm groves and fields of sugar cane, where farm workers guided donkeys and carts through the late-afternoon light, she bitterly regretted not packing spare underwear in her hand luggage.
‘Ezra, this really is the limit,’ Sylvie complained. ‘I just hope that the concierge on the ship can help. I’ve only got the clothes I’m standing up in.’
‘You’re sitting, Mom, and it’s a boat, not a ship,’ Ezra replied and, plugging in his earphones, closed his eyes.
Sylvie thought that Ezra, at twenty-five, could be more help.
Despite the air-conditioned vehicle, she was hot, sticky and weary from their journey, and longed for a cool shower and a change of clothes.
She thought about borrowing something of Ezra’s when they settled into their cabin.
But she knew that her tall, solidly built body was never going to squeeze into his jeans, and his T-shirts would barely cover her generous chest. Sylvie wondered if she should contact her husband and have him on standby to forward a case of fresh clothes.
But she dismissed the idea, knowing that Errol would be run off his feet in their busy diner back home in the little Canadian town of Larksville.
It was no good. She would have to trust the airline and pray that it came up with her luggage before they left Luxor.
Turning to focus on the distant silhouettes of Luxor and Karnak temples on the East Bank, Sylvie noted the contrast of desert mountains to one side of the road and a busy, teeming city on the other.
Soon, the Nile came into view, and Sylvie forgot about her missing luggage to marvel at the broad, shimmering river.
This was one of the sights that she’d dreamed of when planning the vacation.
Alongside it, the riverside boulevard was bustling with locals and vendors haggling with tourists over items that would lose their lustre as soon as the holidaymakers arrived home.
‘Look, Ezra,’ Sylvie said, thrusting out her elbow. ‘Those little sailboats are called feluccas and we’re going to cruise down the river in one during our stay.’
‘Wow.’ Ezra tweaked the peak of his cap, as the taxi slowed and parked beside the Corniche, within walking distance of the SS Nefertari.
‘The most beautiful one,’ Sylvie whispered as she stared at the boat and remembered the meaning of Nefertari. Queen Nefertari was the chief wife of Ramesses II, and she epitomised cultural refinement, being closely associated with the goddess Hathor, linking her to beauty and love.
‘No wonder the boat has such an appropriate name,’ Sylvie said as she gazed at the sleek lines of the holiday cruiser. She paid the driver and Ezra hauled his case, handing it to a luggage porter who came to assist.
‘Welcome,’ the porter said with a beaming smile. ‘This way, please.’
They were guided to the lobby of the SS Nefertari and, still worried about her luggage, Sylvie explained her predicament to the reception manager, who smiled and made a note.
He reassured Sylvie that all would be done to assist and, in the meantime, offered fresh mint tea as they completed check-in.
Making their way up a wide staircase to the third deck, Sylvie noted polished brass fittings and open windows, which allowed a cooling breeze to waft through the corridor.
‘Here, honey.’ Sylvie handed a keycard to Ezra. ‘You do the honours.’
Ezra dropped his case, which narrowly missed Sylvie’s feet in dusty trainers, as he pushed the door open.
Inside the cabin, Sylvie saw neatly folded towels stacked on the end of twin beds.
A bedside table held a pretty vase with fresh, sweet-smelling hibiscus.
Sunlight streamed through a large window beside two chairs framing a small desk, and an open door revealed a bathroom.
Compact but welcoming, the cabin was everything she’d hoped for.
‘Well, this is swell,’ Sylvie said, marching to the window to slide back the glass and lean over the waist-high railing, where motorboats scurried by and an ibis skimmed the water.
A strange pungent whiff caught on a breeze, and leaning further, Sylvie noted a balcony to the adjacent cabin where a jacket was draped over the rail.
Wearing a long towelling robe, a person was asleep on a chair, their wide-brimmed hat tipped forward to cover their face and an unopened book on the floor beside them.
Soft snores rumbled beneath the hat.
Perhaps they’ve had a tiring day, Sylvie thought, and turned to gaze out across the water to the West Bank.
A warm wind caressed her face, and she slowly smiled.
The last two weeks had been memorable; they’d spent days cramming in the sights of the cities of London, Rome and Paris that had been part of their whirlwind holiday so far.
But nothing matched the magnificent sight of the Valley of the Kings that lay across the water.
Who would have thought that when Sylvie Williams, a short-order cook and server in their family diner, held the winning ticket at Larksville’s monthly lottery, she would find herself, weeks later, in a land she’d only dreamed of?
As a child, Sylvie had been fascinated by tales of Tutankhamun and the pharaohs of Ancient Egypt, and now, here she was, about to experience history firsthand.
It had been a decent jackpot win that month, and encouraged by Errol, Sylvie had been able to fulfil a lifelong dream of leaving her home in Prince Edward County, Ontario, and travelling to places she’d gazed longingly at in the windows of the local travel agency.
‘Fill your boots, sweetie,’ Errol had said. ‘Go live that dream, but don’t let Ezra trade you for a couple of camels, and make sure you come home to me.’
Sylvie had laughed at the time, and even now could hear Errol’s voice, threaded with love.
Her husband knew precisely how long she’d waited for this moment.
She joked that Ezra would trade his mom, especially if the camels came with Wi-Fi, and she wished that Errol had been able to come on this trip too.
But with their busy diner needing at least one Williams at the helm, they’d agreed that by accompanying his mom, travel might broaden their son’s outlook.
She turned to cast a sideways glance at Ezra, who was sprawled across one of the beds, headphones on and eyes shut.
Typical. He’d travelled through Europe adopting the same pose.
Sylvie sighed at her son’s indifference to this magical holiday, but despite herself, couldn’t help feeling a wave of love for her only offspring.
Returning her gaze to the river, the sight of the mysterious water enthralled her.
Sylvie knew that the ancient Egyptians believed the Nile was a god and the source of all life, and that it had served as a significant trade route for thousands of years.
She breathed in, suddenly feeling very much alive and, pressing her hands to the railing, forgot that she’d only the clothes she was wearing.
Ahead lay a journey filled with promise, and Sylvie couldn’t stop smiling. Her Egyptian adventure had begun.