Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
INTO THE VALLEY OF SILENCE AND STONE . . .
Early next morning, in the comfort of the lounge on deck three, Hattie yawned as she sat on a sofa, patiently waiting for guests to gather for their six o’clock excursion to the Valley of the Kings.
A screen at the back of the stage listed other tours that day, which included a visit to the Temples of Karnak and Luxor, and the Avenue of the Sphinxes.
Hattie was tired and she yawned again, wondering if it had been wise to book a tour that left at silly o’clock and would no doubt be hot and exhausting. Having forgotten to switch off her mobile, Hattie’s much-needed sleep had been broken during the night when Alf decided to check in.
‘Bloody hell, Alf,’ Hattie exclaimed when she heard his voice. ‘Why are you burning the midnight oil and calling me?’
‘I thought you’d want to know how your duck is.’ Alf chuckled. ‘Drake has decided to bed down in the kitchen during your absence. He’s nesting on your tea towels, and I can’t move him.’
‘For heaven’s sake, I left you a spare key to sort out a bathroom, not house a live-in duck!’
‘Aye, I’ve tried reasoning with him, man to duck, but he won’t budge.’
‘Try a shotgun – that should do the trick. It’s the middle of the night here and we’re two hours ahead. Have you just fallen out of the pub?’
Hattie pictured a midnight lock-in at the Holly Bush Arms, shutters drawn, lights dimmed, and Reggie, the landlord, generously refilling pints for locals, well past common sense.
‘I just wanted to make sure you’d landed alright,’ Alf said, a slight slur suggesting one pint too many.
‘As much as I appreciate your concern, I’ve an alarm call in three hours and am damned sure I won’t get back to sleep.’
‘Goodnight,’ Alf said with a laugh. ‘If you think you hear quacking, it’s just Drake missing you across the miles.’
Now, glancing up from the comfort of the sofa, Hattie saw Anouska enter the lounge. Her appearance suggested that she’d stepped off a catwalk for designer desert wear. Wearing sand-coloured linen trousers and matching top, a scarf was stylishly draped and she carried a wide-brimmed hat.
‘Morning, Hattie,’ Anouska said. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Like a log,’ Hattie lied as Anouska perched straight-backed on a nearby chair. ‘Yourself?’
‘Not really. Gerald has a habit of snoring all night and unless I take a pill, I lie awake.’ She held out a hand and studied her immaculately manicured nails. ‘But with an early start I decided Mr Temazepam would have to stay in the packet.’
Anouska flicked a compact from her bag and checked her glossy lips. ‘Sharing a bedroom with a snorer is a pain.’ She sighed. ‘This is our fourth holiday this year and it’s always the same. At home, I retreat to a spare bedroom.’
Hattie, who’d always found a partner’s snores quite comforting and was aware that her own could raise the roof of her cottage, felt sympathy for Gerald.
‘Is your husband joining you today?’ Hattie asked.
‘Yes.’ Anouska sighed again, rolling her large blue eyes. ‘He’ll be along soon. He’s in the restaurant filling his face as though he won’t see another meal for days.’
Hattie wondered why Anouska hadn’t joined him but taking in her slim figure, she suspected the woman subsisted on little more than a peeled grape for breakfast each day.
She reached for her own bulging bag, reassured by the knowledge that among a multitude of necessities lay several packets of biscuits to keep her going throughout the day.
As if on cue, Gerald appeared, wearing knee-length cotton shorts. Acknowledging his wife, he joined them. ‘Morning, Hattie,’ he said and brushed toast crumbs from the safari-style shirt that stretched uncomfortably over his belly. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Like a baby.’ Hattie smiled. ‘Where are you two heading today?’
‘Valley of the Kings.’ Gerald nodded. ‘We’re looking forward to seeing Tutankhamun’s mummified body, aren’t we, Anouska?’
Anouska’s smile was so tight, it might have been ironed and Hattie doubted that preserved pharaohs were likely to float her boat.
‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s balloon flight,’ Anouska said and rolled her elegant shoulders.
‘Did someone just mention the ballon flight?’ a voice called out, and Peter appeared before them.
‘That will be me,’ he announced. ‘I’ll be ready to soar into the sky and conduct aerial surveillance should the need arise.
’ He turned to Gerald. ‘Not your cup of tea?’ Peter asked.
‘I doubt they’d launch with you in the basket, weight limits and all that . . .’
Gerald’s complexion coloured but before he had time to reply, Hattie asked Peter which tour he was joining.
‘I’m on the Temples of Karnak and Luxor and an avenue with Sphinxes,’ Peter said. He looked at his watch. ‘But I’m very early and didn’t get much sleep.’
‘Too excited about the temples?’ Hattie asked.
‘Er, no, a bit of engine noise all night. I expect I’ll get used to it.’
‘You must be at the back of the boat on the lower deck. Was it a last-minute budget booking?’ Gerald asked as though familiar with the logistics. ‘The engines run twenty-four seven; let’s hope you get used to it.’
‘At least I had time to have a leisurely breakfast,’ Peter said. He stared at the crumbs on Gerald’s chest. ‘I can see you’ve had to bolt yours down.’
Hattie felt the tension between the two men but before she could step in, Sue appeared on the stage and called out the names of those heading to the Valley of the Kings to inform them that the tour was about to leave.
‘That’s us,’ Hattie said and ambled to her feet. As she edged past Peter she whispered, ‘The balloons will soar over enemy territory in the morning. Do be careful out there.’
But Peter wasn’t to be deterred.
‘Don’t worry,’ he replied with a self-satisfied grin, ‘I have diplomatic immunity.’
Sylvie and Ezra had overslept and were running late, but to Sylvie’s relief, they caught up, just as Sue was finishing the briefing.
With their names swiftly ticked off the list, moments later they merged with the rest of the group, shuffling off the boat, up several steps to the Corniche, and then onto a waiting minibus.
‘I’m sure glad we made it,’ Sylvie puffed as she settled on a seat opposite Hattie. ‘I wouldn’t want to miss this. I’ve dreamed of visiting this site for years.’
‘Well, you can relax now. You’re on your way.’ Hattie smiled.
Sylvie, still wearing Hattie’s yellow kaftan, flicked out a square of cotton. ‘I’m sure I’ve paid way over the odds for this scarf,’ she said. ‘I bartered with a vendor after dinner last night, and didn’t do very well, but at least it will protect me from the sun.’
‘It’s called a keffiyeh, Mom,’ Ezra said, ‘and you paid four times the going rate.’
‘I know. You’re supposed to barter down to under half the asking price, but I felt sorry for him,’ Sylvie said. ‘These folk seem to have a hard life.’
‘He probably lives in luxury because of gullible tourists like us,’ Ezra added and turned to gaze out of the window.
Their guide boarded, then, after taking a head count, picked up a mic and addressed the guests.
‘Good morning. My name is Maryam,’ she began, ‘and together with Sam, our knowledgeable Egyptologist, I will be accompanying you today and will endeavour to make this trip to the famous Valley of the Kings as memorable as possible.’
A man, seated at the front, stood and raised his hand in greeting. As his sun-weathered face broke into a warm smile, Hattie recognised him from the evening before. Sam? She didn’t think the name sounded very Egyptian and wondered if it had been shortened.
As the bus edged away from the Nile and made its way through the bustling streets amid the early morning free-for-all of Luxor life, a group of children in smart uniforms funnelled through the ornate gates of a private school.
When the bus passed Luxor Temple, Maryam explained that it had been built by pharaohs Amenhotep III and Ramesses II during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries bc.
‘It is one of Egypt’s best-preserved monuments,’ she said. ‘Now we’ll be travelling alongside the Avenue of Sphinxes, connecting Luxor Temple and Karnak Temple. It stretches for almost three kilometres.’
Guests turned to gaze as the ceremonial road came into view, lined with a thousand towering carved statues. Some featured the heads of rams, others human faces. Hattie marvelled that such ancient wonders were not confined to museums but woven into the fabric of everyday Egyptian life.
Soon they travelled over a wide bridge, which Maryam explained had been built in 2024 and shortened the journey to the West Bank by forty-five minutes.
Leaving the busy streets of Luxor, Hattie stared at the Nile where the sails of feluccas caught in the sunlight and lush green fields bordered the water’s edge.
She could see mud-brick houses and grazing animals, while sugar cane and bananas grew abundantly in the patchwork fields, irrigated by the life-giving water of the river.
Hattie wondered if Agatha Christie had looked out on this very same view almost one hundred years ago, for it seemed that time almost stood still, with the rhythm of day-to-day life continuing as it had for centuries.
As they drove on, the view began to change, and the land rose dramatically, forming vast dry and dusty limestone hills.
‘What you see now are the Theban Hills, deep with valleys,’ Maryam explained. ‘The highest is called El-Qurn, and its natural pyramid shape made it the perfect choice for the location of royal tombs.’
Fascinated, guests were quiet, staring at the bleached earth, where the road wound into the hills. The landscape was completely devoid of life as limestone cliffs, chalky white under the sun, seemed to close in.
‘We’re leaving the land of the living to visit the land of the dead,’ Hattie whispered to Sylvie.
‘It’s so exciting,’ Sylvie replied.
The bus parked in a designated area, and everyone could see that armed police hovered.