Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
ROMANCE IS A VISITOR, WAITING IN THE WINGS . . .
It was almost ten o’clock when Hattie returned to her suite after dining in the Hapi restaurant with Sylvie. Wearied by her crack-of-dawn start to the Valley of the Kings and the previous day’s long travel, Hattie stepped into her bedroom – and froze.
There was an elephant in the room.
Moving towards the creature, Hattie hesitated, then began to laugh, realising that the housekeepers had sculpted an elephant from towels and placed it on her bed. With pointed tusks, a long trunk, and wide loping ears, the fabric animal was hilarious.
‘What lovely lads,’ Hattie said, her thoughts turning to the boat’s entirely Egyptian male staff, and the two young men who serviced the rooms. They were unfailingly pleasant and polite, and their smiles endless, just like all the crew.
That afternoon, while circulating by the pool, Sue had told Hattie that she was the only female crew member on board and had a cabin to herself. Others were in multi-occupancy accommodation better suited to single-sex living.
‘That can’t be easy,’ Hattie said, but Sue assured her that everyone was respectful, and it worked well.
Earlier in the day, the boat had been moved to allow other vessels to dock, and the SS Nefertari sat fifth in line from the river walkway.
Now, Hattie patted the elephant, then moved from her bed to slide back the door of her balcony.
Stepping out, she was delighted to discover that she still had a wonderful view, despite the number of boats alongside them.
Across the water, on the West Bank, the Valley of the Kings was illuminated by discreet lighting that revealed the vast sweep of cliffs where age-old secrets lay waiting.
A call to prayer had begun, and many mosques joined in, the haunting sound rising into the darkness.
Hattie stood motionless as she listened to the melodic chant, not understanding the words but feeling the emotion.
‘What a special place this is,’ Hattie whispered as she stared out at the view and felt the warm, balmy air caress her skin. History felt very close, the call to prayer ritual reminding her that daily life continued, much as it had for centuries.
Turning back to her room and closing the curtains, she wondered how Gerald and Anouska were managing in the opposite suite, knowing that their view would be of a cabin of the vessel moored alongside them.
That will be me further down the river, Hattie thought as she sat down and kicked off her sandals.
She wouldn’t always be blessed with the best of views.
On the desk beside Hattie sat a small alabaster vase, still encased in bubble wrap.
She picked it up, unwound the protective wrapping, and shook her head, remembering the visit to the alabaster factory where she’d been swarmed by locals, all urging her to buy.
Only later, after mistaking the price and confusing the Egyptian currency, had she realised she’d paid well over the odds for a fragile item that would almost certainly break long before she managed to transport it safely home.
The visit had proved a costly affair. So too, the experience in the loo, when a young Egyptian boy handed her a square of toilet paper to dry her hands, then insisted on charging her five dollars.
‘All part of the holiday.’ Hattie smiled.
In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, letting her thoughts drift back to dinner. It had been just her and Sylvie at the table. Peter had set off to wander around Luxor, and Gerald and Anouska had disembarked to walk along the Corniche and dine at the Winter Palace, one of Luxor’s oldest hotels.
A relic of another age, steeped in elegance and grandeur, Hattie imagined it would suit Anouska perfectly, and soon, a series of images would appear on @AnouskaDelusca’s Instagram feed.
Hattie had checked out Anouska’s recent posts and found herself impressed.
It was easy to see why fifty thousand followers eagerly lapped up Anouska’s daily updates, which captured her sleek and effortless style.
‘Bring back Gok’s Fashion Fix.’ Hattie chuckled as she wrestled into her nightie. ‘Now there’s a man who knew how to dress a real woman well, hide her curves, and do it all on a limited budget.’
Gently moving the elephant to one side of her king-size bed, Hattie slid between the covers. As she snuggled into the bed, she thought back to dinner earlier that evening with her new Canadian companions.
Ezra had told his mother he was going to dine alfresco on the top deck, and Sylvie, fearing the menu was too spicy for her own palate, joined Hattie in the Hapi restaurant.
Sylvie, having discarded Hattie’s borrowed kaftan, wore a long tunic-style dress that she’d had purchased in the onboard shop.
It was patterned with pharaohs and temples, and on her feet, she wore a pair of curled-toe sandals.
‘I feel very theatrical and keep tripping over the points.’ Sylvie held up a foot and laughed, as Hassan poured wine for them both. ‘This outfit is suitable for the fancy dress Egyptian night and was the only clothing the shop sold.’
‘You look most becoming in it.’ Hattie dipped flatbread into a basil oil. ‘Any news of your suitcase?’
‘Yes, Sue told me that it should be delivered to the boat before we sail tomorrow.’
‘Hallelujah, I’ll drink to that!’ The pair chinked glasses, and Hassan placed appetisers before them. ‘Tell me about life in Larksville,’ Hattie said and began to tuck into lightly spiced prawns. ‘How did you meet your husband?’
‘Oh, you better freshen your glass,’ Sylvie said. ‘I’m glad Ezra’s not with us to hear this story.’
Sylvie began to explain to Hattie that she was only eighteen when she first went to Barbados with a group of girlfriends for a holiday. ‘My mom and dad weren’t happy and thought I was too young.’
‘And were you?’
‘Probably.’ Sylvie smiled. ‘But we were fed up with the icy, snow-bound Canadian winters. The Caribbean called, and I couldn’t say no.
’ Sylvie leaned back. As she sipped her wine, she frowned.
‘You have to understand that the island was a magnet in the mid-seventies. Lots of Canadian and American women flocked to Barbados during high season. The pull of sun, sea, freedom . . .’ She hesitated.
‘And sex?’ Hattie ventured, arching a brow.
Sylvie laughed. ‘Well, I hadn’t planned on that, but yes. The local men were so . . .’ She paused, choosing her words. ‘Desirable. I’m afraid I went home with more than a suntan.’
‘Ah, and that was little Ezra?’
Sylvie shook her head. ‘Well, no. Sadly, I miscarried in the very early weeks. But I didn’t tell my parents, and the following winter I went back for a longer holiday. That’s when I met Errol.’
‘Your husband?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me about him.’
‘He worked in a beach bar, and it was love at first sight.’ Sylvie smiled at the memory. ‘You have to understand, Hattie, I was young then. Slim, fit, and with my hair shaded almost blonde in those days, I was quite a catch.’
‘You’re still a very attractive woman.’
Sylvie waved the compliment away. ‘Honey, after decades waiting tables in our diner and clearing up after folks, any beauty of youth is long gone.’
‘Nonsense,’ Hattie shook her head. ‘So, Errol came to Canada?’ she continued.
‘Yep, he did. I realised later that it was every local’s dream to leave the island if they wanted to make something of themselves. The ticket out was often a marriage certificate, but Errol and I were in love.’
‘And you settled down in Larksville?’
‘We took over the family diner, and my mom and dad eventually retired. They’re in their seventies now, still in the town and love Errol as much as I do. They adore their grandson, and Ezra loves them right back.’
‘It sounds like everything worked out.’
‘Sure, I’m very happy, Errol is a wonderful husband, but .
. .’ Sylvie paused, her smile faltering just a touch.
‘Other than occasional trips to Barbados to see Errol’s folks, I always wanted to travel, and when I won our local lottery, it gave me the chance I’d been waiting for.
Errol couldn’t leave the business, but insisted I go, and here I am, living the dream in Egypt.
’ She beamed and held out her glass as Hassan topped it up.
‘So why Egypt?’
Sylvie’s eyes sparkled. ‘Oh, you know, schoolgirl fantasies. Pharaohs, Tutankhamun, temples, the Nile. It all seemed so mysterious when we studied the Egyptians at school. Canada has nothing like it.’
After dinner, Hattie and Sylvie made their way to the lounge, where Sue was hosting a quiz. Hattie thought that it sounded too taxing and decided to go to bed.
‘I think I’ll call it a night too,’ Sylvie said. ‘I guess Ezra will be asleep.’
Now, as Hattie snuggled deep into soft pillows, she yawned and thought about what she might do the following day. There was an early balloon flight, leaving at dawn. But Hattie didn’t fancy being up so early again. It was an experience she’d save for the end of her trip.
‘I might have a stroll along the Corniche and discover a little local life,’ she told the elephant and, reaching out, stroked the soft towelling tusk.
As Hattie closed her eyes, she thought of Sam and wondered how the handsome Egyptologist had spent his evening.
Her sleepy brain began to fantasise, reminding her of pleasures she sorely missed.
Hattie sighed. How she ached for a little romance in her life, knowing that dear Hugo would never have wanted her to spend her later years alone.
As she turned to burrow further down the bed, the elephant fell against her.
‘Night, night, Nelly,’ Hattie whispered. ‘Sleep tight . . .’
Ezra wasn’t, as his mom thought, asleep in their cabin or even having a rest. Instead, the young man was sitting in the bar on the top deck, listening to the resident entertainer’s music.
Middle-aged with a neatly trimmed beard, the singer played a lively rhythm on his guitar, knowing how to read the audience and what suited their tastes.
Currently, he was strumming a tune by the Gypsy Kings, accompanied by a backing tape.
Ezra had never heard of the Gypsy Kings; his tastes were like his dad’s – a love of reggae. But the music caught him off guard, and soon, he found his fingers tapping along in time.
The evening air was balmy, and Ezra felt happy to be on his own.
His mom was so overbearing at times. Sipping a cold beer, he thought of his day and the excursion to the Valley of the Kings.
Despite his teasing about the curse, he’d enjoyed seeing all the tombs and was almost as awed as his mom had been.
He was enjoying this part of the trip after the madness of Europe and chasing around at speed to fit in everything that she wanted to see.
The trip had been her idea. Europe and then the Nile.
Ezra knew that it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience and something that she’d wanted to share.
But after working together back home, all day, side by side in the family diner, there were times during the trip when he’d wanted to bust out of all the togetherness and simply be on his own.
At work, he got tired of customers telling him how swell it was to see the family so close, with Mom chatty on the counter, Dad in the kitchen, his voice loud above the sizzle of the grill, and Ezra waiting tables with a fixed smile, as he refilled a soda or poured another coffee.
Ezra knew that there had to be more to life than the confines of their burger business.
There was a social life in Larksville, and it was a lively town.
But the social life Ezra wanted had limits, and he felt that he was always on the outside when attending events with his family and tended to listen more than he spoke.
Grandpa and Grandma were always pleased to see him, though their first question never changed.
Had he met the right partner yet, and when would he bless the family with more little ones?
As an only child, the pressure was on.
But now, on the boat, Ezra tasted freedom. He wasn’t squeezed into a budget European hotel room, where the space between beds was minimal, and thin walls carried the sounds of neighbours of every nationality. Here, his Mom wasn’t hovering every second, asking if he was having a good time.
Ezra longed for space. Not to distance himself from his family – he loved them all, and his grandparents’ house felt like a second home. But he needed space to think, to enable him to decide who he wanted to be with, and to be with people who didn’t care who he was.
Realising that he was hungry, Ezra picked up the menu and asked the steward for a recommendation from the selection of Egyptian dishes.
‘Koshari is filling – you will like,’ the steward said. ‘Spiced, with lentils and onions, macaroni and chickpeas, and a sauce of tomato.’
The dish was exactly as promised.
Ezra sat at a table situated in a cosy corner of the deck, and tucked in. He tore baladi bread into pieces, using them to scoop the garlicky mixture from the bowl, and washed it down with a refreshing beer.
‘You like?’ the steward asked as he cleared Ezra’s plate.
‘Very much, thank you.’
‘Good, I hope you come again. I am Nazeem.’
‘Hi, Nazeem, my name is Ezra.’
‘Good name, sounds good.’ The steward paused. ‘I like your name.’
‘Nazeem is pretty cool too.’ Ezra smiled and looked up at Nazeem’s handsome face.
‘You have a wife with you?’ Nazeem asked.
‘Oh, hell, no.’ Ezra laughed. ‘No, I’m here with my mom.’ As soon as he spoke the words, he felt foolish. A twenty-five-year-old man on holiday with his mom!
‘Is good, a mother is a blessing,’ Nazeem said. ‘In our culture, we say paradise lies at the feet of our mothers. Every day they give life through their care and sacrifice.’
Ezra wasn’t sure that anything other than a pair of size nines lay at Sylvie’s feet, and that his mom’s sacrifice was extremely overbearing. But he felt that Nazeem meant well.
‘Yeah, you might be right.’ Ezra nodded.
‘You like something else?’ Nazeem asked.
‘No, I’m good, thank you.’
‘You sure?’ Nazeem leaned in.
Ezra looked up as the steward paused, meeting his gaze without flinching. Nazeem’s brown eyes, so dark they were almost black, caught the light with flecks of gold. Mesmerised, Ezra wondered whether there was more happening here than a steward simply clearing the table.
‘Er, yeah, I think, I’m sure. Thanks again,’ he muttered, but as Nazeem moved across the restaurant, Ezra stole another glance.
Nazeem turned and caught his eye. The smile that followed lingered, and in that moment, unable to look away, Ezra’s stomach lurched.
Had the door he’d been so scared to open suddenly come ajar?