Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
WHEN THE COCKTAILS FLOW, ONE’S BETTER JUDGEMENT MIGHT GO . . .
As Hattie stood in her dressing room, deciding what to wear before heading to the lounge for a pre-dinner cocktail, she found herself thinking of Gerald and the Tomb Whispers.
She wondered how much trouble he’d landed himself in and remembered an angry Anouska steering her inebriated husband unsteadily back to their suite.
‘What on earth have you been drinking?’ Anouska hissed, having torn herself away from her sunbed as the boat set sail. She stood before Gerald with her hands on her bony hips, still in her white bikini, her sun-kissed skin the colour of gold.
‘Come fly wiv me!’ Gerald grinned and held out his arms. ‘Up, up and away in my beauuuu . . . tiful balloon . . .’
‘Really, you’re impossible,’ Anouska ranted, ‘and don’t think I don’t know that you’ve been smoking. Your shirt stinks!’ She looked around and realised, too late, that several guests had turned to watch, curiosity drawing them closer.
‘Cameras out!’ Gerald encouraged. ‘Snap the famed influuu . . . encer, Anooouska Delusca.’ Attempting to stand, Gerald stumbled back in his chair.
Many guests were aware of the commotion, and anxiously searching for assistance, it was to Anouska’s relief that Ezra slid off his bar stool and stepped forward.
‘Hi, could you do with a little help?’ Ezra asked. ‘I’d be happy to take Gerald to his cabin.’
‘Up, up and awa . . . aaay!’ Gerald sang as Ezra pulled him into a standing position and steered him carefully from the deck. A scowling Anouska followed close behind.
Hattie, feeling slightly tiddly herself, had retired to her own cabin. Sitting on her balcony watching the world glide by, two mugs of black coffee soon sobered her up.
Now, showered and presentable, Hattie fastened her pearls and smoothed a silky tunic top over a pair of wide palazzo pants.
She thought of Ezra and his kindness in helping the older man.
Styling her hair, and arranging soft curls around her face, she applied lipstick and wondered why Ezra sometimes seemed withdrawn when he was with Sylvie.
His mother often stepped in, answering questions meant for her son and finishing his sentences before he had the chance.
Hattie had witnessed such a thing before, when an overprotective mother spoke on their offspring’s behalf, as though embarrassed by what the child might say.
But Ezra wasn’t a child and from what Hattie had seen, as he chatted with someone his own age at the bar, Ezra was quite capable of making his own way.
Such a lovely young man . . . Hattie thought as she checked her reflection in the mirror and noted that she’d caught the sun. Freckles dotted her skin, and her cheeks had a healthy glow.
Remembering Gerald’s earlier lobster-like hue, she knew that she really should have insisted that he apply factor fifty. Together with a raging hangover, and burning skin, he would soon be paying the price. Hattie doubted that Anouska would be on hand with the hair of the dog or a soothing lotion.
Doing a twirl, Hattie was satisfied with what she saw in the dressing room mirror.
‘What a shame I have no one but me to dress up for on this holiday.’ She sighed, reached for her bag, and checked on essentials for the evening, before moving to the open window and staring out.
The last light of day had long since slipped beneath the horizon, leaving the Valley of the Kings far behind as the boat sailed leisurely towards Aswan.
In the blackness, she spotted occasional lights shimmering on the far bank, where the shape of palm trees stood in dark silhouette against thick vegetation bordering the river.
The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of earth, and Hattie looked up at the stars, scattered across the vast Egyptian sky.
For a moment, with the dark water below, she felt as though they were gliding between two heavens.
‘No wonder Agatha loved Egypt,’ she whispered.
Hattie knew that Agatha Christie repeatedly funded and accompanied her husband on archaeological digs to Egypt and with a life immersed in archaeology and detection, Hattie’s admiration for the author made sense.
After all, Agatha’s two main interests aimed to excavate the truth.
‘Perhaps I should take up archaeology too.’ Hattie grinned. ‘It might help my day job.’
Standing still to absorb the calm, she found herself thinking of Gerald again.
It was clear there was trouble in the Hamilton household.
The couple barely exchanged a kind word.
Had Gerald married in haste after Sally’s death?
It was often said that the easiest time to catch a man was when he was reeling from loss, and Hattie wondered if that had been Anouska’s game all along.
A cruise was a perfect environment to hunt her prey and Gerald, being vulnerable, wouldn’t have known what hit him.
She knew that Gerald was Anouska’s third husband, and Hattie thought it unlikely he would be her last. At this rate, if her looks held out, Anouska could one day be husband-hunting into double figures.
Hattie felt sorry for Gerald. In many ways, he reminded her of Hugo. Daft at times, fond of a drink, but possessed with a good humour and kind. Like Hugo, Gerald’s working life had been successful, and any man who’d built a thriving business must have intelligence and courage.
But it was clear that Anouska had no respect for her husband, as though being married to him had undone the financial achievements that supported her now.
Hattie closed the window and drew the blinds.
It wasn’t her place to untangle other people’s marital problems. She knew that when she returned to her day job, she’d have more than enough problems to solve for her clients without taking on any while on holiday.
A loud, insistent knock echoed, and Hattie crossed the room to answer it. Opening the door she saw Sylvie, who stood in the corridor wearing her creased combats and T-shirt. A large, stuffed toy was tucked under her arm.
‘Hey, Hattie, look what I won at the morning trivia!’ Sylvie announced, thrusting a camel into her hands. ‘I came first. Can you believe it?’ She laughed, clearly delighted. ‘The prize was this camel. I want you to have it, as a thank-you for being so kind and helping me out with your clothes.’
Momentarily at a loss, Hattie stared at the soft toy. ‘I didn’t know camels were blue. Thank you. It’s lovely,’ she said, ‘but you really don’t need to.’
‘Oh, honey, it’s the very least I can do. I called him Claude.’ Sylvie eased past and into the room. ‘But my suitcase hasn’t shown up again, despite promises that it would, and I wondered if . . .’
‘I had something you might wear to dinner?’
Sylvie exhaled in relief. ‘Well, I felt like a fancy-dress version of Queen Hatshepsut last night, and I really don’t want to repeat the experience. Some guests in the lounge thought I was part of the floor show.’
Hattie looked at the camel and stroked his soft felt head. Claude’s wide, dopey eyes stared back at her. Of course she would help Sylvie. No one should feel uncomfortable on holiday and poor Sylvie certainly didn’t deserve to have her holiday ruined by an airline’s carelessness.
‘Step this way, Cinderella.’ Hattie grinned and led Sylvie into her dressing room, where she slid back the wardrobe door. ‘And prepare to go to the ball!’
In the suite opposite Hattie’s, Anouska stood in the bathroom, carefully applying collagen cream to her face. In the bedroom, Gerald lay fully dressed, sprawled flat on his back, arms flung wide, his snores rising and falling like a relentless tide.
Anouska sighed.
Losing feelings for a husband was becoming a habit!
Her first husband had been a teenage mistake and lasted no longer than a winter, and husband number two had promised the earth and produced very little.
When the money ran out, after many violent exchanges, Anouska soon left to scan the horizon for someone richer, weaker and far more useful, and Gerald had filled the gap. He’d given her financial security and the home she craved.
A detached house in the leafy Home Counties, with a gardener and electric gates. Internally the décor was dreadful, but Sally’s tired furnishings were soon overhauled by Anouska’s extortionately expensive interior designer.
Sighing, Anouska slicked a coat of serum under her eyes. Gerald had drunk too much and irritation tightened her mouth. Gone were the days when he succumbed to her wishes with no resistance. Now, he was proving more difficult to manipulate.
‘What a state he was in earlier,’ she muttered, blending primer into her skin.
It hadn’t always been like this, and in their early days together, Gerald had been totally besotted and eager to please, and Anouska had wound him around her little finger as easily as tying a ribbon.
But over the last few months, he’d changed.
Gerald often questioned her actions, like why they needed a daily cleaner at home when once a week would do.
Studying her credit card bill, he insisted on explanations.
Did Anouska really need another designer handbag and a stay at a luxury spa?
He’d cut down on her allowance and told her that she had enough in her wardrobe to clothe a small nation and not to spend way over her allowance without his approval.
Seriously? Anouska scowled.
Scrooge had nothing on Gerald these days. He was drinking regularly, though there were moments when she found herself wishing he’d drink just a little more. A misjudged step on a steep staircase, or a booze-sodden tumble overboard, would reduce her problems considerably.
Carefully applying her eye makeup, Anouska thought of Gerald’s only child.
Judith would relish the opportunity to throw her stepmother out on the street.
Similar in age, the two women could not have been more different, yet they shared one thing in common: a mutual loathing.
Living comfortably in suburbia with her dull husband and air of moral superiority, Judith was Anouska’s enemy, convinced she’d taken advantage of her father.
Anouska knew Judith would gladly encourage Gerald to end their marriage. It was a short union, and Gerald could afford a shit-hot lawyer to cut Anouska out. They had no children, Anouska was younger, and she’d previously worked.
Maintenance might be limited and short-lived.
But as Anouska stood back and loosened her hair, she was pleased with what she saw. At forty-two, she looked as good as any thirty-year-old. The recent course of micro-needling, combined with careful anti-ageing injections, kept her skin as fresh and taut as a woman half her age.
‘Unlike Judith’s sagging jaw and ever-expanding waistline,’ Anouska said sourly, moving to the dressing room to choose something to wear.
Was it time to move on? She was thoughtful as she slid into a long, silky sheath dress.
Naturally, men still ogled her, and there was always another, richer victim if one knew how to manipulate an admirer.
After all, Gerald had so easily fallen for Anouska’s charms. She’d soon hunted down the recently widowed millionaire, as he ventured alone on his first cruise.
With soothing sympathy and red-hot sex, Gerald had melted like butter under the summer sun, and Anouska had a ring on her finger before they flew home.
In truth, she was reconsidering her decision to wait for Gerald to pop his clogs before inheriting his fortune.
That could take years. But if Judith’s malicious intervention made her father change his will, Anouska could find herself out on her ear without the comfort of a wealthy husband to support her.
Adjusting the shoestring straps of her dress, she began to plan. There was no harm in casting her net while on this cruise. Who knew, Mr Anouska IV might already be out there!
And if Gerald was to suffer an unfortunate accident . . .
After all, the man was accident-prone – look how he’d tumbled in the Valley of the Kings! Stranger things had happened, and it might be blamed on an Egyptian curse.
Anouska’s smile was slow and sly as she slipped into silver sandals, then checked herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw.
Perfect for more Instagram photos, and perhaps a pose on the staircase or beside the moonlit pool.
Instagram wouldn’t finance her extravagances, but social media supplied the ego boost Anouska craved, with thousands of adoring followers only a filter away.
Reaching for her Hermès Pochette, which matched the pale blue of her dress, Anouska flicked out the lights and, with barely a glance at the comatose Gerald, called out, ‘Sweet dreams, dear husband.’