Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
A CARTOUCHE IS MORE THAN A NAME . . .
The Hapi restaurant was almost full by the time Hattie and Sylvie arrived at table seventeen and took their seats, and Hattie asked if Ezra was joining them.
‘No, honey,’ Sylvie replied, ‘he says he likes the alfresco dining that they serve on the top deck, but apparently the menu is spicy and far too rich for me.’
‘Ah.’ Hattie nodded.
‘He finds it a little challenging to socialise.’ Sylvie lowered her voice. ‘Sitting in a busy restaurant is hard for him with all these new people, and the top deck is nice and quiet.’
‘Does he have difficulty mixing when he’s at work?’ Hattie asked.
‘Well, no, I mean, he’s okay there because he knows most of the folk who come into the diner, but outside of that environment he struggles.’
Hattie remembered how at ease Ezra seemed when she’d seen him sitting at the poolside bar earlier. ‘As long as he’s happy,’ she said.
‘In truth,’ Sylvie continued, ‘Errol and I do wish he’d find a partner, someone who would understand him and be good company. New places make him anxious, you see, and sometimes we wonder if there’s more going on that we should be mindful of.’
Hattie wondered how Ezra had managed a transatlantic flight to Europe and beyond if his difficulties were quite as Sylvie described; she didn’t see Ezra in the same light as his mother.
Or was she missing something?
Before they could worry further over Ezra, Anouska made her entrance, and heads turned as she glided into the room.
‘Anouska, you look very beautiful,’ Sylvie said kindly. ‘That pastel blue dress is just stunning, so silky and . . .’
‘Sexy?’ Anouska finished the sentence.
‘Er, I guess so.’ Sylvie laughed. ‘I could never wear anything so clingy.’
‘No, I can see why,’ Anouska said.
Her gaze lingering pointedly on Sylvie’s vibrant kaftan.
‘But then I suppose when one chooses colour and volume, it’s more about comfort than style.’
Hattie shuffled and turned in her seat.
‘Sylvie,’ Hattie began, ‘I think you look fabulous. Only a gorgeous, voluptuous woman like yourself could carry off that outfit so well.’
She picked up her wine and smiled sweetly at Anouska. ‘Sylvie would fade into the background in pale blue.’
If the knives were out, Hattie’s were sharper.
Sylvie’s smile faltered for a moment, but soon returned as she looked gratefully at Hattie, who’d omitted ownership of the beautiful hand-beaded kaftan that she’d generously insisted Sylvie wear.
‘Is Gerald not joining us?’ Hattie asked.
‘Sadly, he’s under the weather.’ Anouska turned to thank Hassan as he settled her into her seat.
Hattie remembered Gerald being almost under the table and felt regretful that he wasn’t up to joining them. She hoped that she hadn’t encouraged him to have one too many.
‘Does he need anything?’ she asked. ‘I’ve plenty of pills and powders in my cabin that might get him back on his feet.’
‘You sound like a witch brewing spells.’ Anouska laughed. ‘I’m afraid it would take more than a few uppers or a sachet of Dioralyte to bring Gerald back to life. A miracle would be closer to what’s needed.’
‘Oh dear.’ Hattie nodded, sympathetically, wishing she had a spell that would sweeten Anouska.
‘I hope he’ll be better by morning,’ Sylvie said as she spread a napkin over her knee. ‘It’s the visit to the crocodile museum, and I can’t wait.’
‘I can’t imagine anything more boring than a collection of mummified crocodiles frozen in time behind a few glass cases,’ Anouska retorted.
‘Seriously, Anouska?’ Sylvie looked puzzled. ‘You’re on a historic holiday, and you’re not interested in one of the most interesting museums along the Nile?’
‘Strangely, no.’ Anouska moved her glass into place so Hassan could fill it with wine.
But Sylvie was not to be deterred. ‘Ancient Egyptians worshipped crocodiles. Don’t you want to know why and see how carefully they’ve been preserved? Crocodiles were sacred to Sobek, the god of fertility,’ she said.
‘Well, as I have no children, nor the slightest interest in having any, I will swerve this fascinating visit and insightful information on crocodile worship.’
Sylvie was about to persist, but Peter had appeared and, pulling out a chair, plonked down beside Anouska. ‘Good evening, ladies. Have I missed anything?’
‘Not unless you like crocodiles.’ Anouska smiled.
‘Why, are we eating one for dinner?’
No one laughed, and before Sylvie could enlighten Peter on the wonders of the mummified crocs, Hattie asked if he’d enjoyed his day.
‘I had some business in Luxor earlier,’ Peter replied, tapping his nose with a knowing smile. ‘I met a chap about an interesting project – nothing I can go into.’
Sylvie leaned in, and Hattie sighed, but Anouska moved her chair closer, as though sniffing out a man with money on his mind.
‘A lucrative deal, a golden opportunity really,’ Peter continued. ‘It will add to my wealth, but it’s all top secret.’ He turned to Hassan and ordered an alcohol-free beer.
Hattie reached for the breadbasket, and as she picked out a small round pita, she noticed that Anouska’s cleavage nestled close to Peter’s arm.
‘You don’t drink?’ Anouska asked Peter casually as she buttered a sliver of bread.
‘Very rarely, I like to keep a clear head. The stock market never sleeps.’
Anouska’s pink tongue flicked out suggestively as she popped a crumb into her mouth and smiled sweetly at Peter.
Hattie could have sworn Anouska’s eyes were spinning like pound signs tumbling in a fruit machine. She intends to hit the jackpot!
‘Is your wife involved in your business affairs?’ Anouska asked.
Hattie rolled her eyes. Anouska was about as subtle as a sledgehammer when it came to establishing Peter’s marital status, and Hattie braced herself for whatever manoeuvre Anouska planned next.
She didn’t have long to wait.
‘A handsome man like you must have a pretty wife or girlfriend waiting for him?’ Anouska fluttered her false eyelashes, and Hattie was tempted to ask if she had something in her eye.
‘Good Lord, no.’ Peter laughed. ‘I haven’t seen my wife in more than a year. She’s officially reported as missing.’
‘Missing?’ Anouska looked surprised.
‘Oh, yes, she went out for a walk, supposedly by the River Ribble, in our hometown of Clitheroe, and never came back.’
‘Gee, that’s terrible,’ Sylvie said, her hand reaching for her wine. Inadvertently, her fingers slipped and red wine splashed onto her kaftan.
Ignoring the deepening stain on the gown she’d lent to Sylvie, Hattie’s ears pricked up. Despite being off the clock and on holiday, her investigator instinct stirred.
‘Not really,’ Peter said, after a pause. ‘I mean, I wondered what happened to Mary, of course, but as she’s been gone for so long, one has to assume that she’s simply . . . moved on.’
‘Or dead?’ Anouska prompted.
Sylvie gasped, but Peter shook his head.
‘I doubt that,’ he said. ‘I think I would have heard if she’d left this world.’ He took a sip of his beer.
‘You mean like a message from above?’ Sylvie asked, her voice dropping as though she half expected the spirit world to be listening.
‘Good God, no.’ Peter shook his head. ‘I’m just saying that I would have been told if my wife had passed away.’
Hattie nodded. ‘Of course,’ she said with a faint smile, ‘with your contacts, that wouldn’t be difficult.’
Hattie bore a stab of sympathy for the missing Mary. Life with Agent 007 and a half must have been a roller coaster of a ride, and if the woman had any sense, she’d be as far away as possible, where she couldn’t be found. Far from Peter’s fantasies and free of his overactive imagination.
‘It must have been very difficult for you in the long, lonely months that followed,’ Anouska cooed and reached for Peter’s arm, where her pink-tipped nails stroked gently.
Hattie watched Peter visibly swallow and was certain she saw the thick hairs on his arm rise in salute, as Anouska’s fingers continued their slow, deliberate stroke.
‘Well, a chap must find the strength to carry on.’ He gulped. ‘One’s personal life can’t interfere with the wheels of commerce, which won’t turn by themselves. Money makes more money, after all.’
By the time their dessert arrived, Anouska was almost sitting on Peter’s knee.
Savouring the last of her honey-drenched kunafa, Hattie pushed her plate away and picked a piece of shredded pastry from a tooth. Turning to Sylvie, she asked if she’d like to join her for coffee in the lounge.
Sylvie’s chair flew back, and she gripped Hattie’s arm as they politely retired and left the newly fledged lovebirds alone.
‘Well,’ Sylvie said, ‘I almost asked them to get a room!’
‘I thought Peter looked terrified.’ Hattie laughed.
They reached the main stairway, and Sylvie suggested that they join Ezra on the top deck.
Hattie paused. Beside them, the gift shop beckoned. One floor up lay the main lounge, and two floors above that, the alfresco bar, where – instinct told her – Ezra might not, in fact, appreciate their presence.
‘Oh, he’ll be fine. He’d have found us if he wanted company,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Now, let’s have a look at the shop before we settle down with a nightcap.’
Taking Sylvie’s arm, Hattie steered her inside, where a camel collection stood to attention.
‘Oh, Hattie, look!’ Sylvie squealed. ‘It’s Claude!’
‘And all of his brothers and sisters,’ Hattie added and gazed at the colourful array of stuffed toys that were bundled into a basket on a nearby shelf.
Like a genie from a lamp, a man suddenly appeared. ‘You like?’ he said, startling both Hattie and Sylvie.
‘It’s okay, we already have a camel, thank you,’ Hattie replied, backing away from a hard sell. But before she could move, the man grabbed her hand.
‘Let me look,’ he said, and began to trace a line on her upturned palm, ‘I see that you are an independent woman, one who likes to travel, and you’ve carried grief with great dignity.’
Hattie rolled her eyes. He was hardly Nostradamus, and more like Madame Zora, who sat in a draughty hut on Blackpool pier, conning all and sundry.
Hattie wasn’t wearing a wedding ring; she was travelling on a cruise, and everyone in their sixties had experienced grief.
‘Well, thank you for that insightful information,’ she said, tugging her hand away.
But the man wouldn’t let go. Looking up, straight into Hattie’s eyes, he said quietly, ‘I see a camel. No, two camels . . .’
Hattie yawned.
‘There is a meeting in a tomb . . .’ he paused ‘. . . and danger. You must take care.’
Hattie froze, her body suddenly tense.
‘But I see romance too,’ he said, releasing her hand and waving his own as though summoning a spirit. ‘It is there, all around you.’
Hattie’s shoulders visibly relaxed.
Good old Hugo, she thought. In his heavenly observation post, still looking down and keeping an eye on things. Probably raising a glass of whisky too and pleased that she hadn’t lost her sense of humour.
‘Well, that was very interesting, thank you,’ Hattie said. ‘How much do I owe you?’ She reached for her purse, expecting the damage to be heavy.
‘No, no,’ the man waved her away.
Sylvie, who’d only been half listening, was studying leather bracelets. ‘Hey, Hattie, what do you think of these?’ she asked. ‘Do you think my boys would like me to buy one for them?’
Hattie peered into the glass display case and shrugged. The soft leather bracelet held a cartouche, an elongated oval of metal that could be personalised to the wearer with hieroglyphic symbols. There were no prices on the gifts, and she wanted to warn Sylvie to be careful.
‘I am Omar—’ the man beamed ‘—and can make this a good gift. Souvenir of Egypt, with a cartouche, one each for your boys. You like silver, or you like gold?’
Here it comes! Hattie thought.
Omar explained that a cartouche was an identity, and taking a small card, asked Sylvie to write down the names of her boys.
‘Well, Errol is my husband, and Ezra is my son,’ Sylvie said, carefully spelling the words.
Omar began to sketch, selecting the appropriate symbols that spelled out Errol and Ezra’s names, in hieroglyphs. ‘Each letter,’ he explained, ‘is drawn as a symbol.’
Sylvie clapped her hands with excitement when she saw a lion in Errol’s name and was even more ecstatic when a vulture appeared in Ezra’s.
‘A vulture means royalty and renewal.’ Omar smiled. ‘A lion is guardianship and strength, you understand?’
As Sylvie nodded happily, Hattie thought that the only thing her new friend didn’t understand was that she was about to be ripped off.
‘You like the cartouches in gold, of course.’ Omar nodded and reached out to shake Sylvie’s hand. ‘I take credit cards.’
Of course you do! Hattie sighed.
‘You can collect these gifts tomorrow,’ Omar said.
A short while later, with Sylvie’s credit card burning a hole in her purse, they sat in the lounge and sipped large brandies. ‘Wasn’t he a sweetheart?’ Sylvie smiled. ‘I know they were expensive but Errol and Ezra will be so thrilled with the gifts.’
Hattie wondered if Errol was a generous man or simply a brave one to let Sylvie loose with an unlimited credit line.
She may have had a lottery win, but the sight of the statement that would inevitably land next month might test even the strongest marriage, and she hoped that the cartouches didn’t dull during the week and magically turn to brass for Sylvie’s homecoming reunion.
‘A real poppet.’ Hattie smiled. ‘Let’s drink to the lion and the vulture!’