Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
THE RHYTHM ONLY HE COULD HEAR . . .
When Hattie woke the next morning, she was momentarily startled.
Opening one eye, Claude stared back and beside him sat a cleverly assembled dog, with face-flannel ears and a bath-sheet body.
Her towelling elephant had been removed by housekeeping and replaced with the little pooch who sat on a pillow, resting one paw on Claude the camel’s head.
‘Crikey, it’s like a zoo in here,’ Hattie mumbled as she heaved herself into a sitting position and checked her watch. Any moment now, her breakfast would arrive, and as she waited, she flicked the TV remote to check the day’s schedule on the screen.
There was a Limber Like An Egyptian class at the Hetep Spa, which Hattie thought sounded far too energetic, and at ten o’clock, a tour of the Temple of Kom Ombo would set off, followed by a visit to the crocodile museum.
After that, they would set sail for Aswan, arriving late afternoon, and for those guests who’d booked a trip to the Philae Temple that evening, there was a Sound & Light Show experience.
Hattie smiled with pleasure as a steward slipped quietly into her suite and set a breakfast tray before her. ‘Enjoy, Miss Hattie,’ he said, as he drew back her curtains, flooding the room with morning light. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’
Hattie sipped her coffee and gazed out, struck once again by her good fortune. The view was glorious with felucca sails gliding past on the river, and the gentle choreography of life already unfolding for the day.
In the 1930s, Agatha Christie had enjoyed a similar view as she travelled along the Nile aboard the paddle steamer SS Sudan.
Hattie knew that the journey Agatha had taken with her husband, Max, had been far more than simple sightseeing.
The steamer had inspired the setting for Death on the Nile.
In the story, the drama unfolds aboard the fictional steamer SS Karnak, a vessel shaped by Agatha’s own river experience.
‘Imagine being on board the SS Sudan . . .’ Hattie said aloud to Claude and the pooch, as she lingered over another sip of coffee.
The paddle steamer had once been part of the Thomas Cook fleet, later converted to luxury Nile cruising.
‘It must have been a wonderful sight to see in those days,’ she reflected.
Taking a bite of a warm croissant, Hattie wondered how Peter was that morning. She’d noticed him tearing down the stairs last night, just as she and Sylvie were heading up to the lounge, and there had been no sign of Anouska.
She probably scared the life out of him! Hattie chuckled, biting into a slice of cake.
‘Baklava for breakfast,’ she murmured to Claude.
‘What a treat.’ The honey-sweet layers melted on her tongue, and Hattie followed it with more strong coffee.
‘So, Peter’s wife is on the missing list, and more than a year on, he’s never found her.
’ Hattie reached out to stroke Claude’s head.
‘But people don’t just vanish, do they, Claude?
Perhaps no one is asking the right questions. ’
Hattie couldn’t help herself.
It felt almost like a Christie mystery, and in that fictional world, the author would have summoned Poirot or Miss Marple to unravel the truth.
It was a shame Peter hadn’t contacted H&H Investigations and let Hattie loose on the case.
She was certain she could have followed Mary’s last walk along the River Ribble, and spoken to people who’d seen her that day, noticing small details that others had missed.
Mary had a secret, and Hattie knew from experience that if you knew where to look, secrets always left a trail.
Pushing her tray to one side of the bed, Hattie’s thoughts turned to Gerald and his inevitable hangover.
She hoped the view from his suite wasn’t that of the cabin of a vessel moored alongside.
After his exploits the day before, Gerald might welcome fresh air to clear his head, pouring in through the balcony doors.
‘And what of Ezra?’ Hattie asked Claude. ‘Does he have a clear head this morning?
After their nightcap, the previous evening, Hattie knew that Sylvie was anxious about Ezra and suggested that they find him before retiring to bed.
When they made their way to the top deck, Ezra wasn’t hard to spot.
A silent disco was taking place, and, in the middle, wearing headphones, Ezra was freestyling with his eyes closed, knees bent, and hips grinding.
His arms, relaxed and expressive, were following a beat only he could hear.
Sylvie had stopped in her tracks, a smile spreading across her face. ‘It’s reggae,’ she said, ‘he’s winding and grinding, just like Errol.’
Hattie thought that the handsome young man looked magnificent, moving so freely among the other dancers, completely at ease. She reached out to touch Sylvie’s arm. ‘Let’s leave him,’ she said. ‘Ezra might stop if he sees you, and he seems to be having a good time.’
Sylvie hesitated, reluctant to move away. ‘Are you sure?’ she said, casting a lingering glance at her son. ‘Don’t you think I should join him, just to make sure he’s comfortable with all those people?’
Hattie thought that the last thing Ezra needed was to open his eyes to see his middle-aged mother winding and grinding before him.
The lad might be traumatised for life. And as Hattie looked towards the bar, where Nazeem was standing, she realised that they weren’t the only ones appreciating Ezra’s silent disco.
‘He’s fine,’ Hattie said softly and, taking Sylvie’s arm, led her away.
Hattie’s mobile was on the bedside table, and she had an urge to ring Alf and find out how he was getting along with the bathroom. Reaching out, she made the call, flicking the phone to FaceTime.
It was a while before Alf picked up.
‘Bloody ’ell, Hattie,’ Alf grumbled and rubbed his eyes. ‘Has the boat sunk and you’ve gone down like the Titanic?’
‘I’d hardly be making a phone call,’ Hattie retorted. ‘Where are you?’ She stared at the screen, taking in the image of a weary Alf, squinting back at her from a darkened room.
‘Are you wearing pyjamas?’ she asked.
‘Aye, one does tend to wear them when sleeping – or trying to. What’s up?’
‘Oh, rats.’ Hattie glanced at her watch and calculated the time in Cumbria, ‘I’d forgotten you’re two hours behind.’ She settled back on her pillows. ‘Sorry!’
‘Well, as you’re on, tell me what’s to do.’
‘Nothing is “to do”, and I’m having a lovely time. I was wondering how you are progressing with the bathroom.’
Alf sat up and flicked on a bedside light.
‘Textbook workmanship and I’ve added an indoor water feature for Drake with dancing nymphs and a shallow end with a mosaic-tiled spa . . .’
‘No need for sarcasm.’ Hattie pulled a face. ‘Is that shaggy mutt in bed with you?’ She stared at the screen, trying to distinguish Ness’s furry head beside Alf.
‘She might be, and you look as though you’ve got new bed mates too.’
Hattie realised that Claude and the pooch were still on her pillows, propped up like sentries.
‘Have you started playing with toys in the night?’ Alf asked. ‘You’ll have a rabbit in with you next . . .’ He chuckled.
‘Very funny,’ Hattie snapped.
‘All is in hand. Stop worrying.’ Alf yawned. ‘How’s the cruise?’
‘Most enjoyable, thank you. I’ve met some very interesting people.’
‘Have you met Mr Right on the Love Boat?’
‘It’s not a Love Boat and it’s very respectable. I’m enjoying taking in all the wonders of the tombs and temples.’
‘Not been struck by a curse?’
‘There is no curse, and I don’t know what puts such ideas in your head.’ Hattie rolled her eyes.
‘Well, if you’ve woken me up to nag, I’ll end this scintillating nocturnal call and try and get some z’s in before I need to get up.’
‘Did you order the tiles?’
‘Aye, and they’re being delivered tomorrow,’ Alf confirmed. ‘I got bright yellow with ducks for the walls, and orange flamingos for the shower. Happy?’
‘If they are anything other than white, the duck will die, and you’ll be next!’
‘Goodbye, Hattie, and happy cruising . . .’ Alf ended the call.
Hattie stared at the darkened screen, her reflection faint in the glass as she noticed the time.
‘Rats, I’d better get dressed,’ she muttered, running a hand through her untidy hair.
Claude shifted beside her, and as she moved, the towelling dog fell to one side.
Hattie reached for a flannel ear and tucked it in the pocket of her nightie.
‘I’ll be needing that, sorry, dog,’ she said, and pursing her lips into a happy whistle, padded off to the bathroom to get ready for her tomb-trawling day.
In the opposite cabin to Hattie, Gerald had slept like a baby and now, completely refreshed, he sat on the balcony of his suite, wearing a towelling robe, eating breakfast. The boat was moored along a stone embankment that ran along the river’s edge at the site of the Temple of Kom Ombo.
As he tucked into an omelette, washing it down with sweetened Earl Grey tea, Gerald gazed at the magnificent view ahead.
A gentle gold light brushed the top of the uneven edge of the temple’s huge square columns where it rose from the dusty earth, set on a mound above the Nile.
It was an engaging sight that drew early risers, like Gerald, to stare in reverent awe at the sheer weight of history standing so proudly and so close, unchanged over thousands of years.
‘It’s quite something, isn’t it?’ he said to Anouska.
But Anouska, sitting beside him, had her back to the view. ‘Should you eat so much before we go out in the sun?’ she asked, prodding a slice of melon.
‘I’m hungry. I need to keep my strength up,’ Gerald said.
‘Your own fault for overindulging, then falling asleep and missing dinner last night,’ she replied.
Gerald ignored the comment. He didn’t want to get into an argument about his drinking. Once Anouska started on that particular bandwagon, she never stopped.
If only she realised that she was the reason for his recent increased intake of alcohol!
‘You missed the Esna Lock,’ Anouska said smugly, knowing that Gerald, with his engineering background, had been keen to witness their passage through it.
The marvel of modern river engineering built to raise and lower riverboats as they journeyed along the Nile was regarded as a remarkable feat of hydraulic design.
‘Was it impressive?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Anouska said. ‘I’m not in the least interested, though I heard others say there was no delay.’
Gerald poured another cup of tea. He knew that if boats had to queue to pass through the lock, they could be delayed for hours, and hoped that he’d have time to properly observe the lock on their return journey.
He looked towards the temple again and pointed with his fork.
‘It really is a magnificent sight.’ Gerald noted that it was within walking distance of the boat, where steep steps led up to a wide terrace and huge sandstone columns stood close together, beneath parts of the building that was still roofed.
‘I can’t wait to have a look around.’ Gerald pushed his empty plate to one side, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. ‘We’ll stay with the guide and learn all about the history.’
Anouska turned to her phone and didn’t glance up to look at the temple. Her Instagram post from the day before, of bikini shots beside the pool, had received scores of likes. With any luck she’d have parcels of expensive leisurewear from suppliers waiting for her when she got home.
‘How was your evening?’ Gerald asked, wondering not for the first time if his wife could tear herself away from social media long enough to have a conversation like any normal married couple.
‘Boring,’ Anouska said.
‘Did you sit at the table with Hattie and Sylvie?’
‘Mm.’
‘I think Hattie is good fun, don’t you?’
‘Overweight and dull.’
‘That’s very unkind, dear. Was Peter there?’
Anouska frowned at her screen, tilting the phone to read a post. ‘Peter who?’ she asked, without looking up.
‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin.’
She ignored the sarcasm. ‘If you mean the man who seems to have a very interesting life, then yes, that Peter was there.’
‘He seems a bit of a fantasist to me,’ Gerald retorted. ‘Do you think he makes things up?’
Anouska pushed back her chair, unwilling to discuss Peter.
She’d enjoyed his company at dinner, and she’d turned on the charm.
It was unfortunate that he’d excused himself, claiming he had work to do, before she had a chance to ramp things up, but there was no rush.
Softly, softly. Smoothing her long linen dress over her hips, she asked, ‘Shall we get ready for the excursion? You may want to consider long trousers today.’
Gerald left the table, determined to wear his shorts again if only as a defiant gesture to his wife.
Standing before his wardrobe, he selected the most garish shirt he could find.
He still had the walking pole that Hattie had kindly lent him, and – aware of many steps to the temple – knew he would be grateful for it.
Picking up his Panama hat, Gerald settled it firmly on his head and called out to Anouska. ‘I’m ready and raring to go!’
Anouska picked up her bag and hat and inwardly sighed when she saw Gerald. He may have been ready, but dressed in that ridiculous shirt and those shorts, he was hardly raring to go. She bit her tongue, swallowed a retaliatory remark and instead smiled sweetly.
Remembering that he’d asked about Peter, she knew that she must change tack and play her part carefully, giving nothing away.
Anouska was confident that she would soon have him eating out of her hand.
Her instincts were rarely wrong, and Peter was promising.
Wealthy and with no wife to worry about, he was a strong candidate for her next quarry.
But she mustn’t burn her bridges with Gerald.
From his recent behaviour, she’d begun to suspect that Gerald might not be quite as keen on staying married as he once was and if his doubts filtered through to the poisonous Judith, Anouska would be out on her ear.
Until she was sure of her footing, she must keep Gerald onside, no matter how hard that might be.
‘You look lovely, very handsome,’ Anouska lied, and as Gerald opened the door, she brushed a kiss against his cheek.
For now, unless Gerald met with an ill-fated accident, she would pay attention to the man beside her, all the while planning how to conquer the one ahead . . .