Chapter 15 #2
Just then a voice called out, ‘Is that the Old Sudan?’ and seconds later, Sylvie appeared at Hattie’s side. ‘EZRA!’ she hollered. ‘You have to see this!’
Moments later, Ezra joined them, fresh from the pool with a towel draped around his waist.
‘That’s cute,’ he said as Sylvie launched into an explanation of the boat’s significance. Unfamiliar with Agatha Christie, or her famous novel, Ezra soon lost interest and drifted to the bar.
The engines rumbled back to life, and the SS Nefertari eased away. Hattie and Sylvie were about to head back to their sunbeds but stopped when Peter approached.
‘Sylvie!’ he called out. ‘I owe you an enormous apology for my rudeness in the museum,’ he began. ‘I insist on reimbursing you for your camera and please, allow me to buy you a drink.’
‘Well, that would be swell, but you really mustn’t worry, accidents happen, and I hear that yours was serious.’
‘Well, in my game, one gets used to it happening, but I have a strong constitution.’ He smoothed the collar of his shirt. ‘Thankfully I’ve recovered quickly and insist on making my apologies. Please do join me.’
‘Sure, but my friend Hattie and Gerald are coming too.’
Hattie noticed that Gerald paused, scanning the deck for his wife. He spotted her stretched out, face down on a sunbed, her half-naked body glistening with oil.
‘Is Anouska joining us?’ Hattie asked, as Peter and Sylvie walked on ahead.
‘It looks like she’s out for the count,’ he replied. ‘I think it best not to disturb her.’
Hattie thought it best too. Poor Gerald could enjoy a drink and a chat without an accompanying lecture.
Seated in the shade on deep comfy sofas, Peter surprised them all by ordering champagne. ‘I know it’s not inclusive,’ he said, ‘but I must apologise to Sylvie.’ Turning to the steward, who was setting a wine cooler in a stand, he added, ‘Put the bill on my cabin account.’
‘A toast.’ Gerald grinned, raising his glass. ‘To Peter’s bowels and Sylvie’s deceased camera.’
Peter unscrewed the cap from a bottle of sparkling water. ‘I’m keeping it light,’ he said, taking a glass, ‘and no ice.’
‘Very wise.’ Hattie nodded.
Sitting back in his seat, Gerald watched the bubbles rising in his champagne and said, ‘I wonder what it costs to sail on the Old Sudan.’
‘A sizeable sum,’ Peter confirmed, ‘I considered it, of course, but feel safer on a boat like this with more people about.’ He poured the water then glanced over his shoulder. ‘One blends in better. Small boats attract attention, and patterns are easier to spot.’
Sylvie frowned and sat forward. ‘I don’t want to be nosy, Peter, but are you a spy?’
Hattie held her breath, waiting for whatever fanciful answer Peter might come up with. She didn’t have to wait long.
‘I couldn’t possibly disclose my er . . . status,’ he replied and looked Gerald in the eye. ‘Loose talk, you understand.’
Gerald choked slightly on his drink. ‘Yes, completely understandable.’ He nodded.
Hattie decided that it was time to avoid loose talk and get back to boats. ‘Have any of you read Death on the Nile?’ she asked.
‘Seen the film,’ Gerald said.
‘I’ve read it heaps of times.’ Sylvie looked wistful. ‘Such a wonderful book.’
‘My wife was a big fan of that sort of thing,’ Peter added.
‘Your wife liked cosy mysteries?’ Sylvie asked.
‘Well, Death on the Nile is hardly cosy . . .’ Hattie said.
She thought of the violent murder of the fictional heiress, shot in her sleep, and the maid pushed into the river. Deaths that Agatha described with chilling clarity. But thinking of the missing Mary, Hattie found herself intrigued. ‘What did your wife read?’ she asked.
‘She was hellbent on getting her hands on every Miss Marple,’ Peter said, ‘and Poirot, of course. That Christie woman was her favourite.’
‘How interesting . . .’ Hattie murmured.
‘Couldn’t get a peep out of her when she was reading,’ Peter continued. ‘And she was always scribbling away in notebooks too.’
‘She made notes?’
‘Yes, goodness knows what of. She scribbled for hours. It wasn’t something we discussed.’ Peter took a drink of his water.
While you played James Bond in your fantasy world! Hattie thought.
Sylvie leaned forward again, hesitating before asking, ‘What do, or did, the two of you do?’
‘I shouldn’t really say.’ Peter laughed lightly. ‘But Mary worked in retail, and I have a more, creative line of work.’
Back to amateur espionage. Hattie smiled, courtesy of Peter’s imagination.
Lifting her glass, Hattie sipped the ice-cold champagne.
At least he’d ordered a decent drink. She wondered what had happened to Mary and sifted through what she’d gleaned so far.
Reading cosy mysteries appeared to have been Mary’s obsession.
A private reading world, unlike Peter’s, and one she disappeared into completely.
But the notebooks and hours spent scribbling suggested something more.
Was Mary studying lives other than her own and rehearsing possibilities she never intended to share with her husband?
As Sylvie chatted to Peter, Hattie absently listened as she looked around and noticed that the light was changing, casting shadows on the water. Aswan drew closer, and the lowering sun silhouetted minarets and buildings in the distance. Soon, they would arrive.
When she turned back, Hattie was startled to find Gerald watching her. For a moment his expression appeared alarmed, then he slowly smiled, a little awkwardly, and Hattie thought she saw him blush. For a moment, something unspoken hovered between them, before Gerald quickly looked away.
Hattie felt her stomach lurch unexpectedly and sensed it might not be curiosity that held his gaze. The last time a man had looked at her that way, it had been her dear Hugo, shortly before he proposed.
The memory hit her like whiplash.
Gerald? Surely not! He couldn’t possibly have feelings for her. He was married, perhaps unhappily, but he didn’t strike her as a man who strayed. Unfaithful didn’t seem to be a word one would attach to Gerald, despite being on the end of Anouska’s sharp tongue and possible indiscretions.
Then, speak of the devil, Hattie turned to see Anouska, strolling towards their table. Instagram-ready and wearing a red sarong wrapped over her bikini, her tan was as slick as the ruby lipstick smoothed across her lips.
‘There you are, Gerald, drinking again already?’ Anouska smiled at her husband. ‘Oh, but it’s champagne, how lovely.’
‘Let me get you a glass.’ Gerald rose.
As he moved to the bar, Hattie noticed that Anouska trailed her fingers along Peter’s shoulders. ‘Hello, you,’ she purred. Peter gulped his water and began to cough, and Anouska patted him gently. ‘Shall I rub something for you?’ she asked.
But Peter was on his feet.
‘You left early last night,’ Anouska said.
‘I had work to do.’
Clearing his throat, Peter announced that he had important calls to make and must excuse himself.
‘Catch you later!’ Anouska held up her hand and blew him a kiss. She sat down and made herself comfortable.
Sylvie had finished her drink and, glancing at her watch, told Hattie she’d better head off and get ready for their upcoming Philae Temple tour. ‘See you soon.’ Gathering her things, she added, ‘If you see Ezra, tell him it’s time to get ready too.’
As Sylvie disappeared from the deck, Hattie looked towards a darkened corner, at the far end of the deck, and spotted Ezra perched on a high stool chatting happily with Nazeem.
I haven’t seen him . . . Hattie thought and turned away.
Gerald returned to sit by Anouska. ‘Here you are, dear,’ he said dutifully. ‘Let me pour you a glass.’
Hattie made a swift decision not to play happy families with this particular family. Slipping her bag over her shoulder she stood.
‘That’s me,’ she said lightly. ‘We’re approaching Aswan, and I can hear the call to prayer, so I’ll love and leave you.’
As she turned and moved away, Hattie glanced at the sky.
‘To the Egyptian god of holidays,’ she whispered, ‘thank you! I’m having such a lovely time.’