Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
A SIMPLE MISUNDERSTANDING . . .
The following morning, Hattie had a long lie-in. After a leisurely shower and styling her freshly washed hair, she slipped into a swimsuit with a matching cover-up and made her way to the Hapi restaurant. Finding a seat at her usual table, Hattie was looking forward to her breakfast.
The previous evening, she’d skipped a late dinner when they arrived back from the Philae Temple, and after a nightcap with Sylvie, she’d headed straight to bed.
‘Hope I’m not too late,’ Hattie said to Hassan as he greeted her. She glanced at her watch. It was already after ten o’clock.
Hassan flicked open a napkin and laid it across her knee. ‘No, Miss Hattie, many guests are late today.’ He smiled, flashing his toothy grin. ‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Lovely, thank you Hassan,’ Hattie said.
Looking around the room, she noticed other guests, like herself, lingering over a leisurely start to the day. A few hovered by the buffet, while others stood in line as a chef prepared omelettes to order.
When her coffee arrived, Hattie sipped slowly, enjoying the moment of peace.
She knew that Sylvie and Ezra had risen before dawn to board a coach that would take them on the long drive through the Nubian desert to Abu Simbel.
Hattie had read that Abu Simbel was another temple that had been relocated to higher ground, to save it from flooding when the Aswan High Dam was built.
Her guidebook explained that it was one of the greatest archaeological achievements of the modern world, and Hattie wondered if Agatha ever discussed such a monumental accomplishment with her husband, Max.
But such a long and tiring excursion hadn’t appealed to Hattie, and although she would have enjoyed the Nubian village boat trip excursion, leaving early that afternoon, the timings clashed with the most exciting part of her holiday.
Today, Hattie planned to set off for the Old Cataract Hotel, the location where Agatha wrote Death on the Nile, and she couldn’t wait!
Choosing crudité-like toasts topped with savouries, and an apricot pastry from the buffet, she nodded her thanks as Hassan poured more coffee and asked Hattie about her day.
‘Well, Hassan, after your very fine breakfast, I plan to have a little bit of R and R on the top deck, before making my way to the Old Cataract Hotel.
‘R and R, Miss Hattie?’ Hassan appeared puzzled.
‘Rest and relaxation.’ Hattie smiled.
‘Oh, very good, and you must take afternoon tea at the hotel; it is very famous,’ he said.
‘Thank you, I will,’ Hattie said and bit into a spinach crudité topped with cheese.
Thinking back to the previous evening, she wondered how Anouska was today.
Possibly making a mountain out of a molehill over her very small scratch and giving poor Gerald hell.
The couple had left the temple before Hattie and Sylvie, and Hattie hadn’t seen them again.
She wondered if they’d had the same surprise as her when they reached their room.
Weary from the long day, as Hattie opened her door and stepped into the gloom, fumbling in the dimness and groping for a light, she’d let out a gasp.
There was a man in her room!
He sat bolt upright on a chair, between the bed and the sofa, wrapped and mummified like a relic from a tomb.
For a frozen moment, Hattie thought of Ezra and his curse and wondered if she was doomed. Stumbling back into the corridor, she turned to look for help, just in time to see two faces peering from a nearby doorway, their grins wide.
‘Oh, you young devils!’ Hattie shook her head, the truth slowly dawning.
She marched back inside and began to laugh, too. The terrifying intruder was nothing more than a man-shaped pile of cushions and towels, swaddled in layers of loo roll.
From the corridor, the two housekeepers joined Hattie as she helplessly giggled.
‘I shall be up all night after a shock like that.’ She laughed. ‘Be off with the pair of you.’
Hattie was still smiling at the memory as she cut into her apricot pastry and popped a slice in her mouth. When she felt her phone vibrate, she dug it from her pocket and stared at the screen.
It was Alf.
‘Morning,’ she said, answering the call. ‘Why are you calling this early? And don’t tell me you’re angling for overtime.’ Hattie glanced at her watch.
There was a pause.
‘You need to speak to the duck,’ Alf hissed.
‘Eh?’
‘Aye, Drake. The duck.’
‘I know who Drake is, what on earth has he done now?’
‘I’m trying to grout the tiles, and he won’t get out of the bathroom.’
Hattie rolled her eyes and licked apricot crumbs from her fingers. ‘Threaten to shoot him,’ she said.
‘Tried that. Didn’t work.’
‘Then really shoot him.’
‘Funny.’
‘So, what’s the real problem?’ Hattie took another bite of pastry, unconcerned. Battles between Alf and Drake were regular and invariably sorted themselves out without too much loss of skin and feathers.
‘If you want this bathroom finished on time, I need to grout, and the blasted bird keeps pecking me.’
Hattie looked up as Gerald and Anouska appeared beside the table. She waved at them with a sticky hand as they sat down.
‘Throw him out of the window,’ Hattie said, returning to Alf. ‘Then lock the door so he can’t get back into my cottage.’
Hattie was well aware of Drake’s unnerving ability to operate a handle. Only a secure lock stood a chance against his beak.
Hattie didn’t notice Anouska’s raised eyebrows nor Gerald’s look of alarm.
‘Drake is territorial, and you know he hates me being away,’ Hattie continued. ‘This is his way of expressing himself.’
‘Aye,’ Alf complained. ‘By trying to peck me to death.’
‘Alf, I haven’t got time for this,’ Hattie said, ‘You’ve dealt with worse than the deadly Drake. Man up and don’t call me again, unless it’s to tell me good news.’
‘I don’t know why I bother . . .’
But Hattie had cut him off. Dabbing at her mouth with her napkin, she placed it down, then looked up to welcome the newcomers to the table.
‘Good morning to you both.’ Turning to Anouska, she asked, ‘And how’s the graze this morning?’
Gerald was bemused and sat back in his chair, staring at Hattie.
As Hassan poured coffee, Gerald only half-listened as Anouska ranted on about her leg, and how she ought to see the boat’s medic, as she probably had an infection from the dilapidated cubicle door.
Hattie was soothing his wife and assuring her that she’d used antiseptic wipes and cream and was certain that the graze would quickly heal.
As he watched Hattie, Gerald thought how lovely she looked that morning.
She wore an outfit in various shades of pink that suited her complexion, her strawberry-blonde hair curling softly around her face, enhancing her bright blue eyes.
Hattie didn’t have Anouska’s striking bone structure or the arresting beauty that turned heads, but this only made her more appealing.
Hattie had a body that made one want to curl up against it, soft and generous, offering comfort as well as desire.
Her figure was voluptuous and feminine, a marked contrast to Anouska’s jutting bones, which so often felt as though he were bouncing on a bed of nails, on the distant occasions he’d been allowed to.
But who was Alf, and why had she spoken so sharply to him?
And as for throwing someone named Drake out of a window .
. . Did she have a misbehaving son? If so, Gerald thought it a harsh way to reprimand him, and he wondered what on earth Drake had done wrong.
Unaware of the caller’s conversation and having only heard Hattie’s words, Gerald was puzzled as he thanked Hassan for the coffee and raised the cup to his lips.
‘Gerald, do you think you should be drinking coffee on an empty stomach?’ Anouska’s sharp words cut across the table. ‘You know your stomach gets upset, and we don’t want to be searching for a bathroom all afternoon.’
God forbid that Anouska’s Instagram poses should be delayed while Gerald went in search of a toilet! Gerald thought and felt his cheeks colour. Did Anouska really have to be so publicly vocal on the machinations of a middle-aged man’s digestive system? What on earth would Hattie think?
But Hattie appeared entirely unperturbed, and Gerald saw her reach into her bag.
‘My Hugo was the same,’ she said, ‘his tummy was like a washing machine some days, so I always carried a packet of these.’ She handed the packet to Gerald. ‘A couple at the first sign of trouble, and you’ll be as right as rain in no time.’
‘Thank you, Hattie, that’s very kind.’ Gerald tucked the remedy in his pocket before Anouska had time to reach out and scrutinise the contents.
‘Now, fill your boots, enjoy your coffee, and I can recommend these apricot pastries, they’re absolutely delicious.’
Gerald couldn’t help but smile. Hattie was so warm and friendly and turned every mishap into a reminder that life needn’t be taken too seriously.
Whatever her gripe with Alf and Drake, he felt sure there must be a reasonable explanation.
Still, he couldn’t help wondering who Alf was.
Perhaps he was a lover? Puzzled, he gave a small shrug.
Alf had to be more than just a friend; after all, he appeared to be staying at Hattie’s home.
‘Gerald, are you listening?’ Anouska poked his arm. ‘Honestly, I don’t know where you are half the time. Your forgetfulness is quite tiresome.’
‘Sorry, dear, what were you saying?’ Gerald turned to his wife. His forgetfulness, as she called it, was more a case of selective deafness, cultivated over recent months as a defence against her frivolous conversation.
‘I was saying that we are looking forward to the Nubian village boat trip excursion today,’ Anouska replied, sipping from a glass of chilled water.
‘Oh, yes, can’t wait.’ Gerald nodded.
In truth, the prospect of traipsing around a market where vendors relentlessly tried to sell you things you neither wanted nor needed, all under a scorching hot sun, was at the bottom of his bucket list that day.
Anouska, he knew, would already be planning picture-perfect photographs for her Instagram posts: lips pursed, and hair billowing artfully around her face as she reclined in the felucca carrying them to the village, while the wind whipped at the sails.
Turning to Hattie, he asked, ‘What are your plans?’
Hattie sat back. Smiling, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them, her face was alight with anticipation.
‘I’m having tea at the Old Cataract Hotel,’ she said. ‘It’s always been a dream of mine to visit the place where Agatha wrote her famous novel, and now, it’s about to come true.’
‘Agatha?’ Anouska appeared genuinely puzzled. ‘Who’s she?’
‘Never mind, dear,’ Gerald said, turning instead to Hattie. ‘I think that sounds like a wonderful afternoon’s outing, and if it helps make your dream come true, then so much the better.’
Anouska, miffed at being dismissed, pushed back her chair and sauntered to the buffet.
Hattie, still smiling, said to Gerald, ‘We all have dreams, don’t we, Gerald. What would make your dream come true?’
For a moment, Gerald hesitated. In his dreams, he was sailing down the Nile, lounging on a sunbed with Hattie by his side.
Hand in hand, they sipped cocktails and planned shared adventures ahead, before he slipped gently into her welcoming arms and felt the aching relief of being with someone who made the world gentle again, unlike the sharp, demanding world he knew now.
‘Oh, er, well . . .’ Gerald bumbled, ‘most folk would say a lottery win, but I don’t need that, so . . .’ He hesitated, pausing as though unable to say what he truly felt. He looked up and met Hattie’s blue eyes and quite suddenly felt the urge to be honest.
‘Next time . . .’ he began.
But before Gerald could finish, Anouska returned to the table.
‘Would you believe that they don’t have oat milk?’ she complained, and without waiting for a reply, sat down, reached for her phone, and began scrolling.
Hattie placed her napkin neatly and picked up her bag. As she stood, she laid a soft hand on Gerald’s arm and leaned close to whisper in his ear.
‘Sometimes, at our age, dear man, you have to remember that there is no next time. Whatever your dream is . . . Do it now!’
Gerald felt something tighten as Cupid’s arrow landed again, and as Hattie left the restaurant, he thought of following her and asking more. But before he could consider it, Anouska looked up from her phone and told him that his shirt was too tight, to straighten his back and suck his stomach in.
Ignoring his wife, Gerald sank back in his chair.
Hattie’s words echoed, and he wondered how many chances for happiness he would let slip away while he waited for . . . the next time.