Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
BEYOND THE DOOR, YESTERDAY LINGERS . . .
Hattie was enjoying herself. Sitting on the terrace, sipping her champagne, she watched the world go by at an unhurried pace.
The view might have belonged to another century, and she could almost see it as Agatha had.
Dark water, white sails, palm trees and vegetation clustered on the banks, river life in shades of sepia, like an old photograph coming to life.
For a moment she felt suspended between past and present.
People-watching was a favourite pastime for Hattie, and she discreetly studied guests of all nationalities as they settled themselves in for afternoon tea. Hattie was in no hurry and wanted to draw out the moment for as long as she could.
She asked Youssef if he might delay her meal for a little while.
Youssef understood perfectly. ‘Yes, of course, madam, there is no hurry here.’
Hattie leaned back in her chair, feeling the sun’s warmth and a pleasant breeze from the water against a backdrop of murmuring voices, all enjoying the slow pace of the afternoon.
She wondered how Sylvie and Ezra were enjoying their trip to Abu Simbel and hoped that the early start, long before dawn, was worth it.
Gerald and Anouska would soon be arriving at the Nubian village, and Hattie looked forward to hearing all about their excursion, too.
But for now, she was content to sit and let her mind drift.
Hattie found herself thinking of Peter. He was a mystery entirely of his own making, like a boy still playing at adventure, casting himself in fanciful roles. There was something amusing about Peter, but oddly sad too.
And then there was Mary. What had made a middle-aged woman suddenly disappear?
Hattie reminded herself that Mary was a woman who immersed herself in cosy mysteries and spent hours making notes.
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there must be an explanation for Mary’s sudden departure from the world she shared with Peter.
Perhaps Peter played out his fantasies constantly and this was the very thing Mary had to escape from?
Mysteries were like a gourmet meal for Hattie.
Gather the ingredients, understand the method, and enjoy the reward when the finished dish is revealed.
But this mystery felt more like a McDonald’s meal without the fries, leaving Hattie with the niggling unease that in Mary’s case, an essential ingredient was missing.
Hattie was about to look for Youssef to tell him she was ready for her tea when she saw him approaching her table, accompanied by a smartly dressed man.
‘This gentleman asks if he might join you,’ Youssef said with a courteous smile.
Hattie was taken aback. Who was this stranger wearing a smart linen suit, shiny leather brogues and dark shades beneath a Panama tipped low? She was about to decline when recognition dawned.
‘Gerald!’ Hattie exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing here. I thought you were exploring the delights of the Nubian village?’
‘I hate to impose, but I hoped that I might join you . . .’
Gerald removed his shades, and Hattie saw an anxious look in his eyes.
‘I’d be delighted.’ Hattie beamed.
In moments, Youssef had rearranged the table and Gerald sat down.
‘Here, make yourself comfortable beside me, where you can look out at this glorious view.’ Hattie leaned across and gave his arm a gentle pat. ‘Now,’ she said with a smile, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’
Gerald hadn’t moved so quickly in years and when he made his way back to the boat, he’d hurried to his suite and reached for his smartest outfit. Dabbing cologne on his face, he’d tidied his hair and, with a brisk nod to his reflection, set off.
To his dismay, there were no taxis to be found, and he squeezed into a tuk-tuk instead.
The driver, wizened and bony, appeared as mummified as the pharaohs and wore a T-shirt with the slogan, God Is My Pilot.
As they lurched into motion, negotiating goats, potholes, pedestrians and traffic as busy as an ants’ nest, Gerald began to pray that God was indeed guiding the vehicle.
When they finally arrived at the Old Cataract Hotel, Gerald eased himself from the sticky vinyl seat with relief, grateful that he’d survived the shopping-trolley ride, and deliberately overpaid the driver.
But as he composed his thoughts and set off through the garden, he almost turned back on himself.
What on earth was he doing?
Gerald had abandoned his wife, told a lie about his condition, and now – uninvited – set out in search of Hattie. As he crossed the lobby, he remembered that this afternoon was Hattie’s private indulgence, a treat to herself, and here he was, gatecrashing her special moment.
Pausing to ask where afternoon tea was served, Gerald braced himself to be turned away. After all, Hattie had Alf dutifully waiting at home. Why on earth would she welcome the company of someone as dull and unremarkable as Gerald?
He stepped onto the terrace, and a steward introduced himself. Gerald asked to be shown to Hattie’s table, and soon they passed sun-worshippers around an infinity pool and came to linen-covered tables occupied by multinational guests.
Then, sitting at a table in the corner, shaded by a canopy, he saw her, and Gerald’s heart pounded as Cupid landed an arrow once more.
How lovely she looks!
Remembering Hattie’s fondness for Agatha Christie, Gerald saw how she’d captured the style of that time.
Wearing a cornflower blue tea dress in a shade that matched her eyes, Hattie was as pretty as a picture.
Unaware that she was being watched, Gerald realised as he stared that he was, quite hopelessly, smitten.
The steward was speaking to Hattie, and Gerald nervously stepped forward to ask if he might join her.
‘I’d be delighted,’ Hattie said.
Exhaling with relief as Youssef rearranged the table, Gerald moved forward, removed his shades, and sat down.
‘Now I insist that you have the last sandwich,’ Hattie said and taking the little wooden spear that held a smoked salmon bite together, she handed it to Gerald.
Gerald nodded his appreciation as he munched, then licked his lips. ‘Delicious,’ he announced.
‘Shall we try something sweet?’ Hattie smiled and reached for the vintage cake stand that held an abundance of delicacies. ‘I’m going to have a lemon macaron.’
Gerald picked up his cup and took a sip of Earl Grey tea.
From the moment he’d sat down, Hattie had made him feel completely at ease. They’d begun by admiring the view and noting the feluccas sailing around an island in the middle of the river ahead.
‘It’s called Elephantine Island,’ Hattie explained. ‘Do you know why it has that name?’
‘I don’t see many elephants.’ Gerald’s eyes scanned the island.
‘No, indeed.’ Hattie nodded. ‘But I’ve read that this area was the gateway to the ivory trade, and elephant tusks were highly prized and valuable.’ She gazed ahead. ‘Some think that the huge granite boulders that form the island look like elephants wading in the water, hence the name.’
As they ate, they chatted amiably about Aswan, Egyptian history, and the hotel’s magnificence. But as Hattie buttered the last scone, she paused. Turning to Gerald, she said gently, ‘Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’
At first, Gerald made light of it, offering his explanation for abandoning the coach, and Hattie laughed when he described the tuk-tuk ride.
But her expression changed to one of curiosity when, getting straight to the point, she asked why he’d wanted to get away from Anouska that particular afternoon.
‘I’m selfish I suppose.’ Gerald sighed. ‘I know I should indulge Anouska. After all, she is my wife, but . . .’
‘You felt that a few hours without being told what to do might do you good,’ Hattie said softly, finishing his thought.
Gerald stared at Hattie. He was startled by her accuracy and, for the first time all holiday, felt understood, rather than judged, and before he knew what he was doing, he blurted out that he had fallen out of love with Anouska, that his marriage had been a mistake and that his daughter had been right all along.
He was, he said, just a silly old fool who’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Mistaking a younger woman’s pretence of love when all she really wanted was the comfort of his money. And now that Anouska had that, she’d reverted to type, and her false affection had fallen away.
‘Oh, God, Hattie, I am so sorry.’ Gerald was flustered. ‘I feel like I’m in the confessional and don’t know why I’m pouring my heart out. Now, I’ve spoilt your tea, and I ought to go, so that you can enjoy the rest of the afternoon.’
He began to push back his chair.
‘No, no, sit yourself down.’ Hattie smiled.
‘Holidays have a habit of bringing truths to the surface. When we’re away from the day-to-day, we collect our thoughts and often find the courage to think and maybe say aloud what we’ve been avoiding.
’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘There’s no harm in that, Gerald. Sometimes it’s exactly what’s needed.’
Hattie’s hand felt like a comfort blanket, soft and reassuring, and in that moment, for Gerald, it was the best feeling in the world.
‘You’re very special, Hattie,’ Gerald said, and stared into her eyes. ‘Alf is a very lucky man.’
‘Alf?’ Hattie’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Er, yes . . . Don’t you live with Alf and your son Drake?’
Hattie pulled her hand away and then, to Gerald’s surprise, suddenly burst out laughing. For a moment, she was helpless.
Gerald flushed, convinced that he’d said something incredibly foolish.
Fighting to regain control, Hattie reached into her bag for a tissue, then dabbed at her eyes. ‘Youssef!’ she called out. ‘Two glasses of your lovely champagne!’
Turning to Gerald, her eyes were bright with amusement.
‘Hattie, I’m sorry, have I said something wrong? I overheard your phone conversation with Alf, at breakfast . . .’