Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
IT’S FAR TOO LATE FOR THAT . . .
It was early afternoon when Sam ushered the guests back onto the boat, many of whom made straight to the restaurant for lunch.
Ezra, carrying his fez, announced that he was off to find his mom and enlighten her with the morning’s events.
Hattie hoped he would keep his account light and not spook Sylvie with renewed talk of tomb curses.
‘Have you got a moment?’ she asked Gerald, knowing that Anouska’s earlier retreat with a conveniently timed headache meant she was almost certainly in their suite.
‘Yes, of course. Shall we sit in the lounge?’ he said, smiling.
‘No, this needs to be in private.’
Without waiting, Hattie turned and hurried up the stairs.
She slid her keycard over her door lock, flicked on the light and crossed to open the curtains.
The housekeeping boys had been in, for the room was pristine and tidy.
But she wasn’t surprised to see that a new reptilian addition had been artfully arranged on her bed.
‘Hello, Sid,’ Hattie said, reaching out to stroke the towelling snake. ‘Meet Claude and Clement.’
Digging into a drawer, Hattie produced a tube and, settling Gerald into a chair, began gently applying aloe vera lotion to his grazes.
‘I don’t think we should beat about the bush,’ she said. ‘I know that it was Anouska who gave you a shove on the hill. You’re lucky to be alive.’
‘How do you know?’ Gerald asked.
‘I’ve seen the look of guilt so many times, and she’s easy to read.’ Hattie paused. ‘But tell me, how on earth are you still in one piece?’
Gerald recounted the shove, the slide and the ledge that had broken his fall. Peter, appearing by some miracle, had hauled him in through a gap to a hidden tunnel that led to the path. If Peter hadn’t arrived when he did, Gerald explained, the consequences may well have been serious.
Hattie sat back.
‘So,’ she said, placing the lid back on the tube. ‘Our man on a mission, Peter, acting as an illusory James Bond, really did come through.’
Gerald nodded. ‘Thank God he was lurking in the tunnel.’
‘Sometimes it’s handy to have a fantasist on standby.’ Hattie smiled. ‘But what are you going to do about Anouska?’
‘You and I agreed to take things one step at a time, and I will.’ Gerald said.
‘But my marriage is over, especially after today.’ He sighed.
‘Anouska and I are not good for each other, and if I’m honest, at times, I was drinking a little too much to blur what I already knew.
That we were fundamentally unsuited from the start, and never well matched. ’
Hattie knew that anyone suffering grief was rarely rational, and Gerald must have been emotionally shut down when Sally died.
She understood all that, for she’d teetered unsteadily when she lost Hugo.
It wasn’t only companionship one missed, but the sense of identity that comes with being part of a couple, then suddenly finding yourself so very alone.
No wonder Anouska had blown Gerald’s socks off. Younger by more than two decades, beautiful and confident, she would have known precisely how to pitch herself. A rich widower with a wounded heart was Anouska’s perfect opportunity.
Gerald had needed to feel loved, but, Hattie thought, that need wasn’t the same as love. Anouska knew exactly what she was doing, and God willing, now, Gerald at last did too.
‘I take it that your death would leave Anouska very comfortably provided for?’ Hattie asked.
‘As things stand,’ he replied, ‘yes.’
Hattie nodded. ‘There were no witnesses to the incident. She would deny it, of course. And without proof . . .’ She let the sentence hang. ‘You need to be very careful, Gerald.’
‘I know.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘But I don’t want you to worry about me. Please. Enjoy your holiday. This can all be untangled when we’re home.’
Hattie watched him as he stood. Gerald’s shoulders seemed to be carrying a heavy weight, and she couldn’t imagine how he’d felt on the hillside when his life had tipped, almost over the edge.
‘Gerald,’ she said softly, and before she could stop herself, Hattie slipped her arms around him, mindful of his grazes and felt his lovely body, warm and real. ‘Don’t tell me not to worry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s far too late for that . . .’
Having arrived back to the SS Nefertari ahead of the tomb tour party, Anouska had gone straight to her room to shed her dusty clothes, leaving them in a trail across the floor.
Now, as she stood in the bathroom and piled her hair into a fashionable knot, she stared at her reflection and wondered what her next move might be.
Gerald’s survival, with hardly more than a few grazes, was evidence that her plan had backfired badly, and she knew that the moment he returned there would be hell to pay.
Or would there? As she smoothed moisturiser into her skin with slow thoughtful strokes, she knew, to her irritation, that Gerald wasn’t an aggressive man.
Unlike husband number two, who met her fury equally. So often she’d enjoyed hurling her wine or a plate of food at his face only to receive similar in return. It was a language she understood and, she had to admit, enjoyed.
But Gerald?
Even last night, when she tried to stab him with her stilettoes and shoved him out into the corridor, he’d remained infuriatingly calm.
When she screamed accusations of him of cosying up with that insufferable woman, Hattie, behind her back, he’d simply smiled.
Shaking his head, as though feeling sorry for Anouska, Gerald had told her in an even tone that Hattie was kind, intelligent and someone whose company he enjoyed.
Anouska’s jaw tightened and she flung the moisturiser to one side.
Calm men were difficult to predict. And that made him dangerous in an entirely different way.
If she wasn’t careful, he’d be calling his lawyer and changing his will before she had time to dazzle him back into bed and say, ‘Sorry, darling, I made a mistake.’
But as she fastened the clasp of her cut-away red one-piece and swept the matching sarong into place, she feared that she was already too late. Time was narrowing and her options running out now that Gerald had got wind of her intention.
Trust couldn’t be rebuilt.
Anouska sighed but as she slowly tilted her head, and studied herself in the mirror, pursing her lips in a suggestive pout, she knew that she’d still got it.
And after all, husband-hunting was her passion; there was always the possibility of a husband number four . . .
When Peter arrived back on the boat, he headed to the bar on the top deck and ordered a beer. The steward, a pleasant young man named Nazeem, placed a bowl of spiced nuts beside the glass.
‘Enjoy,’ Nazeem said and smiled.
Peter sipped his beer, nibbled on the nuts, and as he looked around the deck, thought of the enjoyable tomb excursion.
At first, as he’d stepped from the felucca, he’d reached for his binoculars and scanned the hillside to ensure no rival agencies were lurking nearby. Was the man standing beside two tired-looking camels an enemy operative?
As he climbed, following on behind the rest of the group, Peter paused midway, ostensibly to admire the view of the Nile below.
In reality, he spoke quietly to a local guide to check on the possibility of hidden tunnels.
When the guide agreed to meet him at the top and show him a concealed entrance, Peter’s pulse had quickened, and it had been worth the extravagant tip for the privileged intel.
Inside the tombs, Peter stood in the shadows as Sam explained the carvings and descriptions of the nobles. Tapping a finger to his nose, Peter nodded and mumbled, ‘Encryptions, old kingdom code and cyphers . . .’
A passing American tourist stared. ‘You alright, buddy?’ he asked.
‘Perfectly,’ Peter replied. ‘Long-term operation planning.’
Bemused, the tourist shook his head and moved on.
When the party began to descend the hillside, Peter’s guide pulled him aside and discreetly pointed to a narrow passage. Filled with excitement, Peter flattened himself against the stone and edged in. The dusty stillness suggested poor ventilation, but flicking his torch, he slowly moved along.
Pausing every few steps to listen, he stopped when he heard a clatter of stones.
Braced in combat readiness, Peter moved towards a wide fissure opening, where light flooded in.
Peering out and narrowing his eyes, he was surprised to see Gerald perched precariously on a ledge.
Clearly requiring assistance, Peter squeezed through the gap and held out his hand as more rocks skittered past Gerald’s feet.
Grabbing a handful of Gerald’s shirt and barking instructions, Peter grabbed his arm and hauled him into the tunnel.
Now, as he took a contemplative sip of his beer and a handful of nuts, Peter wondered why Gerald had been so adamant in his thanks as they’d made their way through the tunnel to the base of the hillside. Shaking his hand, Gerald told Peter he was a ‘lifesaver’.
Peter had remained modest. After all, it was simply part of an operative’s remit to save lives, he thought as he watched several guests cooling off in the pool.
Gerald’s effusive thanks were rather embarrassing, and Peter was only following protocol to prevent someone from sliding into the Nile.
No more than an agent’s daily deed in his world.
Peter yawned. It had been a good morning.
But now, he suddenly straightened. Anouska was coming towards him, wearing little more than a few artfully arranged strips of red fabric and a confident smile.
‘Hey, Peter!’ she called out. ‘Let me join you.’
Sunlight caught her hair, and her eyes were bright with mischief as she eased into the opposite seat. Despite her earlier put-down on the hillside, Peter was once again flattered. Anouska was like a magnet, stirring long-forgotten senses.
When Nazeem arrived to take her order, Anouska asked for white wine, then leaned back and studied Peter with curiosity. She was about to ask him a question when, to her annoyance, Sylvie appeared with Ezra by her side.
‘Peter!’ Sylvie began breathlessly. ‘I hear you were a hero today. Ezra has been telling me all about Gerald’s fall and how you saved his life.’
‘Well,’ Peter stuttered, ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say . . .’
‘Yep, a real hero.’ Sylvie clasped her hands together, then turned to Anouska. ‘You must be so grateful. Things could have been much worse for your husband had Peter not stepped in.’
Sylvie missed the imperceptible lift of Anouska’s perfectly plucked eyebrow, and she didn’t catch the glint of her gritted teeth, as Anouska realised that Gerald’s survival hadn’t been luck.
It was down to the idiot who sat before her in his fantasy role of James Bond.
‘Yes,’ Anouska drawled and gave Peter a wink. ‘He’s full of surprises.’
Peter felt absurdly pleased, and when Nazeem returned with Anouska’s wine, asked Sylvie if they’d like to join them. ‘There’s plenty of room,’ Peter said.
But Ezra, who’d caught Nazeem’s conspiratorial smile and the unmistakable furtive squeeze of his hand as their fingers brushed, butted in.
‘Er, no, we’re fine. Mom and I are going to have a swim, aren’t we?’
‘Are we?’ Sylvie blinked.
‘Yes,’ Ezra insisted.
Sylvie was about to sit down. ‘But this lovely young man is waiting for our order.’ She smiled at Nazeem, unaware of his closeness to Ezra.
‘It’s the best time to swim. The water is at its warmest.’ Ezra tugged on her arm.
‘Okay, if you insist.’
Peter watched Sylvie gather herself and, with a shrug and a polite wave, allowed herself to be steered towards the pool.
What Peter didn’t see, because he rarely saw what was staring him in the face, was Ezra’s backward glance and the grin that spread across his face the instant he met Nazeem’s eye.
Instead, as he heard Nazeem call out, ‘Enjoy your swim!’ he was distracted by the sudden touch of Anouska’s fingers, as she leaned in to softly stroke his arm.
‘It’s good to see two young men with such strong feelings for each other,’ Anouska whispered as Nazeem moved away. ‘It makes me think of my feelings for you . . .’
Peter blinked and did a double take in the direction of Ezra and then Nazeem. Had he missed a coded exchange? Flummoxed, he picked up his glass and drained his beer.
‘Tell me,’ Anouska continued, leaning closer. ‘Do you know of any more hidden passages where two people might spend some time alone?’
Her hand now drifted to his knee, and her fingers, light and deliberate, moved like the legs of a praying mantis, climbing towards Peter’s groin.
Peter took a deep breath. Something in his psyche suddenly shifted, and the flustered tourist on holiday vanished. Wasn’t he the spy who never had any difficulty in attracting beautiful women? If international espionage had taught him anything, it wasn’t to hesitate when opportunity knocked.
‘I may be aware of one,’ he said. ‘But it’s only accessible from my room.’
Anouska’s lips curved, and her fingers paused. ‘Oh, I do like a man with . . . access,’ she breathed.
‘But what about your husband?’
‘I’ve decided to leave him. We’re no longer together.’
Peter, now confident that he was orchestrating events, believed that he was playing the spy who effortlessly beds beautiful women.
What he failed to grasp was that Anouska wasn’t being drawn in.
She was closing in. He wasn’t the mastermind but merely the financial key to the door she intended to open.
Oblivious, Peter pushed back his chair and smoothed his shirt. He tapped his watch with authority and whispered his cabin number, indicating to Anouska that she should follow in five minutes.
As he strolled away, with his shoulders squared, Peter smiled smugly. Bond music played in his head, and he was sure he heard his hero say, ‘Mission about to be accomplished!’