Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE FUN OF A FLOATING MARKET . . .
When Gerald left Hattie in her suite, he told her that if Anouska wasn’t engaging him in theatrics or hysterics, he would spend the afternoon quietly. There was something he needed to attend to.
As Hattie closed the door, she remembered the day’s schedule and that the SS Nefertari was due to leave Aswan in a couple of hours, and with the promise of a gentle, relaxed sail, she fancied a lazy afternoon.
Peeling off her dusty clothes and stepping into the shower, she let the cool water wash away the heat of the hill.
It had been roasting up there, the sun relentless.
When she slipped into her swimsuit and matching robe, the mirror reflected her freckles, deepened by the sun.
They stood out across her cheeks, but her nose was as red as a tomato.
‘Rats!’ Hattie mumbled, slathering moisturiser across her tender skin.’
But what a morning it had been. The whole affair had the makings of a thriller, and Hattie could almost see the gilt lettering on the spine of a book:
Death in the Tombs
It was precisely the sort of title Agatha might have approved of, and as Hattie packed her bag, she wondered what the novelist would make of this holiday. Ancient ruins, tempers frayed by the heat, and a man about to meet his maker before an unlikely hero stepped in.
Agatha, she suspected, would have watched everything and made careful notes, listening for any inconsistencies in everyone’s account of the morning. The novelist would have Anouska sussed out before the influencer could say, ‘Don’t forget to like and subscribe . . .’
Hattie picked up a lipstick and smoothed the colour over her lips, knowing that if Agatha had been on the boat, she would already have unravelled the mystery of Mary, too.
That persistent niggle that Hattie had yet to get to the bottom of.
Hattie couldn’t understand Peter’s manner. With a wife missing for more than a year, she thought that he might show some emotion. But he existed in a fantasy world, and didn’t carry the sense of loss one might expect.
If her spouse was missing, Hattie would never stop searching.
She fastened her pearls and then closed her bag, sliding her cabin card into a side pocket. Taking one last look around the room, Hattie stepped into the corridor. In the atrium, she was about to climb the stairs to the top deck when the man from the gift shop approached.
‘Ah,’ he said, brightening when he saw Hattie.
She attempted to double back but was too late. He glided forward and took her hand before she could object. Tilting it to the light and studying it for a moment, his brow furrowed as he looked up into her eyes.
‘So,’ he said gravely, ‘you saw the two camels . . . and had a meeting in the tomb.’
Hattie opened her mouth, then closed it again.
‘I told you there would be danger,’ he whispered, ‘and as I advised, you took care.’
Hattie gave a tight smile as she remembered his prediction.
Releasing her hand, he beamed with delight. ‘And romance!’ he declared.
‘Romance?’
He touched his fingers to his lips, dispatched a kiss into the air, then fluttered his fingers around her head. Hattie looked up, half-expecting to see her previous hallucination of tiny Cupids, plump pink hearts and a pair of white doves.
With a slight bow, he backed away, leaving Hattie with the peculiar sensation that the man had a second sense. Shaking her head, she made her way to the top deck, where she spotted Sylvie, who patted the sunbed beside her.
‘Come and rest your bones, honey.’ Sylvie yawned. ‘I heard all about your visit to the nobles’ tombs.’
‘Ah, Ezra,’ Hattie replied, setting down her bag and slipping off her robe. She tipped the brim of her Tilley, determined to keep the sun from her ever-reddening nose. ‘Did he discuss anything else?’
She hoped that Ezra might’ve found an opportunity to talk to his mum about his sexuality, but Sylvie’s lethargy suggested that Ezra had parked the conversation for another day.
‘Well, yes.’ Sylvie glanced around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. ‘He said Anouska was all over Peter. They left the deck within minutes of each other. I’ve not seen either of them since.’
Sylvie, wearing a borrowed pale blue tankini, sipped a hibiscus-infused cocktail. As she drew on the straw, it slipped, and a dark red liquid trickled down, the stain blooming over her tummy.
Hattie winced. She’d been fond of that particular piece of leisurewear.
Hattie suspected that Anouska was husband-hunting number four, but was Peter a viable candidate? Surely she knew that he was still married and that most of what he said was more fantasy than fact.
‘How was the High Dam?’ Hattie asked, taking a tube of factor fifty from her bag and setting to work.
‘Well, in truth . . .’ Sylvie set down her glass. ‘It’s a helluva lot of concrete, holding back a helluva lot of water.’
‘Impressive?’
‘Sure, if you’re into stats and engineering. But as I don’t have a clue about hydroelectric output or flood control, it kinda went over my head.’
‘And the unfinished obelisk?’
‘It needs finishing.’ Sylvie rolled her eyes. ‘I wish I’d joined you guys on the tomb and island tour.’
Done with her sun protection, Hattie sat on her lounger and looked around to see Ezra, perched at the bar, in conversation with Nazeem. Hattie noted that he looked happy, smiling and laughing in relaxed companionship.
The excursions and a generous lunch had taken their toll on many guests, who’d surrendered to an afternoon sleep and now stretched out beneath shady umbrellas, while one or two lingered by the pool, idly chatting.
Hattie’s gaze drifted to the shallow paddling area where two low, S-shaped loungers curved like reclining swans in the water.
She thought that they looked inviting, their white surfaces gleaming in the afternoon sun.
When she heard Sylvie mutter that it was hot enough to fry a burger on her belly, Hattie stood.
‘Come on,’ she said, yanking Sylvie upright. ‘Let’s cool off.’
Tentatively stepping into the water, the pair edged towards the partially submerged beds.
‘How the heck do we get on these things?’ Sylvie asked, her expression puzzled as she eyed the curved plastic.
‘Bums first, I suggest.’ Hattie grinned. Taking Sylvie’s hands, she guided her carefully backwards until her rear connected with the lounger.
With a gentle splash and a squeal, Sylvie settled into place.
Hattie’s own attempt was far less dignified. The moment she shifted her weight, her foot slipped, and she landed with a spectacular tsunami-like splash that drenched Sylvie from top to toe and was met with giggles from those nearby.
‘Gee, Hattie, I wanted to cool off,’ Sylvie spluttered, wiping water from her face. ‘But not like that!’
Hattie felt the curve of the bed cradling her back as she eased into position and lay down, letting out a contented sigh as the shallow water lapped.
Around them, the Nile flowed in timeless silence, and beyond the railings, she could see palms leaning towards the riverbank as a felucca glided past. When she heard Ezra’s laugh, she lowered her sunglasses and looked up.
Ezra was in the water beside them with Nazeem close by, carrying a small tray. On it stood two tall beakers filled with the cocktail of the day.
‘Well now, this is a treat,’ Hattie said as the cool drink was placed carefully into her hand.
‘Thank you,’ Sylvie drawled, reaching out for hers, ‘this is exactly what I needed.’
‘You guys relax,’ Ezra said. ‘When you want a refill, just wave.’
He shot a glance at Nazeem, and they exchanged a grin, then high-fived each other, their fingers lingering as they touched.
‘Happy holiday, ladies,’ Nazeem said with a small, courteous bow.
‘Cheers,’ Hattie replied, lifting her drink, as the pair retreated towards the bar.
Hattie trailed her free hand in the water, and with the boat moving steadily and the sky drifting above, she thought that she could happily stay there until sunset.
‘Ezra seems to have made a nice friend,’ Sylvie commented. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her face to the sun. ‘It’s good for him to have the company of someone his own age.’
Hattie sighed.
Ezra wasn’t exactly subtle. In his own way, he was giving off signals that went right over his mother’s head.
Was it blindness or Sylvie’s stubborn hope that her son would follow the neat script that the family imagined for him?
Hattie felt the urge to gently open the door that Sylvie seemed determined to keep walking past, but as she sipped the delicious cocktail, she knew that the conversation had to come from Ezra.
It wasn’t her story to tell.
The afternoon passed, and Hattie, dozing on her partially submerged lounger, barely registered that the boat had slowed, and that Sue had come up to the top deck, drawn by voices rising from the river.
The first shout was loud.
But before Hattie could sit up and place it, something hurtled through the air, and she felt a solid thump on her tummy, almost knocking the breath out of her. Bewildered, she stared down at the heavy bundle that had landed.
‘What on earth . . .’
More missiles followed, and she stared as guests scrambled to gather them.
‘Oh, look!’ Sylvie sat up.
She reached out to take the bundle from Hattie, and unwrapped a tablecloth knotted into a plastic bag. It had been hurled onto the boat from vendors in rowing boats in the river, who’d drawn up alongside.
Sue called out instructions, telling guests that if anyone wanted to purchase the contents, they must remove the item, haggle with the vendor, then secure their money in the bag and throw it overboard to the boat from where it came.
Hattie attempted to lever herself upright from the sunken sunbed, to look at the tablecloth, but this was easier said than done. Sylvie, beside her, was having similar difficulties as she tried to steady herself with her feet, arms windmilling for balance.
‘Find your core strength, honey,’ Sylvie yelled, as she held on to the bag and seized Hattie’s forearm for support.
The movement caused chaos.
Sylvie’s lounger shot backwards, as Hattie, mid-rise, toppled sideways, sending both women into the shallow water to collapse in an undignified tangle of limbs.
Sylvie’s sunglasses hung at a precarious angle, and Hattie’s hair was soaked and plastered across her face, as her Tilley hat floated away.
But Hattie had caught the tablecloth, and though partially submerged, triumphantly held up the bag. When onlookers realised that it was dry and intact, they broke into applause.
‘That’s one way to go shopping!’ someone called out.
To Hattie’s relief, their rescuer was on standby.
In moments, Ezra splashed into the water, pulling the two women to their feet.
Despite her hair trailing over her face like river weed, and her sunburnt nose glowing like a lighthouse beacon, Hattie was grateful to find herself upright with no bones broken or hips displaced and pulled Ezra into a damp hug.
‘Don’t say it . . .’ she said and wagged a finger as he carefully guided her out of the pool.
But Ezra was not to be deterred.
‘It’s the vendor’s revenge—’ he laughed ‘—and the curse of the floating market!’