Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
DREAM A LITTLE DREAM . . .
Aglorious morning dawned in Luxor as the passengers aboard the SS Nefertari woke to the final full day of their holiday on the Nile.
Tomorrow, they would pack their cases and prepare for their flights home.
Already, there was a happy hum as the crew went about their daily preparations, and everyone emerged from their cabins to head to breakfast or to enjoy the warm sunshine on the top deck, where the haunting echo of a call to prayer floated across the water and could be heard above the bustle of motorboats ferrying workers to and from the East and West banks.
It promised to be another perfect day.
In the meditation studio, Hattie and Sylvie thought it would be fun to start their morning by getting in touch with their inner selves during Gentle Stretch & Meditation.
The stretching in particular, they’d agreed, was essential if they had any hope of easing their sore belly-dancing muscles from the night before.
But the meditation that followed the stretching was proving rather difficult for Hattie. Beside her, Sylvie’s inner self had fallen asleep, and she was snoring gently on a mat on the studio floor.
Hattie, continually fidgeting, realised that her own inner self wasn’t interested in meditating but was far more interested in breakfast. She could almost smell freshly brewed coffee and taste a warm, buttery croissant, but as she sneaked a peek at her watch, she saw that there were still fifteen minutes before she could escape.
Stifling a yawn and twiddling her fingers, she swivelled her head to check on Sylvie again, whose snores were now resounding around the studio, suggesting her inner self was well and truly away with the fairies, and unlikely to return anytime soon.
Closing her eyes, Hattie let her thoughts wander to the night before.
It had been a lovely evening, with great food, good company and plenty of laughs.
Anouska, naturally, had cast a shadow over everything with snide comments and cutting remarks.
Hattie, however, hadn’t retaliated and held on to her dignity, if belly dancing in one’s sixties could be described as dignified.
When Peter was outed after receiving his birthday cake, and Anouska stormed out, Hattie didn’t feel a fragment of sympathy for her.
The holiday might not have turned out the way the Instagram influencer planned, with her marriage collapsing and the man she set her sights on being rather different from the one she’d imagined, but Hattie believed that Anouska had sailed into a storm of her own making.
Peter, Hattie remembered, had been devastated when Anouska left the room, and his face filled with sadness. His fantasy balloon had burst, and, for the first time since Hattie had met him, the secret agent vanished entirely, leaving only a subdued sausage maker from Clitheroe in its place.
Then there was Gerald.
A smile spread slowly across Hattie’s face as she remembered how they’d danced after the dinner and entertainment, laughing like teenagers before, in the early hours, walking back to the boat beneath the silvery moonlight.
For a moment, she’d been tempted, more than tempted, to pull him into her suite and forget the outside world.
But Gerald was still a married man, and however much he was resolving his situation, she wouldn’t cross that line.
To his credit, he understood without question, but they couldn’t resist a lingering kiss before he squeezed her hand gently, as they wished each other goodnight.
Closing the door, Hattie had been dreamy, her mind full of Gerald. She sang softly as she unhooked her coin belt and tossed it on a chair in the dressing room.
‘Dream a little dream of me . . .’
Moving through the darkness and into her bedroom, she flicked on a lamp.
But the sight that greeted her made her clap a hand to her mouth.
A scorpion the size of a dinner tray lay across her bed, with its tail poised to strike.
Clement cowered, Claude had hidden behind a pillow, and Kitty was nowhere to be seen.
They’d caught her out again!
Hattie cursed housekeeping, then smiled. In the dim light, the creature looked alarmingly real, right down to the sandy-yellow towel used to sculpt it.
It was at that moment that Alf had chosen to ring, and flopping onto the bed, Hattie opened FaceTime. Alf was in the pub, and the usual motley crew from the Holly Bush darts team were crowded around his screen, raising their pints in greeting.
‘Hey up, Hattie!’
‘How’s it hanging?’
‘Have you been cursed yet?’
‘Very funny.’ She laughed as she recognised familiar faces.
‘Just checking on the Queen of the Nile.’ Alf grinned. ‘By heck, is that a scorpion in bed with you?’ He leaned into the lens, squinting for a closer look. ‘Makes a change from your usual bedfellow.’
‘I take it you’re having a lock-in?’ she replied, ignoring the remark.
‘Aye, just a couple of drinks.’
‘Thanks for doing what I asked,’ Hattie said.
‘No problem, I hope the feedback from Clitheroe was useful,’ Alf replied, ‘And I’ve a bit of news about Mary.’
Hattie braced herself as she listened carefully. ‘Right, I understand,’ she said with a nod, acknowledging what he’d said and tidying it in her memory to be turned over properly later.
‘How’s your sausage man?’ Alf asked.
‘He had a bit of a shock tonight.’
‘Aye, well, shocks come when you least expect them.’ Alf took a swig of his pint. ‘His brother Bob’s a decent bloke. We got on well and are going to keep in touch. The family has been worried about Peter.’
‘Well, let’s hope the holiday straightens things out for him,’ Hattie said.
‘One way or another, it’s sure to,’ Alf acknowledged with a wink.
Suddenly, there was a scuffle, the camera unsteady as the screen filled with two beady black eyes, glaring straight at Hattie.
‘What’s the duck doing in the pub?’ Hattie said, squinting into the screen.
‘He misses you,’ Alf replied innocently. ‘I thought he deserved a night out.’
Drake shoved his entire beak into the camera.
‘QUACK.’
‘He says you’ve been gone too long and is worried you might have hooked up with an Egyptian duck.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Hattie sighed. ‘Stop guilt-quacking me.’
‘QUACK,’ Drake insisted.
‘Alright, tell him I’ll be home soon.’
Drake stared at Hattie, as though considering this. He quacked once more, suspiciously, and, with a flutter of wings, waddled away.
Hattie yawned as Alf returned to the screen.
‘Looks like you need your beauty sleep,’ he said. ‘And what the devil are you wearing?’
Hattie touched the gauzy, coin-trimmed veil tucked to one side of her head and glanced down at her sequined crop top.
‘Anyone would think you’d been belly dancing.’ Alf laughed. ‘But at your age that would never happen.’
Hattie said nothing. But lifting one shoulder, she gave the smallest of shimmies and the coins at her temple chimed softly.
Alf blinked. ‘You have been belly dancing!’
‘Goodnight, Alf.’ Hattie smiled sweetly.
And before Alf could reply, she ended the call.
‘Hey, Hattie, did you fall asleep?’ Sylvie’s whisper drifted across to Hattie’s mat.
‘No,’ Hattie murmured. ‘I’m just thinking.’
‘About Gerald?’
‘Sort of. But Peter too.’
Sylvie shifted beside her. ‘I kinda feel sorry for the guy.’
‘Me too.’
Hattie wondered how Agatha would have handled it if this were one of her stories.
An attempted murder. A missing woman. A gold-digger. A fantasist.
With Poirot or Miss Marple calmly holding court, every clue would be neatly fitted together, and the ending revealed. But this wasn’t fiction.
She wondered what would happen to Anouska when Gerald went ahead with the divorce. And Peter, publicly humiliated, who’d been exposed before so many – would his days of playing James Bond finally be over when he returned to the butcher’s steel-cold counter in Clitheroe?
Would the mystery of his missing wife ever be resolved?
Hattie turned to look at Sylvie, who’d closed her eyes again.
And what about Ezra? Would he ever find the courage to tell his family the truth?
A gong chimed, and the class was over.
‘Gee, all that meditating has made me hungry,’ Sylvie said, stretching as she slowly sat up.
‘I think a plate of croissants and pastries has our name on it,’ Hattie said, getting to her feet.
Outside, the morning sun shone brightly through the windows, and as they headed to the restaurant, the smell of freshly ground coffee drifted towards them.
Hattie quickened her pace and grinned. ‘Race you to the pain au chocolat!’
After breakfast, Sylvie and Ezra decided to join Sam’s tour of the Luxor Museum. With her lost luggage returned, Sylvie was dressed in her own freshly laundered hiking gear and looking more like a seasoned traveller than the rumpled guest Hattie had first encountered.
As Hattie watched Sylvie hitch a rucksack onto her shoulders, Sylvie told her she was especially keen to see the Luxor Temple Cachette, a hidden hoard of statues discovered in 1989 near Luxor Temple.
Ezra, meanwhile, was more interested in the artefacts from the tomb of Tutankhamun.
Sam had mentioned that the museum displayed ceremonial objects and items used in royal rituals, and Ezra wanted to see them up close.
‘Don’t touch anything,’ Hattie joked to Ezra. ‘You might get cursed.’
Ezra smiled. ‘I think I’m done with curses. After all, it’s the end of the trip, and nothing has changed. Everyone is still in one piece.’
Hattie raised an eyebrow.
Did he really believe that he was the same man who had set out on the Nile a week ago?
Hadn’t meeting Nazeem changed something?
Surely it must have. But of course, she couldn’t say anything with Sylvie hovering only a few steps away.
Truths had their own timing, and Hattie hoped that Ezra found his moment soon.
‘But what will you do today?’ Sylvie asked Hattie.
‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll find plenty to keep me occupied.’ Hattie waved a hand. ‘Now off you go and enjoy yourselves.’