Chapter 31 #2
Hattie wandered up to the top deck and, finding a shady spot, sat down to gaze out across the water towards the Valley of the Kings.
Feluccas drifted lazily along the Nile, their sails bright against the cloudless blue sky.
Everything seemed to shimmer in the heat, and for the first time since she’d boarded, with guests discovering Luxor or off on a trip, the boat seemed quiet.
A man appeared from the stairwell. Hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders slumped, he wandered across the deck with his head down.
Hattie recognised Peter, and – inching forward – she called out, ‘Hello! Peter, come and join me.’
Peter looked up. For a moment, he seemed surprised to be recognised, then with a small, defeated shrug, wandered over.
‘I could do with some company.’ Hattie smiled. ‘Shall we have a coffee?’
‘Whatever . . .’ Peter sighed.
Nazeem stepped quietly forward to take the order.
Hattie was tempted to tell Nazeem to slip a stiff brandy into Peter’s cappuccino. Anything to perk the man up. Today, he looked as though his world had caved in.
‘How are you?’ Hattie asked gently.
Peter leaned back in his chair. He stared out across the water for a long moment before answering. ‘As well as any man who has made a fool of himself both in love and life,’ he said at last.
‘That’s rather profound for a successful businessman.’
‘Successful?’ Peter scoffed. ‘Hattie, I’m a fool.’ He sat forward and stirred sugar into his coffee, barely aware. ‘Everyone must be laughing at me.’
‘My dear Peter, we all need escapism in our lives,’ Hattie said kindly. ‘It’s what makes the ordinary days more bearable.’
‘Do you?’
Hattie was about to say she often imagined herself in Poirot’s polished shoes or Jane Marple’s sensible tweed skirts. Instead, she reached up and touched the string of pearls at her throat.
‘Do you know why I always wear these pearls?’ she asked.
‘I assumed they’re a family heirloom?’
‘No.’ Hattie smiled faintly. ‘Agatha Christie always wore pearls, everywhere. On an archaeological dig, on travels, even when she was hiding away in a hotel in Harrogate.
Peter frowned. ‘I’m not sure I see the connection.’
Hattie turned the pearls thoughtfully between her fingers. ‘I imagine I’m Agatha. I try to put myself in her shoes and think how she might think.’
‘But why?’
‘Because she’s my heroine,’ Hattie said gently. ‘Rather like James Bond is a hero to you.’
Peter looked confused.
‘But I keep my thoughts of Agatha close to my chest,’ Hattie added. ‘And sometimes, by doing that, they turn out to be very useful.’
‘But I don’t see how . . .’
‘We’re all different, Peter,’ Hattie said gently. ‘The way we think, the little stories we tell; it’s all part of being human.’ Choosing her words carefully, she paused. ‘Your fantasy saved Gerald’s life,’ she said, her eyes meeting his.
‘It was nothing.’ Peter hung his head.
‘But it was. It was heroic. You’re a hero.’
At the sound of that word, Peter looked up.
‘But the trick is not to disappear into the fantasy completely,’ Hattie continued. ‘Keep one foot in the real world. Because the real person that you are, well, that truly is enough.’
‘Anouska didn’t think so,’ Peter muttered.
‘Do you care?’
Peter thought of Anouska’s failed attempts to get him into bed, and despite himself, he smiled. To his surprise, he felt more relieved than rejected.
‘No,’ he admitted. ‘In truth, I don’t think I do. I just felt . . . humiliated.’ He paused, staring into his cup. ‘But Mary didn’t think I was enough, or she wouldn’t have disappeared.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘I know I took her for granted,’ he said slowly. ‘I should have talked more. Taken her on exotic holidays, perhaps. Paid attention to the little things that mattered to her.’
‘Perhaps you’ll get another chance.’
Peter gave a humourless laugh. ‘No, Hattie, you’re quite wrong. Mary’s gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it.’
Hattie studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful. ‘Have you always preferred living in a fantasy world?’ she asked.
‘I suppose I have,’ he admitted, with a faint shrug.
‘When we were kids, Bob and I used to hang out on our street, turning everything into a story. We’d imagine the postman, the milkman, and anyone who passed by as spies or double agents.
Dad upgraded us from two tin cans and a length of string to battery-operated walkie-talkies, and I was hooked. ’
He gave a sheepish smile.
‘Then I got a Corgi Aston Martin for my sixth birthday. I knew the toy car was the model James Bond drove in Diamonds Are Forever, and from that day on, I wanted to be like him.’
‘So why didn’t you join the services?’ Hattie asked. ‘Or find a line of work that might have given you a taste of that life?’
‘Because Bob and I knew from a very early age that we’d be taking over the business. That was decided long before we had any say in it.’ Peter grinned. ‘And besides . . . I do love making sausages.’
‘Did you change when you met Mary?’
‘I had to, but over the years, the fantasies were like a drug I couldn’t resist, and crept back in, seeming to overtake everything. Not that it’s done me any good.’
‘You saved Gerald’s life,’ Hattie repeated.
‘So you keep saying.’ He shrugged.
‘Well let’s try and enjoy today and have a lovely last dinner all together tonight.’
Peter nodded. ‘I will, and thank you for the chat. It’s helped me.’
‘You can repay me with a parcel of your finest sausages, express-delivered when I get home,’ Hattie said with a twinkle.
‘That I can do.’ Peter managed a smile. ‘And I’ll guarantee they’ll be the best sausages you’ve ever tasted.’