Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
EVERYONE HAS A STORY TO TELL . . .
The final evening of the cruise began with drinks in the lounge on the SS Nefertari. Soft music drifted through the room as Gerald found Peter, already waiting at the bar.
As they ordered drinks, Peter cleared his throat.
‘I have to apologise for being a little, er, overfamiliar with your er . . . Anouska.’
‘Don’t give it a second thought. Anouska is my ex, and we were done long before she tried to lure you into her lair. It’s me who needs to apologise, because I should have warned you off days ago.’
‘But I think I behaved rather badly . . .’
‘Peter, I went through the same performance with Anouska. I could have steered you clear and I’m sorry. But luckily for you, you escaped. And after saving my life, I’ll forever be in your debt.’
‘No, no. It was simply luck that I happened to be in the right place at the right time.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be standing here today.’
They turned as Sylvie and Ezra joined them.
Sylvie wore a pretty cocktail dress with matching shoes and bag, her red hair styled spikily. Ezra wore trousers, a jacket, and a smart cotton shirt.
Gerald and Peter, suited and booted, greeted their friends. They all agreed the week on the river cruise had flown by since arriving in Luxor.
Sue came over to confirm that Gerald had secured a place on the balloon flight along with Hattie, Sylvie and Ezra the following morning and to set their alarms early, as the pick-up time was four a.m.
‘Ezra and I can’t wait,’ Sylvie said. ‘It’s going to be such a highlight. Just imagine, we’ll be flying like birds over the tombs.’
‘It’s quite an experience, and one I thoroughly enjoyed, with marvellous photo opportunities.’ Peter turned to Sylvie. ‘I must apologise again for breaking your camera.’
‘Honey, with the generous amount you paid to compensate me, I can’t wait to replace it. But for now, I’m more than happy with the images on my phone, and I have lots to show Errol when we get home.’
Gerald looked at his watch. ‘Does anyone know where Hattie has got to?’ he asked.
Sylvie was about to set off to find her when Hattie came into the bar.
Gerald caught his breath when he saw her.
Hattie looked stunning. She wore a silvery silk gown that fell in soft folds to the floor, accessorised with a kimono in shades of blue that rippled like water as she moved.
Her hair was pinned back with two clips that matched the pearls at her neck, and with delicate makeup and glossy pink lips, she seemed to glow in the room’s soft light.
‘Sorry, I’m late. I was speaking to Alf and couldn’t get away.’
‘You look . . .’ Gerald began, his voice trailing off.
‘She looks like the belle of the ball!’ Sylvie exclaimed. ‘That’s some outfit.’
‘You look beautiful,’ Gerald whispered.
Hattie met his eyes and smiled, warmth flickering across her features.
‘Are we all ready?’ Sylvie asked.
Everyone finished their drinks, set down their glasses, and set off together for the hotel.
The Winter Palace was welcoming as the party went into the foyer to slowly meander along the wide corridor leading to the 1866 restaurant. Studying the walls of framed and signed photographs, Sylvie was fascinated by the famous faces who’d visited the hotel.
‘That’s Princess Di,’ she breathed as she stared at an image of the princess during her visit to Egypt in 1992.
Hattie noted the names of politicians and world leaders, including Margaret Thatcher and Henry Kissinger.
‘Sting came here too,’ Gerald said, reading a news clipping.
‘Who’s Sting?’ Ezra asked.
Gerald chuckled. ‘Lead singer of the Police. He was big in the eighties.’
‘Before I was born,’ Ezra replied.
In the restaurant, they were shown to a circular, candlelit table by a window, overlooking the gardens below.
The room was almost full of a large party to their left, several couples bent close in conversation to their right, and diners scattered at tables in cosy alcoves.
Cutlery chimed softly against monogrammed bone china, as servers moved between the tables with practised ease.
‘Well, this is swell, I must say,’ Sylvie said, making herself comfortable. ‘I can’t believe this is our last evening. In a few days, Ezra and I will be back with Errol, working in the diner.’
‘We’d better make the most of it then,’ Gerald said, reaching for the wine list. He turned to Hattie, beside him. ‘A good restaurant choice of yours – this is the perfect place to end the cruise.’
Hattie chose lobster soup to start, and as wine was poured and dishes arrived, the conversation grew lively with talk of tombs, temples, and the week’s adventures.
During her main course of cep raviolo, Sylvie laughed that she and Ezra would be back on a convenience diet of burgers and beans very soon. Peter said he already had several ideas for new sausage recipes and now just needed to come up with appealing names.
‘Valley of the Pork?’ Ezra suggested.
‘Sphinx Links?’ Gerald added.
‘I think Tutankhamun Bangers has a certain ring to it.’ Hattie grinned as she tucked into a delicious Filet de Boeuf Rossini.
When the main course was cleared, and before ordering dessert, the group lingered over their wine. A steward appeared and set down a small chocolate pyramid before each of them.
‘A complimentary pre-dessert,’ he explained. ‘We have a tradition that you might like to indulge in. Before breaking the shell, you must make a wish.’
‘Oh, what fun!’ Sylvie clapped her hands. ‘Hattie, you go first.’
Hattie took her spoon and closed her eyes for a moment.
‘You have to tell us your wish,’ Sylvie insisted.
Hattie smiled softly. ‘Then I wish that everyone around the table will always be as happy as we are tonight.’
Gerald looked at her and thought, not for the first time, that Hattie always wished for the happiness of others.
‘Your turn, Gerald,’ Sylvie said.
Gerald silently wished that whatever the future held, his would include Hattie. But, lifting his spoon, he said, ‘I wish that we all keep in touch and that the adventures we’ve shared this week will be the beginning of many.’
‘Oh, I agree with that.’ Sylvie nodded.
Gerald turned to Sylvie. ‘And now it’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Tell us, what do you wish for?’
Sylvie held her spoon and closed her eyes. For a moment, she was thoughtful, then she said, ‘My wish is for my son. I hope that he will be as happy in his life as his father and I have been and that he will find a wonderful partner and settle down.’
Silence settled around the table. Hattie looked from mother to son and held her breath.
When Sylvie opened her eyes, she looked at Ezra. His own were wide, and he appeared bewildered.
Forcing a smile, he said, ‘That’s quite a wish, Mom.’
Sylvie, unaware of the edge to his voice, beamed at him.
‘I can just picture it,’ she smiled dreamily. ‘Someone who adores you, making a home together, and everyone sharing Sunday lunches with Grandpa and Grandma. You’re such a catch, and I’m amazed there isn’t a queue already.’
Hattie bit down on her lip. She longed to come to Ezra’s rescue but knew this was something he needed to sort out on his own.
‘Mom,’ Ezra said slowly, fixing her eyes. ‘I would like a loving partner too and all the things you want for me, but . . .’
‘But what, honey, what else do you want?’
‘I’m gay.’
‘Say that again . . .’
‘I’m gay. I won’t be settling down with a sweet girl anytime now or in the future.’
Sylvie froze. Her hand shook and her spoon clattered to the table.
‘You’re . . . gay?’ she asked quietly.
‘Yes. I’m sorry.’
Hattie held her breath, silently begging Sylvie not to make this any harder. No one spoke as Sylvie stared at Ezra, her expression searching, as though piecing together a puzzle.
‘Since when?’ she asked at last.
Ezra braced himself. ‘Since always, I guess. I just didn’t know how to tell you.’
‘You couldn’t tell us?’
‘I was scared to. You and Dad and Grandpa and Grandma always keep on about wanting me to settle down.’
Sylvie stared down at the chocolate pyramid.
Hattie shifted in her chair, wanting to soften the news, but remained still, knowing it was Ezra’s moment.
Suddenly, Sylvie looked up. She had tears in her eyes.
‘Oh, Ezra,’ she began, ‘you could not make me happier. Just wait until I tell your dad.’
Ezra let out a nervous laugh. ‘What did you say?’
‘Dad and I, and Grandpa and Grandma, always thought that you preferred boys, but we didn’t want to upset you by saying anything unless you were ready.’
Ezra blinked. ‘You knew?’
Sylvie dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. ‘Honey, a mom knows these things,’ she said, smiling through her tears. ‘I’ve never told you to find a girl, I’ve always said partner. And if you decide you want children, there are so many ways to build a family. Nothing is out of your reach.’
‘So . . . you’re not upset?’
‘Upset?’ Sylvie reached out and caught his hand. ‘Ezra, the only thing that would upset me is if you had to hide who you are. Dad and I just want you to be the man you were always meant to be.’
Ezra stared at her, taking in her words.
‘I thought this would be the hardest conversation of my life,’ he whispered, ‘and you just made it the easiest.’
He stood and wrapped his arms tightly around his mother, burying his face in her shoulder as relief washed over him.
Hattie hadn’t realised that she’d been holding her breath and exhaled as the tension lifted. She pushed back her chair, and as Sylvie sat down, she went to hug Ezra. He hugged her just as tightly.
‘See?’ Hattie smiled. ‘All that worrying for nothing.’
Gerald stood and shook Ezra’s hand, while Peter caught the attention of the steward and ordered champagne. ‘On me,’ he insisted.
‘Don’t ask me to make a wish,’ Ezra grinned at his mother, then lifted his spoon and smashed the chocolate. ‘My wish just came true.’
‘We must tell Errol,’ Sylvie said. ‘I know he’ll organise a welcome-home party. Now it can be a coming-out party for our wonderful son.’ Sylvie sank her spoon into her pre-dessert. ‘But hey . . .’ she paused ‘. . . we haven’t heard Peter’s wish.’
All eyes turned to Peter.
‘Well now,’ he began, gathering his thoughts. ‘My wish is that I stop playing silly games and . . .’ He glanced at Ezra. ‘Just be the man that I was meant to be.’
Hattie leaned forward. ‘And who is that man, Peter?’
‘I’m no James Bond,’ he sighed, sadly. ‘Just a sausage maker from Clitheroe.’
Hattie held his gaze. ‘As it was your birthday, we can allow you one extra wish tonight. What might that be?’
Peter swallowed, struggling to find the words.
‘I wish I’d been a better husband to Mary,’ he said, and his voice caught. ‘I realise now how much I love her . . . how much I miss her. I’d do anything to find her, to make her happy and bring her home.’
No one spoke. The soft music of the restaurant filled the air around them as glasses clinked and stewards went by with drinks and food.
Peter suddenly felt very exposed and looked at Hattie as though he shouldn’t have spoken, but her expression was kind, and she smiled.
‘Would you really?’ Hattie asked softly.
Peter nodded. ‘This holiday has made me realise that I took Mary for granted. I wish I hadn’t been such a fool.’
‘Funny thing about wishes,’ Hattie said, glancing past him. ‘Sometimes they are closer than one might think.’
Peter looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’
Hattie didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she pushed back her chair, then moved to an alcove on their right, and leaned in to whisper to the lone diner who faced away from their table.
‘I think it’s alright for you to join us now,’ Hattie said gently.
Peter blinked. ‘Join us? Who can join . . .’
The chair at the neighbouring alcove scraped across the floor, and the woman who’d been dining alone, stood. Until that moment, Peter hadn’t noticed her. But now he saw her dark shiny hair pinned up, and a pale chiffony dress floating softly from her shoulders.
Immobile, Peter simply stared.
The woman smiled. ‘Hello, Peter,’ she said.
He hardly recognised her, but her voice was oh so familiar! She looked thinner, her hair newly coloured and flattering makeup suiting her face.
‘Mary?’ Peter gasped. He pushed his chair back so hard that it toppled to the floor, and shook his head as though seeing a ghost. ‘Is it you?’
Confused, Peter looked from Mary to Hattie.
‘You . . . you knew?’ he said, turning to Hattie, as Gerald moved to rectify Peter’s chair and pull another alongside.
‘I had my suspicions from the moment I stepped into Agatha’s room at the Old Cataract Hotel.’ Hattie looked between Peter and Mary. ‘But Mary has her own story,’ Hattie explained, ‘and I think you’d both be more comfortable if you sat down and let her tell it . . .’