Death on Tour - Janice Hamrick [55]
I glanced over the railing. The water swirled far below, deep blue churning to frothy green along the white sides of our ship. The eastern bank seemed nearer than it was, a strip of halfhearted dusty green holding back a sweep of sand and rock. Along a narrow dirt path running beside the river, a man in a gray galabia rode a tiny donkey, his feet almost dragging on the ground. He clutched a short switch in one hand and tapped the donkey’s behind every few seconds, but the skinny boy trotting after them on foot had no trouble keeping up. The Nile Lotus churned on, leaving man, boy, and donkey behind.
I had just decided to return to my cabin, when I saw a scrawny arm waving frantically at me from the after deck. Charlie de Vance grinned at me and then called, “Just bring us a couple of those towels, would you, honey?”
I smiled back and scooped up four of the soft, fluffy white towels stacked beside the bar and took them to where he and Yvonne were sitting like two plucked chickens on lounge chairs in the back corner of the deck. Unbelievably, both were wearing bathing suits, which, though modest by modern standards, still revealed far too much saggy, spotted skin. A pink flush indicative of early sunburn tinted Charlie’s chest above an expanse of sparse white hair, and goose bumps covered his scrawny thighs. Yvonne’s fingers had turned an odd bluish color. They took the towels I offered gratefully.
“Who would’ve thought it would be so nippy?” asked Charlie, pulling one towel around his shoulders like a shawl and spreading another over his legs. “All you ever read about is the desert heat.”
“It’s winter, if you think about it,” I answered. “Spring won’t be here for another week and a half. Still part of the ‘season’ for the archaeologists.”
“Well it was hot enough by the pyramids.”
Yvonne patted his arm. “More sheltered there, with all that stone absorbing the heat and blocking the wind. Remember how cool it was at Saqqara.”
I started edging away, not wanting to get trapped into an interminable discussion about the weather. Charlie noticed and patted the chair next to him. “Pull up a pew, missy. We haven’t had a chance to talk with you properly this whole trip.”
Short of hurtling myself over the side, which suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea, I was trapped. Charlie drew a deep breath in preparation for his first question.
“So you two are here on your honeymoon?” I asked quickly. The important thing at this point was to maintain control of the conversation.
Charlie grinned proudly and patted Yvonne’s hand. “We sure are.”
“How did you meet?”
“Our fiftieth class reunion,” answered Yvonne with a fond smile. “We’ve actually known each other most of our lives. We were high school sweethearts.”
I was touched. “So you met after all those years apart? And it was love at first sight?”
“Exactly.” They looked into each other’s eyes. “Yvonne’s husband had passed away two years before. And when I saw her again after all that time, it was like I was right back in high school. Head over heels in love. Prettiest little thing I ever saw. Of course, getting rid of my wife wasn’t all that easy.”
If I’d been drinking milk, it would have spewed out of my nose. “What?”
“Oh, yes. Sue Anne didn’t understand at all.”
“Well, she had a point, Charlie,” said Yvonne. “I mean, you two had been married forty years.”
“And that was enough! Forty years of my life I gave that woman. And then when I saw you, I knew I finally had a chance at happiness.”
I goggled at them, mouth hanging open. I couldn’t help it.
Yvonne went on. “It was the same for me. I took one look at Charlie and knew I had to have him. I felt bad about being a home wrecker, but at our age, you have to either shit or get off the pot. If you’ll pardon the expression,