T.J. Laverne

Copyright © 2023 by T.J. Laverne

 

Chapter 1

 

A sweltering Egyptian sun peeked over the granite cliff, momentarily blinding Iris Cavendish as she tried to catch her first glimpse of the hotel. She pulled down the large brim of her straw hat to block out the glaring sunrays. The stoic building was nothing but a glowing silhouette in the distance.

​

Iris inhaled deeply. Egypt was particularly beautiful in this part of the Nile River. Colors were sharper. The river was the bluest of blues, the trees were every vibrant shade of green, and the Egyptian sands were a radiant, shimmering gold.

Even the air in Aswan was different. It was stiller, as if it were concealing some great mystery. Or perhaps it was waiting for something.

 

The Nile was surprisingly quiet as the passenger boat called a dahabeah carved a perfect path through the calm waters of the early morning. It was as if the world had not yet awoken. On both sides of the river, palm trees swayed in the light breeze. The sandy hills of the Sahara Desert served as a backdrop to the entire sweeping scene, looming over the fertile valley of Aswan.

 

Iris wondered what secrets and treasures lie buried among those sandy hills. Their presence served as a constant reminder of her insignificance in the world. Egypt was so vast and ancient that Iris, in all her simpleness, could not possibly wrap her mind around it.

 

She closed her eyes and breathed in the muskiness of the river, with its subtle blend of jasmine, lotus blossoms and hyacinths. It was a familiar smell that was oddly comforting. It was as if she were being welcomed home.

 

As the dahabeah glided closer to the hotel, the temple ruins of Elephantine Island passed by on the starboard side. Iris spotted a group of European men crouched on the ground between a pair of massive, stone columns, as if ruminating over some discovery. She wondered if they were archaeologists, like the Germans last year, or the French the year before.

 

The dahabeah turned port side toward the granite cliff to make dock. Iris tilted back her head to look upward. The stone, rose-colored walls of the Cataract Hotel gleamed in the early morning sun, high atop the cliff.

​

The hotel resembled an exotic palace, overlooking the Nile from its high perch. It stood three stories high, with walls that angled around the curve of the cliff. Palm trees and shrubs dotted the stone cliff face, and the white sails of a dozen tiny sailboats called feluccas bobbed along the Nile River shore.

​

Iris tried to smile. She had enjoyed her time at the hotel the last three winters, and had been looking forward to returning. But, now that she was here, nerves tingled the back of her neck.

​

Her eyes fell on the steady stream of horse-drawn carriages, guests, and hotel staff promenading in front of the hotel, and her stomach fluttered nervously. She wondered what guests would be staying at the hotel this year. Would she see any of the old regulars from the previous three seasons?

​

Had Cecil Fortescue arrived yet?

 

Iris inhaled deeply, calming her rapidly beating heart.

 

“Do you think Lady Fortescue owns enough necklaces to wear a different one every evening?”

 

Iris’s younger sister, Leonie, craned her neck to get a better view of the hotel. She was looking exceptionally elegant in her high-waisted, salmon-striped travel dress. Only Leonie could look elegant in a travel dress.

 

“I bet she could buy this hotel if she sold all her jewelry,” Leonie laughed. “Or all of Egypt.”

 

Iris’s nerves intensified. Lord Fortescue, the baron, was certainly very wealthy. She wondered if the Fortescues had a larger fortune than her own father, the viscount. Iris’s mother certainly did not own as many necklaces as Lady Fortescue.

 

She sighed, tired of thinking of such things.

 

“I’d like to take a trip to Elephantine Island this year and see the dig site,” she changed the subject. “I wanted to last year, but no one would go with me. Would you come with me?”

 

Leonie made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. “There’s nothing I’d like less than to go traipsing around a dirty, old dig site with a horde of uncouth men ogling at me the whole time. Can’t you get that foul opera singer to go with you? Francesca Fortunato?”

 

“I don’t know her that well,” said Iris.

 

“Then get to know her,” Leonie rolled her eyes. “Really, Iris, you’ll have to get used to conversing with strangers if you’re to secure an engagement with Cecil.”

 

A cruel smile lifted Leonie’s lips, as if she already doubted that Iris could do such a thing. Iris sighed and dropped her voice to a whisper.

 

“Do you think it’s even possible that he’ll propose to me?”

 

Leonie leaned against the railing and sighed, as if she didn’t want to be having this conversation. “Perhaps. If you stop looking so nervous all the time. Wear your violet gown to dinner tonight. Violet is your best color.”

 

Iris attempted a smile. “Thank you.”

 

“And look him in the eye,” Leonie pointed a white-gloved finger at her. “I mean it. No staring at your feet. Look him in the eye and smile, like you already own him.”

 

Iris frowned. She wasn’t at all sure she could do such a thing.

 

“Stop sulking!” Leonie scolded. She pulled Iris’s shoulders back with force. “And stand up straight.”

 

“You’d benefit from listening to your sister once in a while,” their father barked as he joined them on deck. “I practically had to fight off Leonie’s admirers last season. And where were yours, Iris? Whatever you’re doing, it clearly isn’t working.”

 

He pointed a threatening finger at Iris, just as Leonie had.

 

“If you manage to scare off Cecil, I swear you’ll be eating in your bedroom for the next year.”

 

Iris swallowed and looked down at her feet. She knew her father was only joking. His bark was often worse than his bite. But it was still a threat.

 

“Can we have a pleasant holiday, Martin?” Iris’s mother joined them, looking calm, as usual. “Iris is on holiday, too.”

 

“From what, may I ask?” asked Lord Cavendish. “And keep your opinions to yourself, Georgina.”

 

“I will keep my opinions to myself when you do,” said Lady Cavendish.

 

Iris’s mother had never been afraid of her husband for as long as Iris had been alive. He was constantly in a bad temper, and had never shown his wife an ounce of respect, and yet that didn’t seem to discourage Lady Cavendish in the slightest.

 

Lord Cavendish plunged his hands into his jacket pockets and ruminated in silence, scowling and red-faced.

 

Hotel staff stood at the ready as the dahabeah came to a standstill at the dock. They boarded almost as soon as the boat stopped moving. There was a great bustle as they met the Cavendishes’ servants, assisting with the luggage and hauling them off the boat before Iris and her family had even begun to disembark.

 

Iris followed her mother and father up the steep incline of steps leading up the stone cliff face up to the hotel, keeping one hand on her hat as a breeze swept past them. She inhaled the scent of jasmine and allowed it to calm her growing nerves. Her heart pounded in her ears and she could barely hear the bustle of locals and staff around them as they made their ascent.

 

At the summit of the cliff, the rose-colored stone walls of the hotel loomed before them. They made their way around the hotel, along a stone path through gardens of honey mesquite shrubs, palm trees and Arabian jasmine, toward the front entrance. There, the hotel curved around a grand courtyard on three sides. A shallow, man-made pool lined with palm trees, led to a circular flower garden in shades of red, purple and pink.

 

Beside the flower garden, they encountered Dr. Eschler and his wife. Lord Cavendish greeted them rather boisterously, shaking Dr. Eschler’s hand for a solid minute as they exchanged pleasantries. Mrs. Eschler stood by quietly, looking rather pale. Iris thought she looked slightly ill. She smiled and nodded at Iris as they continued their way through the courtyard.

 

Iris turned around just as Mrs. Eschler grabbed hold of her husband’s arm, as though she were about to fall over. Iris remembered Mrs. Eschler being in perfect health last winter. She wondered what could have happened to her in the last year.

 

The entrance, which was framed by two, lofty palm trees, was designated by a pair of signs above the door. One was in Arabic, and the other was in English: Cataract Hotel. A man in a red fez smiled and opened the door for them, and Iris held her breath as they passed over the threshold.

 

As usual, she was momentarily awestruck by the grandiosity of the main lobby, with its cavernous ceiling, massive, rose and ivory striped Moorish arches, and immense oriental lanterns. Lord Cavendish made his way to the check-in desk as the three women wandered around the lobby, listening to their heels clap on the marble floors. Many of the plush, red chairs were occupied by guests, but Iris was content to just walk around and admire the architecture.

 

It wasn’t long before they ran into two more familiar faces: Francesca Fortunato, the famous Italian opera singer, and her sister, Carina, who usually traveled with her. The two sisters had been acquaintances of Iris’s family at the Cataract Hotel the last three winters.

 

Francesca greeted them in a deep, sing-songy alto of a voice, and Iris stared at the pair of them. Neither of the Fortunato sisters could have been older than 40. Iris continued to be amazed that they dared travel alone, without a man’s protection. She wondered if such a custom was normal in Italy. She didn’t know much about Italy.

 

“And-a how are young Miss Cavendish and-a Miss Leonie? They are looking pretty, as-a always.”

 

Iris smiled, though she assumed Miss Fortunato was referring to Leonie.

 

“They are well,” Lady Cavendish placed a hand on Iris’s upper back. “We are happy to be back at the Cataract. It’s like a second home to us now.”

 

“Us as-a well,” Francesca smiled at her sister. “I was just-a telling Carina, it is like-a we have a second family.”

 

“That is just how we feel,” Lady Cavendish grabbed Francesca’s hand with a smile.

 

Iris didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She caught a movement in the corner of her eye and turned to see Baron and Baroness Fortescue standing beneath the massive oriental chandelier.

 

Her heart leapt to her throat and she looked around, searching for Cecil. He was nowhere to be seen. Did he not come to Egypt with them this year?

 

Miss Fortunato and Lady Cavendish continued to chat, and Iris shifted on her feet, trying not to look too often at the Fortescues. As the conversation turned to the dinner menu, Iris watched her father make his way over to the Fortescues and shake hands with the baron. A moment later, he called over his shoulder.

 

“Georgina!”

 

Lady Cavendish smiled and rolled her eyes at Miss Fortunato. “We’ll talk later.”

 

Miss Fortunato laughed appreciatively, and Iris and Leonie obediently followed their mother across the lobby to the Fortescues. Iris bowed her head to the baron and baroness and greeted them, hoping to present the utmost of her good breeding.

 

Next to her, Leonie pointedly cleared her throat and Iris felt a little nudge in her ribs. She turned to see Cecil approaching them.

 

Iris stopped breathing and forced herself to take in some air. Cecil hadn’t yet looked in her direction. He was even handsomer than she had remembered him. Almost obscenely handsome. How was that possible? His tawny hair was slicked elegantly to one side, above thick eyebrows, serious, blue eyes, and a perfectly straight nose.

 

Cecil bowed his head to Lord and Lady Cavendish, and then it was Iris’s turn. His eyes briefly met hers, he bowed his head, then he turned to Leonie and did the same. And then it was over. He stood beside his parents, hands folded behind his back, and turned his attention to Lord and Lady Cavendish as they began to chit chat.

 

Iris felt a hole widen in the center of her chest. Her face grew warm as shame and humiliation seeped through her veins.

 

He had barely even looked at her. He hadn’t even given her time to smile or speak. How could she secure an engagement with him if he didn’t give her a chance? He didn’t even seem to care that she was standing there, right in front of him.

 

Her father was going to kill her.