Chapter Seven.
Lust on the Nile.
xxx
Egypt, 1924.
Agatha Christie stood on the foredeck of the narrow boat and looked up at the enormous yellow ball that was the sun shining from a cloudless sky. It had been a pleasant journey by sea from the port of Southampton to the port of Alexandria aboard the 525-foot steamship SS Heliopolis.
Passage to Egypt had cost her the princely sum of sixty pounds which since the publication of her best-selling novel was quite affordable. Egypt was, at the time, largely under British administration, and tours to the region were regularly organized by Thomas Cook & Son.
After arriving in Egypt, she had taken a smaller vessel down the Nile and she was now taking her view of the City of Cairo for the first time. Fresh from London, Agatha embraced the new sights and smells as Sir Charles Leonard Wooley and Lady Katherine joined her. She wore her floor-length one-piece dress in Tussah silk with shoulder plaits and a V-shaped neck and was wilting in the ninety-degree heat.
At the age of thirty-three, she had been delighted to join the British archaeologist on an intended three-month excavation of the ruins of the forgotten city of Meroe. On what was to be their second trip to Egypt the Lady Katherine had graciously invited her along as it was widely known that Christie had a passion for archaeology.
The young redhead had first visited Egypt at the tender age of seventeen, accompanying her mother who had been advised to spend the Winter months of 1918 in warmer climates after a bout of serious illness.
Christie, who considered herself shy and socially inept at the time, described her three months in Egypt as a 'dream of delight.' She went to five dances weekly (where her talent on the floor was often remarked upon) and enjoyed newfound attention from young men. Later in life, Christie would credit her time in Cairo as pivotal in overcoming her gaucherie.
Married in 1914 and divorced in 1916, Christie referred to the divorce as the moment she changed from an amateur writer to a professional one, as writing became a necessity to provide for herself. Within two years, she became disenchanted by the constant pressure to produce more novels.
Agatha Christie embraced the so-called 'Jazz Age' with relish, chasing a lifestyle that would have been unthinkable just twenty years before. She drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes, and dabbled in bohemianism. She cut her hair short, wore dresses that showed off her fashionably slender figure, used daring slang, and dated multiple men whilst single.
Sexual attitudes of the past changed as women gained more personal freedom.
Marriage was no longer necessary for one to have sex, and now women felt liberated. Free to love and indulge in affairs without guilt. And Christie had a desire to make the most of it.
x
In 1922, shortly after the beginning of Christie's writing career, the Tomb of Tutankhamun was discovered in the Valley of the Kings. The event gave rise to a new wave of Egyptomania that was fanned by the advent of mass media. Most notably, The Times of London paid £5,000 for exclusive access to news about the excavation, providing daily updates as objects were slowly removed from the tomb. Never before had archaeology captivated the public to this level of interest.
So when she received the invitation to visit Cairo again, she readily agreed. She had been enthralled by the stories Lady Katherine related to her of camel rides, exotic locations, and mouth-watering foods like no other in the world. She did however wrinkle her nose at the unpleasant odour of the Nile as she leaned over the hand rail of the steamer.
"Something we never get accustomed to my dear."
Sir Charles laughed as they disembarked and made their way through the bustling crowd to the lodging. They registered at the Hotel Egypt and Agatha made herself comfortable in her single room and awaited her trunk to be delivered.
x
Of course, the British had occupied the ancient country since 1882 and she felt relatively safe with the armed forces in attendance. However, Sir Charles had informed her of the current tensions in the city and growing opposition to the British presence. Indeed, before she had left England one of her dearest friends Major Trent had spoken to her of organised webs of bribery and corruption and the hideous crime of human trafficking in the country where women and even children were kidnapped and forced into labour and prostitution. Agatha had scoffed at the very notion of herself suffering such indignity and was not concerned in the least. How wrong was she?
As she lay under the mosquito netting on her single bed dreaming of the Pyramids and the Sphinx, she heard a loud knocking on the door. She opened it to see two swarthy men. Egyptian or Sudanese she knew not, but they pointed in silence to her trunk which they had conveniently carried from the boat. Had she not been lost in thought she may have saved herself a world of grief, but as she turned her back the next thing she knew was her mouth being smothered with a dirty rag and everything going dark.
x
Two days earlier.
The voyage had been splendid and Agatha had become smitten by one Woolley's assistants. A promising twenty-six-year-old archaeologist named Max Mallowan. He was quite the thin type, with dark hair and blue eyes. He seemed very quiet and seldom spoke, but she found him to be intriguing as well as handsome.
On the first night of the journey, they had been introduced to each other at the dinner table by Sir Charles. He had said hello and little else. The second meal time had seen the pair of them exchanging furtive glances as Wooley told endless stories of his past digs and discoveries.
Max had been born in Cardiff, and when he did speak, he had a typical Welsh sonorous voice that weaved a magical romantic web around the slightly older woman. After that first evening, Agatha had found him to be of some interest. After the second, the amorous crime writer had been captivated by his looks and wiry physique. By the third mealtime, the horny redhead had made up her mind to sleep with him.
Agatha shivered with a sense of trepidation mixed with butterflies as she sniffed the sea air. The faint taste of salt in the air made her wet her lips as she and Max leaned on the handrail of the ship. The young man stood beside her sucking in the dregs of his cigarette. He turned to the woman with the fashionable bob of wavy hair and glanced down at her breasts that were barely contained in her sequined low-cut dress.
"Cold?"
"Not too much."
She let out a sigh and looked into his eyes. There was no moon, just an immense black canopy dotted with stars. The ship chugged on and the water rippled about the hull.
"So, you're divorced?" Max tossed his cigarette stub into the sea as he felt the woman move closer.
"Yes. It's the old story. The husband falls for his younger secretary and makes her pregnant. No loss of mind. You?"
"Same old story. After I joined up in '17 my other half got lonely and left me for the local Bank Manager. Didn't see that coming."
"You poor dear," said Christie as she wrapped her arm around his, her silver-shod feet almost stepping on his shoes. "Do you get lonely at night?"
They looked into each other's eyes and read each other's minds. For the next ten minutes, they did not speak, both being fully occupied kissing each other's lips and tongue while their hands wandered here and there. The young Welshman was surprisingly rough in his necking and Agatha hissed as he used his teeth to bite into her neck and throat.
"Have a care, my man."
"You're good enough to eat. I want to lick you all over."
Agatha looked up and nodded. She had never denied the fact that she was an unashamed lover of sex who enjoyed every aspect of lovemaking and did not fight the impulse that urged her to acquiesce to the man's desires.
