Entry-Six
My eyes opened the following morning to Bennett, my steward, drawing back the curtains to allow the rays of the sun to stream into the cabin as the ship continued its southward passage from the ancient port of Aqaba.
“Sleep well, Sir?” came the inquiry that was habitual to him and barely required a response, so routine was his uttering of it, this as he placed the breakfast tray across my lap and I took in without enthusiasm – and no small puzzlement - the one boiled egg and some meagre slices of toast it contained.
“Mrs Choudhary’s orders, Sir,” my chirpy seaborne valet and general factotum informed me, the name bringing with it a full recall of the events of the preceding night; events I was praying I would wake to find no more than a particularly dispiriting and degenerate
