The Levant Trilogy (22 page)

Weary from her
long walk in the heat, Harriet sat down gladly and watched the street beginning
to fill with the early evening shoppers. Somewhere nearby there was a dry goods
shop and the whole area was filled with a scent of pulse and spices, the scent
of every back street in Egypt. A loudspeaker, fastened to the wall above her
head, was telling one of the endless sagas of the Arab world. She heard the
name Akbar and knew it was about the great hero whose father was a king and
whose mother was Sudanese. Being blacker than his fellows, he felt he must do
courageous deeds to prove himself, but being also lazy, he often lay in his tent
and could be roused only by the gentle persuasions of his mistress who was the
most perfect of womankind.

There was a
mosque among the shops, its minaret intricately carved and rising
ochre-coloured against the deep cerulean of the sky. She could not tell whether
it was made of sandstone or merely encrusted with sand. When she first arrived,
she had meant to visit all the main mosques of Cairo but soon found that here
it was easier to make plans than to carry them out. If one waited till
tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, it might be less hot and one's body
might be more willing to exert itself.

As Aidan came
towards her, smiling his success, she said, 'So you've found something!'

He did not show
her what it was but, sitting down, suggested they take mint tea. He did not
speak while they drank it but, putting his cup down, he hesitantly asked, 'Tell
me about Guy. Can he possibly be as artless and warm-hearted as he seems. He
must have his
terra incognita -
his complexes, hang-ups, impediments?
What should one call them? Megrims?'

Realizing he
wanted nothing more than to talk about Guy, she said, 'He's probably more
simple than you think. I'll tell you something that happened in Bucharest just
after we were married. I was about to step on a bus when Guy pulled me aside so
that another woman - a woman of my own age -could step on in front of me. I was
thunderstruck. And what annoyed me most was the simpering amusement of the
woman when she saw Guy hold me back. I was furious and he was bewildered by me.
He explained, as though to a child, that one had to be courteous to other
people. I said, "What you did was damned discourteous to me," and he
said, "But you're part of me - I don't have to be courteous to you."'

Aidan seemed at a
loss as he imbibed this story but eventually said, 'Yet, because of Guy's
intrinsic goodness, you were able to overlook what happened?'

'I didn't
overlook it. I'm still angry when I think about it.'

'But he did not
mean to offend you. Such intrinsic simplicity has its admirable side.'

'Yes, if you're
not married to it.'

'I understand.'
Aidan smiled as though the story had brought them into sympathy and putting his
hand into his side pocket, he took out a small green box. He pushed it towards
her and said, 'See what I bought' She opened the box and found inside, packed
in cotton wool, a cat, less than two inches high, made of iron, sitting upright
on a block of cornelian. Harriet realized why Aidan had taken so long to find
what he wanted. The gift he sought must be unique, and he found the one thing
she would, if she had the money, have chosen herself. She replaced the lid and
pushed the box back again. He held it and looked at her, then put the box
before her. 'Keep it for me.'

'But isn't it for
your mother?'

'Yes. I will tell
her I have it but I can't risk the posts. You must look after it till I can
take it home.'

'I'd rather not.
It's much too valuable to have around.'

'Please. I can't
hold on to things. If I keep it, I'll put it down somewhere and forget it. I've
lost the sense that anything's worth keeping.'

'You've
lost
the
sense? You weren't born without it - you lost it?'

'Yes, but at the
time that was the least loss. I lost much more - everything I had, in fact,
including the sense that anything left had value.'

'What happened?'

'Oh,' he stared
down at the table and made the gesture he had made when he spoke of the death
of his friend. 'It's not easy to talk about... I may tell you another time.'

'Have you told
Guy?'

'Not yet. When we
went for our walk, he did most of the talking.'

'Had it anything
to do with the war?'

'Yes,
everything.' He paused then said in a bitter half-whisper. 'The war has
destroyed my life.'

'It hasn't done
any of us much good.'

'I'm not so sure
of that. There's a chap in our unit - be used
to be a bus driver and now he's a major. He feels he's found his
feet at last. He's enjoying every minute of the war. But for me, it was a
disaster. My career had just started when war broke out. When it's over - if it
ever is over - I'll be verging on middle-age. Just another not-so-young actor
looking for work. In fact, a displaced person.'

'We're all
displaced persons these days. Guy and I have accumulated more memories of loss
and flight in two years than we could in a whole lifetime of peace. And, as you
say, it's not over yet But we're seeing the world. We might as well try and
enjoy it.'

'Yes, but there
are some memories that are beyond human bearing, except that we have to bear
them.'

'You won't tell
me?'

'Not now. Not
now. I have to catch that train.'

They walked till
they found a gharry. Harriet asked to be put down in the Esbekiya where she
could find a tram-car to Kasr el Aini. The green box was still in her hand and
unwilling to keep in temporary custody an object she so much coveted, she asked
him to take it back.

'No. One day I'll
ask you for it'

'Very well.' He
wished to imply that their friendship would continue and she said, 'I'll keep
it safe for you.'

'Did you know
that the line into Syria is open? If you and Guy could come to Beirut, I'd meet
you with a car and we could drive to Damascus, visiting Baalbec on the way.
There are some impressive sights up there. And the Damascus bazaars are more
mysterious than the Cairo ones.'

Speaking, his
face came alive with enticement intended, she felt, for Guy - and that was the
trouble. Guy did not want to see impressive sights. He would rather pass his
spare time, if he had any, talking and drinking in a basement bar.

'Guy may come
...'

'If he doesn't,
you come without him.'

She smiled and
said, 'One day, perhaps I will.'

There was no work
for Harriet in Cairo, not even voluntary work. In Athens the English women had
organized a canteen for troops but in Cairo the ladies of the Red Cross
jealously kept a hold on paramilitary work and the provision of comforts for
the men. Outsiders were expected to remain outside.

Finding nothing
to do, she wondered if she could take over the housekeeping at the flat. She
did not think that Edwina would willingly give it up but found her glad to be
rid of it.

'Darling, how
sweet of you. It would be divine - and save me
so
much effort I often
don't know how to get everything done.'

Harriet, when the
accounts were handed to her, found that Edwina had merely muddled through them
and the servants had bought where they pleased. Edwina said, 'If you have
trouble with Hassan, I'm always here to help,' but Harriet thought she could
manage Hassan. There would be a new regime and Edwina would be left free for
her main occupation, her social life.

Edwina's promise
of friendship was frequently repeated but it developed no further. She would
have a few words with Harriet while awaiting a telephone call or the arrival of
the evening's young man, but the talk was always brief and interrupted.
Harriet who had been anticipating the pleasant, gossipy intimacy that can exist
between women living in proximity, now knew that Edwina would never have time
for it. Her afternoon break, between one o'clock and five, was spent at the
Gezira swimming-pool. More often than not she was out for dinner and at
breakfast time she came to the table exhausted by the effort of getting herself
out of bed. Sitting opposite Harriet, hair over one eye, she would blink the
other eye and grin in rueful acknowledgement of her frail condition. Sometimes
the activities of the previous night prostrated her altogether. Dobson would
say, 'Poor Edwina has another migraine,' but however badly she might feel in
the morning, she would be up and
dressed, her
languors forgotten, by the time her evening escort arrived. They would go off
with a great deal of laughter and Harriet could imagine that laughter served as
conversation for most of the time. Edwina had once told her that she only
wanted a good time, and the lost and deprived young men who came on leave - a
leave that might be the last they would ever have - had nothing else to give
her.

One day, when
Edwina had pleaded a migraine for the third time in a fortnight, Harriet asked
Dobson, 'How do the girls she works with feel? Don't they mind her being absent
from the office?'

Dobson, who
regarded everything Edwina did with amused tolerance, said, 'Not really. To
tell you the truth, she can get away with anything. She's rather special, isn't
she?'

Harriet agreed,
being herself spellbound by Edwina's special quality. She was only regretful
that that quality was squandered among so many futureless encounters. She said
one evening while they were together on the balcony, 'Don't you get bored,
going out so often?'

'Well, yes, but
what else is there for me? You're lucky. You have that nice husband. You've
something to stay in for.'

Harriet supposed
she was lucky even though, staying in, she spent most of her evenings alone.
She said, 'We're young at the wrong time.' The war, with all its demands, took
precedence over their youth and when it was over they, like Aidan Pratt, would
be young no longer.

Then, a week or
two later, a change came over Edwina. She started taking supper at home. When
the telephone rang and some eager young man begged for her company, she could
be heard sweetly excusing herself, pleading her usual headache before returning
with a sigh to the sitting-room. Harriet, realizing she had been expecting a
different caller, concluded that someone of importance had entered Edwina's
life.

Percy Gibbon eyed
her as though her change of habit brought him both terror and hope, but Edwina
was unaware of him. She was abstracted as though all her senses were intent on
something remote from anything about her. After supper she would go to her room
or sit, saying nothing, on the balcony. Now there was no wink or grin of
complicity for Harriet
but when they both took their
coffee out into the scented air, she occasionally gave Harriet a wan smile and
seemed about to confide in her. But there were no confidences. One evening,
when Guy had gone to work in the spare room and Dobson had returned to the
Embassy, and the two girls sat on the swaying, sinking wickerwork sofa, Harriet
tried to distract Edwina with a story about Hassan.

'You know
Hassan's been stealing the gin from Dobbie's decanter and filling it with
water! I spoke to him about it and he swore that it was the afreets. Well, I
thought I could catch him. I emptied the gin out and put in arak which becomes
cloudy when you add water. Next day the decanter disappeared. When I spoke to
Hassan, he said the afreets had broken it.'

'Oh, dear!'
Edwina put her head back and laughed, but it was not a real laugh, rather a
distracted and almost soundless effort to show appreciation while her mind was
elsewhere.

Percy Gibbon, who
had been moving restlessly about in the sitting-room, came out as though
decided on a course of action, and spoke aggressively to Edwina, 'I suppose
you're going out later?'

Edwina answered
with gentle indifference, 'I may.'

Percy gave a
disgruntled snort and rushing to the front door, left the flat. Harriet said,
'I believe he wanted to ask you out.'

'Poor Percy,'
Edwina said, as though Percy were a little dog accidentally trodden upon.
Harriet thought: Yes, poor Percy. Poor ugly creature. How changed he might be
if he could only change his looks!

The telephone
started ringing, Edwina listened till she could bear it no more and cried in
anguish, 'Why doesn't Hassan answer it?' She leapt up, went to the hall and
came back to say the call was for Guy. When she sat down again, she had a wet
glint about her eyes.

'Who were you
expecting?' Harriet asked.

'Oh, no one in
particular.' Edwina, bemused, said, 'It's getting late,' then throwing back
her head, she broke into an Irish song: 'My love came to me, he came from the
south ...' Her voice was light but clear and melodious. When she reached the
line: 'His breast to my bosom, his mouth to my mouth,' she
caught her breath and came to a stop, fearful of breaking down.

Guy, returning
from the telephone, had paused to listen and as the song died, he came on to
the balcony, praising her singing as one who knew what singing should be. He
had heard she could sing but did not know she had a voice of that quality. He
said, 'It's a lovely voice. A moving, beautiful voice. If I get up a troops'
entertainment, you will sing for them, won't you?'

Edwina, disturbed
by her own song, could only nod her agreement.

Guy was about to
enlarge on his plans for the concert but as he spoke, the telephone rang again
and Edwina, whispering an excuse, ran to it. This time the call was for her.

Harriet said,
'Are you serious about this entertainment? Haven't you enough to do?'

Guy said, 'I
never have enough to do,' and returned to his work-table.

Next day Harriet
met Edwina's new friend and realized he was, indeed, a man apart from her
everyday admirers. He was older than most of them, being in the late twenties,
and his manner suggested a man of substance.

When he called
for Edwina, she was still in her room. Instead of waiting in the background,
nervous, expectant and barely noticed, he threw himself on to the living-room
sofa and talked as though putting the company - this being Dobson and Harriet -
at its ease. Dobson maintained his insouciance in the face of this affability
but once or twice, losing his hold on himself, he sounded surprisingly
deferential.

When introducing
the new arrival to Harriet, he had said, "You know Peter, don't you?' so
it was evident that if she did not, she ought to know him. Peter, fixing his
very dark eyes on Harriet, seemed satisfied by what he saw.

He was short,
square built, ruddy and black haired, with a broad saddle nose and a firm
mouth. He had the look of a farmer, and not a young farmer. In spite of his
youth, he was as bulky as a man of fifty. Gripping Harriet's hand, he sank back
in the sofa, pulling her down beside him. He had been talking when she came in
and he went on talking, at the same time putting an arm round Harriet's waist
and every now and
then giving her a squeeze.
All young attractive women, she realized, were his women, and he had no doubt
at all of his right to them, or his attraction for them.

With her eyes on
a level with his shoulder, Harriet could see that he was already a
half-colonel, and he was complaining of this fact. 'I've been three months at
GHQ and I've risen faster than I did in three years in the blue. Not from
merit, mind you. Far from it. I'm a fighting man. I'm no good dealing with all
that bumf. No, I'm pushed up so Sniffer Metcalf can be pushed up further. To
promote himself, he has to widen the base of his pyramid. If he can fit in
another major, we all go up a step. You may think that our most important aim
and object is to shove Rommel back to Cyrenaica? Not a bit of it. The only
thing that occupies our department is the one burning question: can Sniffers
graft his way up to Major General before some busybody at the top sniffs out
Sniffers.'

Peter's laughter
was loud and long and he was squeezing Harriet with his head on her shoulder
when Edwina entered, subdued and virginal in a long dress of white slipper
satin. Her toilette indicated a very grand dinner ahead.

'Ah, there you
are, then!' Peter, jovially paternal, still holding on to Harriet, looked
Edwina up and down then, releasing Harriet and jerking himself forward, he
pointed at Dobson. 'And I'll tell you something else ...'

This new subject,
whatever it was, was stopped by Edwina who gave a scream and said, 'Oh Lord,
m'heel!' and taking off one of her white shoes, she examined the high, narrow
heel.

'Anything wrong?'
Peter asked.

'Well, no ...'
Trying to put the shoe on again, she dropped a pair of long, kid gloves. She
let them lie until Peter, getting his heavy body out of the sofa, retrieved
them. As though the shoe were beyond her, she handed it to him and balanced,
one hand on his arm, while he fitted it on to her foot.

Harriet, used to
seeing Edwina in control of her escorts, disliked seeing her as she now was;
flustered, silly and on edge. Her skin, its golden colour enhanced by the white
satin, had an underflush of pink and she looked away from Peter, afraid to meet
the emphatic stare of his black eyes. His manners were casual yet, Harriet
felt, whatever he did was right because he
did it. Then, as
Edwina fidgeted with her bag and scarf, he gave her a slap on the rump that was
more heavy than playful. Her scream this time was a scream of pain and Peter said,
'Sorry, old thing,' and led her away.

'Who is that
fellow?' Harriet asked, resenting Edwina's abasement.

'Don't you know?
He's Peter Lisdoonvarna.'

'What an odd
surname!'

Dobson laughed at
her ignorance. 'My dear girl, he's Lord Lisdoonvarna but, as you must have
heard, titles are
de trop
for the duration so he's just plain Peter
Lisdoonvarna.'

'I see,' said
Harriet, who did see. Edwina had found her desideratum and the chance of such a
marriage had quite overthrown her. 'It's remarkable to be a lieutenant-colonel
at his age. I suppose he was promoted because of his title?'

'Certainly not,'
Dobson was shocked by the supposition. 'While he was a field officer, he never
rose above lieutenant. He was moved to base - very much against his will, I may
say -and you heard what he told us: rapid promotion followed. That sort of
thing goes on at GHQ. He laughs at it but I gather he's pretty disgusted. Some
relative must have pulled strings to get him away from the front line.'

'I didn't know
that could be done.'

'It can't be in
theory, but I imagine a bit of fixing does go on. It's not unreasonable in his case.
He's an only son and there are no male relatives. If he were killed, the title
would die out.'

Thinking of
Edwina's song, Harriet said, 'I suppose he's Irish?'

'Anglo-Irish. The
best sort of fighting man. The best in the world, I'd say. A terrible waste,
putting him into an office. But, then, it would be a terrible waste if he
didn't survive.
^'

'Edwina seems
very attracted. Do you think she stands a chance with him?'

Dobson did not
question what Harriet meant, but said, 'Who knows? There have been less likely
marriages, and these are not ordinary times. She might land him, but I only
hope she keeps her head.'

The rich owner of
the next door garden sent Dobson a basket
of mangoes which
he placed on the breakfast table.

Harriet, spooning
the pulp out of the rosy mango shell, said, 'Gorgeous, gorgeous, and perhaps
from our own tree.'

Reminded by this,
Dobson told the Pringles they would have to give up the spare room because he
had a friend coming to stay.