Scorpion Sunset (21 page)

‘Yes, sir. Mitkhal told me he was an Arab. Sorry, sir.'

‘No need to apologise, his sudden appearance has been a shock to us all.'

‘What I wanted to say, sir, is that now that our Turkish guards are all dead, Mitkhal offered to take us through the Turkish lines and back to Basra. He said that you told him you'd have no objection to any of us going with him.'

‘I wouldn't, Dira.'

‘You'd come with us?'

‘No, Dira.'

‘Even without the guards you're going to follow our men into Turkey, sir?'

‘They need medics, Dira.'

‘They need medical assistants and orderlies too, sir.'

‘I won't ask you or the rest of the men to stay with me, Dira. This is your chance to return to base and from there possibly home. You must be due leave.'

‘I won't go without you, sir, and neither will the others. We all talked about Mitkhal's offer. You say the men need medics – they need good orderlies too.'

‘You're the best, but I can train others in Turkey.'

‘You can try and persuade the others to go with the Arabs if you want to, sir, but I'm staying with you, so you can stop trying to talk me out of it.'

‘I will, and thank you, Dira.' John offered his orderly his hand and Dira shook it. ‘I'm overwhelmed by your sacrifice.'

‘It's no sacrifice to stay where you're needed, sir.' Dira unscrewed the cap on the water bottle, filled it, and moistened the young girl's lips.

Two hours later John left the tent that housed the sick women. The Arabs who'd ridden in with Mitkhal had rolled themselves into their blankets and were lying around Dira's cook fire. Sergeant Greening was standing outside the men's tent, smoking. John joined him.

‘Can I get you anything, sir?' Greening asked as John approached.

‘No, thank you, sergeant.'

‘The Turks had plenty of brandy and raki, the Arabs too, and theirs was better quality.'

‘You didn't save me some?' John asked in amusement.

Greening held up a flask. ‘I did, sir.'

‘Thank you, but you can drink it for me. The women the Arabs brought in might need medical attention in the night.'

‘They're still alive, sir?'

‘Against the odds. I spoke to Dira earlier about Mitkhal's offer to smuggle any of you who wanted to go, back through the Turkish and British lines to Basra.'

‘He's staying, sir. We all are.'

‘You have a wife and by now a child in Basra, Greening.'

‘And I'm looking forward to hearing from them once the Turks put us in a prison camp and I have an address to send her.'

‘That's insanity, Greening. If Mitkhal says he can get you through the lines he will. You've a chance to see your family …'

‘I won't leave you and the others, sir. Not while I'm needed, and I dread to think what state the survivors of Kut's garrison will be in when they reach Turkey. They'll need medical care and fit men to look after them and begging your pardon, sir, but I'm fitter than you and the rest of the orderlies. If there's heavy lifting to be done, including live or dead bodies, I'm your man.'

‘Is there nothing I can say to you, Greening, that will persuade you to go with Mitkhal?'

‘Nothing, sir. I'm staying with you and the rest of the boys and that's that. Mitkhal said the Arabs will move out tomorrow to scout around. Will they take the women with them?'

‘They're not fit to be moved, and won't be for another few days, that's if they survive.'

‘So what do we do, sir? Sit here and wait for the women to get better and the Turks to turn up.'

‘As we can't be sure where the Turks were taking us, I can't think of a better plan. Can you?'

Chapter Fourteen

David and Charles' bungalow, Basra

July 1916

Georgiana slipped the key David had given her into the lock of the bungalow he shared with Charles. She muffled the sound of the door click with her glove and crept inside. Charles's bearer, Chatta Ram, was slumped snoring in a chair in the hall. She stepped out of her shoes, stole past him, and tiptoed down the corridor to David's room. She entered, closed the door quickly, and leaned against it.

David's bearer hadn't drawn the curtains and moonlight streamed in through the windows, silvering the mosquito net and bedsheets. David was lying on his side, his right arm under his head, his breath soft and even. His blond hair was the same hue as the moon, his features as regular and fine as a Greek god's. Not for the first time his beauty took her breath away.

She walked over to the chair, slipped off her cloak, and undressed. Naked she went to the bed, turned back the sheet, and slipped in beside him.

David opened his eyes and stared disorientated at her. ‘Georgie?' he mumbled groggily.

‘You were expecting someone else?'

He closed his eyes and stretched out. ‘I live in hope of beautiful women climbing into my bed, but you'll do.' He moved close wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back against his chest. ‘Ow! What was that for?' he demanded when she kicked his shin with her heel.

‘For suggesting “I'll do”.'

‘I take it back. You're the most stupendous, gorgeous beautiful woman in the world … ow!' he exclaimed when she kicked him again.

‘And that's for lying.' She turned to face him.

‘How did you get past Chatta Ram? He's supposed to sound the alarm if someone breaks in, especially bossy female doctors. You could have walked in on a private moment between me and …'

‘And?' she raised her eyebrows.

‘A passing siren?'

‘Even if there was one, Charles's bearer was too tired to care.'

He kissed her. ‘What's the time?'

‘I left the hospital at three. Must be about half past by now.'

‘The boat's leaving the wharf for upstream at nine.'

‘Which allowing for travelling and packing time leaves us about four hours.'

‘For what?'

‘I was hoping you'd think of something.' She returned his kiss.

‘As you're lying naked in my bed, I can think of one way to dispel boredom.'

‘The problem with you is you're all words and no action, and this is not a time for talking.'

She moved on top of him and soon all that could be heard in the room was their mingled breathing.

The Smythes' bungalow, Basra

July 1916

Angela was already awake when she heard Peter knock the dressing room door. She left the bed and unlocked it. Peter stood before her, holding a pillow over his ears.

‘Do babies ever do anything except cry?' he demanded.

‘Lots of things,' Angela whispered, keeping her voice low lest she disturb Robin even more. ‘Sorry he woke you, darling. The nursemaid will soon have him back to sleep.' Even as Angela spoke the baby fell silent.

‘Every time that happens I wonder if the nurse has smothered him.'

‘She knows that if she kills Robin she'll be out of a job.'

Peter laughed. ‘I'll remember that the next time the baby suddenly goes quiet. I'm getting a glass of water. Do you want one?'

‘Please.' Angela snuggled back under the sheet.

Peter soon returned and handed her a glass. ‘There were a couple of pieces of ice left in the bucket, so it's cold.'

‘Thank you. It's been marvellous having you all to myself the last couple of weeks.'

‘Because I bring you iced water in the middle of the night?'

‘Among other things. I'm going to miss you.'

‘I'm going to miss you too. The crazy thing is going back to the front seems like returning to normality which says a lot for the way I've been living since this war started.'

‘I was only thinking the other day that we've never talked about the future, Peter,' she said seriously.

He sat on the bed next to her. ‘I don't mean this in a morbid way but you married a soldier against your brother's advice, sweetheart, and just like every other soldier fighting this war I can't guarantee I even have a future beyond this hour, and possibly not even that long. When the guns start blazing I have to go wherever my superiors order me.'

‘You have to survive this war. You simply have to,' she reiterated fiercely as though she could keep him alive by sheer force of will.

‘I promise you I'll do my best.' He sat on the bed next to her.

‘And when the war finishes, what then? For us I mean, Peter.'

‘As I'm neither trained nor fit for anything else, I suppose I'll carry on soldiering.'

‘Here?'

‘Wherever the Indian Office posts me, which in all probability will be India. Why the questions?'

‘I love you, I always want to be with you, and I thought that …'

‘What?' he persisted when she didn't finish her sentence.

‘I think I must have spent too much time talking to Clary. As soon as Tom discovered that he was being invalided out of the Force because of his recurring spells of fever they started making plans. Tom's father owns an estate in the English countryside. Apparently there are several cottages on it and Tom and Clary intend to settle down in one and start a family …'

‘And live on fresh air?' Peter interrupted. ‘Bills for food and fuel arrive even in a cottage you're not paying rent on.'

‘Tom's father offered Tom a doctor's post in a clinic he owns not far from the estate, at least until he's recovered his health.'

‘Tom is a doctor. He has a profession to fall back on. I was talking about this with Charles Reid only this morning. For regular soldiers like Charles and me there is no choice. No one wants to employ a retired soldier simply because there's no call for warfare in the civilian world.' He took her glass from her, set it on the bedside table, and reached for her hand. ‘Would it be so terrible to spend the rest of your life in married quarters as the wife of a serving soldier?'

‘No, of course not.' She squeezed his hand.

‘What brought on this “cottage and family” dream?' he asked. ‘Was it really Clary or is it having a baby to care for?'

‘Partly the baby,' she admitted. ‘I know Robin cries at night, but he really is a very good baby and …'

‘He's not ours, Angela, he's Maud's,' Peter reminded. ‘And knowing Maud and how fickle she can be I wouldn't put it past her to dance back into Basra someday soon and reclaim him. So please, as much for Robin's sake as yours, don't get too attached to the child.'

‘That's easy to say, but difficult to do when he looks up with those enormous trusting blue eyes and wraps his tiny fingers around yours.'

‘You already regard him as yours, don't you?'

‘I'm fond of him,' Angela admitted. She was good deal more than fond of him but aware of Peter's feelings about the child, and his determination to keep his affection for their own children – when they had them – she was wary of saying more.

Peter left the bed, dropped a kiss on her cheek and went to the dressing room. ‘There's time for another couple of hours' sleep. You'll lock me in?'

‘If I must.'

He looked back at her. ‘I love you, Mrs Smythe.'

‘Love you too.'

‘I'm sorry I have no father with a landed estate like John and Tom's …'

‘I don't want a landed estate, just a …'

‘Cottage with roses round the door?' He ran his fingers through his thick red curls, brushing his hair away from his face. Then he grinned at her. The same boyish grin that had won her heart the first time she'd seen him at a ladies' evening in the Basra mess. ‘Roses wither in winter, sweetheart, and in my experience, most English cottages are damp, draughty, and have chimneys that smoke terribly.'

‘None of which would matter as long as you were inside.'

‘We'll talk again when the war is over and the Indian Office has decided what to do with me.' He kissed her lips and held her close for a moment before going into the dressing room. As she locked the door behind him she heard Robin cry again. Leaving her slippers at the side of the bed, she left the room quietly, lest Peter heard her and guess where she was headed.

The desert between Baghdad and Turkey

July 1916

A thin grey light on the horizon heralded the advent of dawn as John left the hospital tent. He stood in front of the flap, shivered in the cool wind, and looked around. The Arabs were already awake. They'd gathered around Dira's cook fire to drink the tea Corporals Jones and Williams had brewed and were dispensing in tin mugs. He studied the men's shadowy silhouettes, black against the breaking light, but failed to pick out Mitkhal's massive figure.

‘I told Williams and Jones they could give the Arabs sugar, sir,' Baker handed John a mug. ‘After what they did for us yesterday … I thought they'd earned it.'

‘They did, Baker.' John agreed. ‘As for the sugar, better it's used than left for the flies. They always get into the sacks no matter how tightly we fasten them.'

‘They do, sir. I fished out a fair number of bodies last night. It was too dark to see them this morning.'

‘So I'm probably drinking a few sand flies.' John squinted into his mug but the light wasn't good enough to see if anything was floating on the top.

‘And mosquitoes, I should think, sir, the way they were biting last night. If there's a lump in your mouth chances are it's more likely to be a fly than a tea leaf.'

The sun suddenly inched high enough over the horizon to flood the desert with soft golden light. A line of four camels moved towards them from the horizon. John squinted, but because they were directly in front of the sun it was impossible to make out more than the wavering outline of beasts and riders.

‘Probably Mitkhal, sir, he went out to scout a couple of hours ago and said he'd be back at dawn.'