The Levant Trilogy (24 page)

She said, 'I've
been out here a long time. I love Egypt I don't really want to leave.'

'Are you
leaving?'

'I don't know.
I've been thinking about it. There's talk of sending some of the English women
and children home by sea. That would mean round the Cape. It could be an
interesting trip, or it could be the most excruciating bore. So ... to tell you
the truth, I'm rather
bouleversé.
I don't know what to do.'

The Egyptian
guests had left the Union and the English had settled down to an evening that
would be like every other evening except that the committee had provided a
carafe of wine for each table.

The lights had
come on in the club house. Inside, men could be seen moving round the snooker
table while outside people were sitting beneath the darkening foliage of the
trees. The club house lights shone out on to the grass and the beds of bamboo
and the plants that climbed up between the windows. Jasmin scented the air.

Harriet and
Angela found a vacant table at the edge of the lawn and as soon as they sat
down a safragi brought over a carafe and four glasses. Angela picked up the
carafe, which held little more than a pint of red Latrun wine, and laughed at
the man. 'This is expected to go far, isn't it?' Looking round to disseminate
her laughter, she said, 'And that's all the party fare? Dear me! Let's have
something more festive,' and ordered a bottle of whisky.

Those sitting
near by were displeased by her ebullience until
they realized who she was, then they gave her smiling attention.
She was known to be a rich woman and the rich did not come often to the Union.
And she was not only rich but had been the centre of the extraordinary story of
the Hooper boy's death. Clifford, two tables away, rose to get a better view of
her and Harriet feared he might come over to join them. He thought better of it
but when he sat down again, he bent towards his companions and talked eagerly,
probably describing, all over again, his visit to the Fayoum house.

The Union shared
its lawn with the Egyptian Officers' Club but the lawn went far beyond both
clubs, stretching eastwards into a belt of heavy, ancient trees. Behind the
trees some players were performing an Arabic version of
Romeo and Juliet
and
voices, though remote, reverberated on the night air. There was a frenzied
shout of 'Julietta' and, in response, a flat, sonorous and solemn 'Nam'.

'Oh dear,
deathless passion!' Angela was shaken with laughter and Harriet, observing her,
reflected, as others were certainly reflecting, on the dead boy. Angela knew
she had met Harriet somewhere but did she realize where and when? If so, what
was the nature of her cheerfulness? Was it defensive, or hysterical, or had
she already recovered from that tragic afternoon?

The moon was
rising from behind the trees. It was only a sliver of moon, no bigger than a
nail paring, but so brilliant that it cast an ashen light over the grass. The
Officers' Club had its own light, green like verdigris, which fell from the
awning and shone on the men who sat, still and contemplative, like wax figures.
Most of them were growing stout but a few, still in early youth, looked lean
and virile. One of these, who sat alone, was very handsome and his figure was
enhanced by a uniform and riding boots of immaculate cut.

'I must say,'
said Angela, 'I rather fancy him. Do you think we could get him over here.'

Harriet thought
it unlikely. The officers had never been known to cross the dividing width of
lawn and no one had ever thought of inviting them to do so. Though they were
dressed like the cavalry officers of most European countries, they wore the fez
and that set them apart. They were Orientals.

They were Moslems.
Though they were polite to each other if they happened to meet, the English and
Egyptians could not converse together for long. Angela, however, was in no way
inhibited by the lack of common ground. She kept her eyes on the young officer,
trying to will him to respond, but he remained impassive, looking in another
direction, apparently at nothing at all.

Harriet said, 'I
think they're waiting to see the last of us.'

'They may not
have to wait long.'

'You think we're
finished here? Is that why you're thinking of leaving?'

'No.' Angela
forgot the officer and, looking at Harriet, her merriment died. 'You think I've
forgotten where and when we met?'

'I was hoping you
didn't remember.'

'I remember it
all, and in exact detail. I remember everyone who was in that room. I remember
that fellow over there. What is he called?'

'Clifford.'

'And a British
officer?'

'Simon
Boulderstone.'

'I brought in my
boy and the room was full of people. He was a beautiful boy, wasn't he? His
body was untouched -there was only that wound in his head. A piece of metal had
gone into the brain and killed him. He was almost perfect, a small, perfect
body, yet he was dead. We couldn't believe it, but next day, of course ... We
had to bury him.'

Wishing this
would end, Harriet said, 'We were upset and wondered if there was something we
could do, but all we could do was go away. We knew we ought not to be there.'

'I went away,
too, not long after. I couldn't stay in that house. I didn't know what to do
with myself. Bertie agreed that I needed a change so I went to Cyprus. I didn't
tell him, but even before I went, I'd decided never to go back. Everything
ended that afternoon: child, marriage, that ridiculous life of dinner parties,
gaming parties, shooting parties. It was never my life. I'd been an art student
in Paris so I'd known a quite different sort of world. Do you know the English
here go duck shooting on Lake Mariotis and kill the birds in thousands.
Quite literally, thousands. And when they've killed them, they
don't know what to do with them. The whole set-up made me sick. I tried to
escape by painting but I stopped painting after that happened. I didn't do
anything. I just moped and wouldn't go out. I knew people were talking. Even
Bertie thought it was better for me to go.'

'But what about
him? He must have suffered terribly ...'

'Yes, but he is
much older than I am. He's an old man while I'm young enough to marry again.'

'You are getting
a divorce?'

'I've asked for
one. Bertie will have to divorce me. It would be cruel to refuse.'

Looking into
Angela's face with its delicate features and mild expression, Harriet wondered
where cruelty began and ended in this painful story. And Angela could marry
again. Her fine sallow skin had aged only slightly round the eyes. She might be
in the mid-thirties, young enough to replace the lost child and let the new one
take on the identity of the dead. For her there could be some sort of
restitution but for the elderly father the loss would be with him till the end
of his days.

Harriet was
silent and Angela said, 'You think me ruthless, don't you? But what could I do?
I blamed myself for what happened. At times I felt I'd be better dead. If I'd
stayed, I might have killed myself. And Bertie was part of the trouble. He did
not accuse me. In fact, he was kindness itself, but I felt his very kindness
was a reproach. Do you understand?'

'I understand how
you felt - but abandoning your husband, leaving him to bear it alone! Wasn't
that rather hard?'

'No, because
there was nothing to leave. The marriage had been over a long time. Only the
boy kept us together. It is a mistake to marry an older man however charming he
is. It can't last.'

While Angela was
talking, Castlebar came from the club house. He glanced towards Harriet, noted
her companion and crossed to them. Stopping a few feet from the table, he stood
there till Angela turned to look at him.

Instantly
reverting to gaiety, she laughed at the sight of him as he swayed about, a
sleepy smile on his face. 'Who's this?' she asked Harriet.

'Bill Castlebar;
one of my husband's time-wasting cronies. Describes himself as a poet.'

Angela gave a
high yelp of laughter and Castlebar, become alert and expectant, crossed to
them and asked about Guy, 'Is the old thing c-coming?'

'Yes, later.'

Castlebar, having
excused himself with this question, turned to Angela and gave a little bow.
Nervousness increased his stammer. 'M-may I join you?' He spoke to Angela,
taking it for granted that he was free to join Harriet if he wished.

'By all means!'
When he sat down, she pushed the whisky towards him.

'Oh, I s-say! Not
on the house, is it? I thought not. Oh, how kind!' Castlebar's gratitude
gurgled down his throat as, having filled his glass, he gulped the whisky neat.
When he had drunk half the glass, he paused to set up his cigarette packet in
the usual way, one cigarette half out in readiness to take the place of the one
in his hand.

Harriet asked,
'Where's Jake Jackman?' because the two men were seldom apart.

'Oh, h-he's
inside, phoning his stuff to Switzerland.'

'Is there any
news?'

'No more than
usual. He's got hold of some story.'

This was the
first time Harriet had Castlebar's company without Guy or Jackman being
present, and she took the opportunity to ask about Jackman's career in Spain.
Tell me, Bill, you've known Jake for some time. Did he really fight in the
International Brigade?'

'F-f-f-fight?'
Castlebar, taken off guard, was too surprised by the question to do more than
tell the truth. 'Jake's never fought anywhere. He's never held a gun in his
life.'

'But he was in
Spain, wasn't he?'

'Yes, but not to
fight Some left-wing paper sent him out, rather late in the day. Too late, as
it turned out. The government front collapsed soon after and Jake jumped a car
and made it over the frontier. A timely get-away. He didn't even wait to pick
up his clothes. His wife wasn't so lucky.'

'So he has a
wife?'

'He had a wife.
No one knows what became of her. She was running a camp for war orphans and Jake
says he couldn't persuade her to leave them.'

'I see. He didn't
wait to pick up his clothes but he did wait to try and persuade his wife to go
with him.'

Castlebar dropped
his head, snuffling at Harriet's disbelief, and said, 'Well, wives are expendable.'

Jake Jackman
coming out of the club house, looked about and seeing Castlebar with Angela
Hooper, his keen eyes became keener. Moving rapidly to the table, he was about
to sit down when it occurred to him that Angela's presence called for unwonted
courtesy. Muttering, 'OK?' he threw himself down before receiving a reply and
pulled a glass towards him. 'Mind if I help myself?'

Angela pushed the
bottle over. It was half-empty. She had drunk one glass, Castlebar had taken
the rest.

Harriet had no
love for Jackman and she feared that Angela, used to Sporting Club circles,
would find both men unacceptable, but Angela was observing them with the
intent amusement of one who could afford to indulge the world. Harriet thought
of a story that Guy was fond of telling. Fitzgerald was supposed to have said
to Hemingway, The rich, they're different from us,' to which Hemingway
replied, 'Yes, they've got more money.' Guy saw this as a debunking of
Fitzgerald but Harriet felt that Fitzgerald showed more perception than Hemingway.
A person who grew up in the security of wealth was different It seemed to her
she saw this difference in the tolerant, even admiring, amusement with which
Angela watched the men lowering her whisky.

Castlebar said to
Jackman, 'Get your stuff away all right?'

'Yep.' Jackman,
pulling at his nose, sitting on the edge of his chair, looked directly at
Angela. 'Quite a story. The Vatican's come out in the open at last. The Pope's
given Hitler his blessing. Said the victims of Nazism asked for all they got. I
knew this would happen as soon as Russia came into the war.'

Harriet said,
'It's over a year since Russia came into the war.'

'These things
take time to leak through.'

'I can't believe
it.'

'You can't
believe it? That's how the crooks get away with
it People are too simple-minded to credit what's going on. I can
tell you this: the whole bloody dogfight is financed by the Vatican.'

Angela laughed.
'Both sides?'

'Yep, both
sides?"

Harriet asked,
'Where did you hear this?'

'I've got
m'sources. If you knew the financial shenanigans that went on before the war
between Krupps, Chamberlain, the Vatican and a certain British bank, nothing
would surprise you.'

'Which British
bank?' Angela spoke as one with a knowledge of international finance and
Jackman, sniffing and looking uneasily about, brought out the name of a bank
which was new to Harriet. Angela made no comment and Jackman, having silenced
the women, went on to describe the pre-war relationship between Allied and
Axis arms manufacturers and banks, describing a corruption so complex that
Harriet and Angela were lost in its machinations.