The Levant Trilogy (50 page)

Now that 8th Army had left Egypt, a slumberous
calm had come down on the capital: Cairo was no longer a base town. The soldiers
that had crowded the pavements, wandering aimlessly, disgruntled and idle for
lack of arms, had all been given guns and sent into the fight.

The British advance after Alamein had been
impressive but no one thought it would last. Everyone expected a counter-attack
that would bring the Afrika Korps back over the frontier. But this time the
counter-attack failed and by January, the Germans had retreated so far away,
they seemed to be lost in the desert sand.

The few British officers who still took tea in
Groppi's garden had an apologetic air, feeling they had been cast aside by the
runaway military machine.

It was a pleasant time of the year. Winter in
Egypt was no more than a temperate interval between one summer and the next. It
did not last long and there was no spring though a few deciduous trees that
dropped their leaves from habit were now breaking into bud again. They went
unnoticed in Garden City, lost as they were among the evergreens and palms and
the dense, glossy foliage of the mango trees. The evenings were limpid and in
the mornings a little mist hung like a delicate veil over the riverside walks.

The mid-days were warm enough to carry the
threat of heat to come. In the flat that Edwina Little shared with Dobson and
Guy Pringle, the rooms that looked on to the next-door garden were already
scented by the drying grass.

Dobson, who held an embassy lease, had a room in
the cool centre of the flat. The others, in the corridor under the roof, were
let to friends. Now only two friends remained. Guy Pringle's wife, Harriet,
had left Cairo to board an evacuation ship at Suez.

This ship, the
Queen
of
Sparta,
was bound for England by way of
the Cape. It had sailed a few days after Christmas and now, in January, there
was a rumour that she had been sunk in the Indian Ocean with the loss of-all
on board. Guy, when he heard it, refused to credit it. Rumours were the life of
Cairo and usually proved to be wrong. Dobson and Edwina, also suspicious of
rumours, agreed behind Guy's back that, until the sinking was confirmed, they
would not speak of it or commiserate with him.

He was glad of their silence that seemed to
prove the whole thing was a canard. He began to feel it was directed at him
because his wife had not wanted to be evacuated. He half suspected his friend
Jake Jackman, a noted source of rumours, who had been fond of Harriet and may
have resented her going.

Sitting with Jake at the Anglo-Egyptian Union,
he said as though to justify himself: 'You know, this climate was killing
Harriet. I doubt whether she would have survived another summer here.'

'Yep, she looked like a puff of wind,' Jake
agreed then, unable to resist his own malice, he sniggered and pulled at his
thin, aquiline nose: 'You know what they say: if you want to know a man's true
nature, look at the health of his wife.'

Guy was indignant: 'Who said that? I never heard
a more ridiculous statement.'

Jake, having delivered his shaft, was ready to
be conciliatory: 'You don't believe these rumours, do you? Leave them be and
they'll die of their own accord.'

But they did not die. People who had friends or
relatives on board the ship approached Guy and asked if he had any information.
Dobson received a letter from a diplomat in Iraq whose wife, Marion Dixon, had
sailed on the ship. He appealed to Dobson for news and at last the matter was
brought up at the breakfast table, the one place at which the three inmates of
the flat met and conversed.

Guy was the first to speak of it. He, too,
appealed to Dobson: 'You must have heard this about the
Queen
of
Sparta
being lost! If it's true,
surely you would have had official confirmation by now?'

'Yes, in normal times, but the times aren't
normal. The ship had passed out of our sphere of influence so we might not hear
for months.'

Edwina, eager to reassure Guy, said: 'Oh,
Dobbie, you would have heard by now. Of course you would!'

'Well, we
should
have heard by now, I agree.'

Dobson's tone suggested they might still hear
and Guy, disturbed, left the table and went to the Institute where, by keeping
himself employed, he could put his anxiety behind him.

After he had gone, Edwina said: 'You know,
Dobbie, Guy's not a bit like himself. You can see he's terribly worried but
trying to hide it. If Harriet is dead - of course I'm sure she isn't - I know
she'd want me to console him. I feel I should, don't you?'

Dobson, regarding her with an ironical smile,
asked: 'And how do you propose to do it?'

'Oh, there are ways. I could ask him to take me
out. He once took me to the Extase when he found me crying because Peter hadn't
turned up. He was really sweet.'

'And what did Harriet say about that?'

'I don't think she said anything. You know we
were great friends. I was thinking we might go to a dinner-dance at the Continental-Savoy.
I suppose Guy does dance?'

'I don't know. I've never heard of his dancing.'

'I'm sure he can. He's very clever, you know. I
sang in his troops' concert and he was wonderful. He said I sang like an
angel.'

'I hope, in the midst of this mutual admiration,
you won't forget he's married to Harriet.'

'Dobbie, how could you say that? I'll never
forget Harriet. But when you're doing a show together, a special relationship
grows up. That's what Guy and I have: a special relationship.'

Dobson laughed indulgently and Edwina remembered
another special relationship. 'You remember that nice boy Boulderstone who was
killed, the one I liked so much? What was he called?'

'I can't remember.'

'Well, now his brother's been wounded. He's in
hospital at Helwan and I've promised to go and see him. It's quite a journey,
so if I'm late this evening at the office, you'll understand, won't you, Dobbie
dear?'

Dobson laughed again and said: 'Don't worry.
We'll forgive you, as we always do, my dear.'

Edwina's appearance in Plegics caused a
wondering silence to come down on the men. Anyone who could move his neck, followed
her as she walked the length of the long ward to find Simon at the farther end.
She was wearing a suit of fine white wool and the heels of her white kid shoes
tapped on the wooden floor. The whiteness of her clothing enhanced the gold of
her hair and skin. Becoming aware of the intent gaze of the men, she shook her
hair back from her right eye and smiled, kindly but vaguely, from side to side.

Simon, as she approached, shared the wonder of
the ward. When she reached him and sat beside him, saying: 'How are you, Simon
dear?', he sank back against his pillows, benumbed, without power to reply.

She put some white carnations on the table then
leant towards him so he was enveloped both by the scent of the flowers and the
heavy scent she was wearing. He remembered that Hugo had ordered him to buy
perfume for her at an expensive little West-End shop:
Gardenia
perfume. For some moments its
aroma was more real than her presence. Though he had been expecting her, he
could only marvel that a creature so beautiful, so elegant, so far removed from
the desert suburb of Nissen huts and sand, should come to visit him.

Misunderstanding his silence, she asked in a
tone of concern: 'You haven't forgotten me, have you?'

'Forgotten you?' He gave a laugh that was nearly
a sob: 'How could I forget you? I've thought of no one else since I first saw
you.'

'Oh, Simon, really!' His vehemence disconcerted
her. That he was infatuated with her, did not surprise her, but she was not
quite the girl she had been at their last meeting. She, too, had been
infatuated, not with this poor boy but with a man, an Irish peer, who, having
pursued their affair in a carefree, generous manner, had ended it by telling
her he was already married. He had returned to the desert and she had lost not
only him, but some inner confidence. And all the time she had been yearning for
Peter Lisdoonvarna, this young lieutenant had been yearning for her! At the
thought, she smiled sadly and he asked anxiously: 'What's the matter, Edwina?
You aren't cross with me for saying that?'

'Cross? No, not a bit cross, but do you remember
that colonel, Lord Lisdoonvarna? He was in the flat when you came to tell us about
your brother's death.'

'You bet I do. Because of him, I got a liaison
job. He put my name up for it. Jolly decent of him, wasn't it?'

'I didn't know about that.'

Now, knowing, this act of kindness made her loss
seem the greater. Tears blurred her eyes and she said in a breaking voice: 'Oh,
Simon, you've no idea how he treated me. It was dreadful. I haven't got over
it.' She paused, shaking her head to control herself: 'He deserted me. Yes,
deserted. For months we went everywhere together. He simply appropriated me,
so I never had a chance to see anyone else. Then, would you believe it, he felt
he'd had enough and he wangled his return to his unit.'

'That's monstrous!' Simon stretched out his hand
and she put her hand into it. He had been outraged when he believed she had
rejected Hugo, and he was outraged now because Lisdoonvarna had rejected her.
He could only say, 'I am sorry,' but it was such heartfelt sorrow that Edwina
squeezed his hand.

'Dear Simon, what a comfort you are!' She looked
into his face that was so like his brother's face and, seeing in it the same
youth and sensitivity and absolute niceness, she was moved to something like
love for him. She said: 'Let's forget Peter. There are other men in the world,
aren't there? You're so sweet, you restore my faith in myself. I'd begun to
think no one would ever find me attractive again.'

'Good lord! Why, my brother Hugo said
...'

'Yes, Hugo,' Edwina seized on the name that had
been evading her: 'Hugo was wonderful. You know, he was the one for me. I was
just dazzled by Peter, that was all. He was a lord and a colonel and
...
well, I was silly, wasn't I?'

Simon felt there, was some confusion in this
protest but said: 'So you were Hugo's girl, after all?'

'Oh, yes, I was. Of course I was. And you know,
Simon, you're so like him. Your face, the way you speak, everything about you.
Just like Hugo.' She smiled encouragingly at him.

Though good-looking officers did not offer much
of a future, they were a lot of fun while they lasted.

Smiling back at her, Simon said: 'We used to be
mistaken for twins. My mother said that sometimes she couldn't tell us apart.'

'But how are you, Simon. You seem quite well.
There can't be much wrong with you. You weren't badly wounded, were you?'

'No, it's nothing much. I was hit by a piece of
flak. I'll soon be out and about, and I wonder! If I got hold of a car, would
you let me take you for a drive?'

'I'd love it.'

The word 'love' spoken by Edwina quite overthrew
him. He flushed as a thought came into his head, probably the most daring
thought of his whole life. If he seemed to her so like Hugo, might she not feel
for him as she had felt for his brother? After all, he was the survivor and the
survivor was, by right, the inheritor. As his blush deepened, he had to
explain that he was still running a temperature. Because it was winter, it did
not worry him much but in summer it would be tiresome.

Edwina, not taken in, responded to his hopeful,
aspiring gaze as she had responded to many other young men. She smiled a smile
that was enticing and slightly mischievous, and seemed to Simon full of
promise. He remembered that like Peter Lisdoonvarna, he was already married,
but what did that matter? He had been married for only a week before he was
sent to join the draft. Now that week had sunk so far out of sight, it might
never have existed.

They were still holding hands but Edwina felt
she could now loosen her fingers. As she did so, Simon gripped them tighter and
said, 'Don't leave me yet.'

'I'm afraid I must.' Laughing, she slid from his
grasp and picked up her gloves and handbag: 'I'm a working girl, you know. I
have to go back to the Embassy.'

'But you'll come again?'

'Of course I will.' She touched his cheek with
her finger-tips: 'Again and again and again. So, just for now: goodbye.'

Choked with gratitude for this promise, he could
scarcely say, 'Goodbye.'

Watching her as she walked away down the ward,
his mood changed. His exaltation had reached its apogee during her visit and as
she departed, his excitement went with her. He saw the men in wheel-chairs
shift to let her pass and for the first time, he identified himself with them.
He realized what sort of ward it was and why he was in it. Terror formed like a
knot in his chest and he moved restlessly against his pillows, in acute need of
reassurance.

For some time the only person who came near was
the orderly with his tea. Simon caught at his arm and tried to question him,
but the orderly only said: 'Don't ask me, sir. Afore I come to this kip, all
I'd ever done was shovel coal.'