“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“And fell madly in love.”
“Yes.”
“And intrigued and had a court official’s throat cut.”
“Yes.”
“And went to a cannibal banquet. Darling, I just don’t want to hear about it, d’you mind? I’m sure it’s all very fine and grand but it doesn’t make much sense to a stay-at-home like me.”
“That’s the way to deal with him,” said Alastair from his arm chair. “Keep a stopper on the far-flung stuff.”
“Or write a book about it, sweety. Then we can buy it and leave it about where you’ll see and then you’ll think we know…. What are you going to do now you’re back?”
“No plans. I think I’ve had enough of barbarism for a bit. I might stay in London or Berlin or somewhere like that.”
“That’ll be nice. Make it London. We’ll have some parties like the old ones.”
“D’you know I’m not sure I shouldn’t find them a bit flat after the real thing. I went to a party at a place called Moshu…”
“Basil. Once and for all, we don’t want to hear travel experiences. Do try and remember.”
So they played happy families till ten, when Alastair said, “Have we had dinner?” and Sonia said, “No. Let’s.” Then they went out to a new cocktail club which Alastair had heard was cheap, and had lager beer and liver sandwiches; they proved to be very expensive.
Later Basil went round to see Angela Lyne, and Sonia as she undressed said to Alastair, “D’you know, deep down in my heart I’ve got a tiny fear that Basil is going to turn serious on us too.”
Evening in Matodi. Two Arab gentlemen, hand in hand, sauntered by the sea wall.
Among the dhows and nondescript craft in the harbour lay two smart launches manned by British and French sailors, for Azania had lately been mandated by the League of Nations as a joint protec-torate.
“They are always at work polishing the brass.”
“It must be very expensive. And they are building a new customs house.”
“And a police station and a fever hospital, a European club.”
“There are many new bungalows on the hills.”
“They are making a big field to play games in.”
“Every week they wash the streets with water. They take the children in the schools and scratch their arms to rub in poison. It makes them very ill.”
“They put a man in prison for overburdening his camel.”
“There is a Frenchman in charge at the post of-fice. He is always hot and in a great hurry.”
“They are building a black road through the hills to Debra-Dowa. The railway is to be removed.”
“Mr. Youkoumian has bought the rails and what 306 was left of the engines. He hopes to sell them in Eritrea.”
“Things were better in the time of Seth. It is no longer a gentleman’s country.”
The muezzin in the tower turned north towards Mekka and called azan over the city. The Arabs paused reverently and stood in silence… God is great… There is no God but God…. Ma-homet is the apostle of God….
A two-seater car whizzed by, driven by Mr. Reppington, the district magistrate. Mrs. Reppington sat beside him.
“The little bus took that nicely.”
Angelus from the mission church… gratia plena: dominus tecum; Benedicta tu in mulie-ribus…
The car left the town and mounted towards the hills.
“Phew. It’s a relief to get out into the fresh air.”
“Awful road. It ought to be finished by now. I get quite afraid for her back axle.”
“I said we’d drop into the Brethertons for a sundowner.”
“Right you are. Only we can’t stay long. We’re dining with the Lepperidges.”
A mile above the town they stopped at the second of six identical bungalows. Each had a verandah and a garden path; a slotted box on the gate-post for calling cards. The Brethertons were on the verandah.
“Cheerio, Mrs. Reppington. Cocktail?”
“Please.”
“And you, Reppington?”
“Chota peg.”
Bretherton was sanitary inspector and conse-quently of slightly inferior station to Reppington, but that year he would sit for his Arabic exam; if he brought it off it would make them level on the salary list.
“What son of day?”
