soldiers they were probably lonely and sex-starved in a foreign country. Sonja was undeniably a very desirable woman-to look at, anyway-and the average English officer was not well armored against the wiles of an Oriental seductress.
And anyway, if he was unlucky enough to pick an aide smart enough to resist temptation, he would have to drop the man and look for another. He hoped it would not take that long.
In fact it took him five more minutes.
The major who walked in was a small man, very thin, and about ten years older than Wolff. His cheeks had the broken veins of a bard drinker. He had bulbous blue eyes, and his thin sandy hair was plastered to his head. Every day be left GHQ at midday and walked to an unmarked building in the Shari Suleiman Pasha-carrying his briefcase.
Wolff's heart missed a beat.
The major came up to the bar, took off his cap, and said: 'Ezma! Scotch. No ice. Make it snappy.' He turned to Wolff. 'Bloody weather,' he said conversationally.
'Isn't it always, sir?' Wolff said.
'Bloody right. I'm Smith, GHQ.'
'How do you do, sir,' Wolff said. He knew that, since Smith went from GHQ to another building every day, the major could not really be at GHQ; and he wondered briefly why the man should lie about it. He put the thought aside for the moment and said:
'I'm Slavenburg, BTE.'
'Jolly good. Get you another?'
It was proving even easier than he had expected to get into conversation with an officer. 'Very kind of you, sir,' Wolff said.
'Ease up on the sirs. No bull in the bar, what?'
'Of course.' Another error.
'What'll it be?'
'Whiskey and water, please.'
'Shouldn't take water with it if I were you. Comes straight out of the Nile, they say.'
Wolff smiled. 'I must he used to it.'
'No gippy tummy? You must be the only white man in Egypt who hasn't got it.'
'Born in Africa, been in Cairo ten years.' Wolff was slip~-ping into Smith's abbreviated style of speech. I should have been an actor, he thought.
Smith said: 'Africa, eh? I thought you had a bit of an accent.'
'Dutch father, English mother. We've got a ranch in South Africa.' Smith looked solicitous. 'It's rough for your father, with Jerry all over Holland.'
Wolff had not thought of that. 'He died when I was a boy,' he said.
'Bad show.' Smith emptied his glass.
'Same again?' Wolff offered.
'Thanks.'
Wolff ordered more drinks. Smith offered him a cigarette: Wolff refused.
Smith complained about the poor food, the way bars kept running out of drinks, the rent of his flat and the rudeness of Arab waiters. Wolff itched to explain that the food was poor because Smith insisted on English rather than Egyptian dishes, that drinks were scarce because of the European war, that rents were sky-high because of the thousands of foreigners like Smith who had invaded the city, and that the waiters were rude to him because he was too lazy or arrogant to learn a few phrases of courtesy in their language. Instead of explaining he bit his tongue and nodded as if he sympathized. In the middle of this catalogue of discontent Wolff looked past Smith's shoulder and saw six military policemen enter the bar.
Smith noticed his change of expression and said: 'What's the matter-seen a ghost?'
There was an army MP, a navy MP in white leggings, an Australian, a New Zealander, a South African and a turbaned Gurkha. Wolff had a crazy urge to run for it. What would they ask him? What would he say? Smith looked around, saw the MPs and said: 'The usual nightly picket-looking for drunken officers and German spies. This is an officers' bar, they won't disturb us. What's the matter-you breaking bounds or something?'
'No, no.' Wolff improvised hastily: 'The navy man looks just like a chap I knew who got killed at Halfaya.' He continued to stare at the picket. They appeared very businesslike with their steel hats and holstered pistols. Would they ask to see papers?
Smith had forgotten them. He was saying: 'And as for the servants . . . Bloody people. I'm bloody sure my man's been watering the gin. I'll find him out though. I've filled an empty gin bottle with zibi-you know, that stuff that turns cloudy when you add water? Wait till he tries to dilute that. He'll have to buy a whole new bottle and pretend nothing happened. Ha ha! Serve him right.'
The officer in charge of the picket walked over to the colonel who had told Wolff to take off his hat. 'Everything in order, sir?' the MP said. 'Nothing untoward,' the colonel replied.
'What's the matter with you?' Smith said to Wolff. 'I say, you are entitled to those pips, aren't you?'
'Of course,' Wolff said. A drop of perspiration ran into his eyes, and he wiped it away with a too-rapid gesture.
'No offense intended,' Smith said. 'But, you know, Shepheard's being off limits to Other Ranks, it's not
