They Came to Baghdad

Clipp:

‘I’m joining my uncle, Dr Pauncefoot Jones.’

‘Oh, so that’s who you are.’ Mrs Cardew Trench was clearly delighted at having ‘placed’ Victoria. ‘He’s a charming little man, though a bit absent-minded – still I suppose that’s only to be expected. Heard him lecture last year in London – excellent delivery – couldn’t understand a word of what it was all about, though. Yes, he passed through Baghdad about a fortnight ago. I think he mentioned some girls were coming out later in the season.’

Hurriedly, having established her status, Victoria chipped in with a question.

‘Do you know if Dr Rathbone is out here?’ she asked.

‘Just come out,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘I believe they’ve asked him to give a lecture at the Institute next Thursday. On “World Relationships and Brotherhood” – or something like that. All nonsense if you ask me. The more you try to get people together, the more suspicious they get of each other. All this poetry and music and translating Shakespeare and Wordsworth into Arabic and Chinese and Hindustani. “A primrose by the river’s brim,” etc…what’s the good of that to people who’ve never seen a primrose?’

‘Where is he staying, do you know?’

‘At the Babylonian Palace Hotel, I believe. But his headquarters are up near the Museum. The Olive Branch – ridiculous name. Full of young women in slacks with unwashed necks and spectacles.’

‘I know his secretary slightly,’ said Victoria.

‘Oh yes, whatshisname Edward Thingummy – nice boy – too good for that long-haired racket – did well in the war, I hear. Still a job’s a job, I suppose. Nice-looking boy – those earnest young women are quite fluttered by him, I fancy.’

A pang of devastating jealousy pierced Victoria.

‘The Olive Branch,’ she said. ‘Where did you say it was?’

‘Up past the turning to the second bridge. One of the turnings off Rashid Street – tucked away rather. Not far from the Copper Bazaar.’

‘And how’s Mrs Pauncefoot Jones?’ continued Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘Coming out soon? I hear she’s been in poor health?’

But having got the information she wanted, Victoria was taking no more risks in invention. She glanced at her wrist-watch and uttered an exclamation.

‘Oh dear – I promised to wake Mrs Clipp at half-past six and help her to prepare for the journey. I must fly.’

The excuse was true enough, though Victoria had substituted half-past six for seven o’clock. She hurried upstairs quite exhilarated. Tomorrow she would get in touch with Edward at the Olive Branch. Earnest young women with unwashed necks, indeed! They sounded most unattractive…Still, Victoria reflected uneasily that men are less critical of dingy necks than middle-aged hygienic Englishwomen are – especially if the owners of the said necks were gazing with large eyes of admiration and adoration at the male subject in question.

The evening passed rapidly. Victoria had an early meal in the dining-room with Mrs Hamilton Clipp, the latter talking nineteen to the dozen on every subject under the sun. She urged Victoria to come and pay a visit later – and Victoria noted down the address carefully, because, after all, one never knew…She accompanied Mrs Clipp to Baghdad North Station, saw her safely ensconced in her compartment and was introduced to an acquaintance also travelling to Kirkuk who would assist Mrs Clipp with her toilet on the following morning.

The engine uttered loud melancholy screams like a soul in distress, Mrs Clipp thrust a thick envelope into Victoria ’s hand, said: ‘Just a little remembrance, Miss Jones, of our very pleasant companionship which I hope you will accept with my most grateful thanks.’

Victoria said: ‘But it’s really too kind of you, Mrs Clipp,’ in a delighted voice, the engine gave a fourth and final supreme banshee wail of anguish and the train pulled slowly out of the station.

Victoria took a taxi from the station back to the hotel since she had not the faintest idea how to get back to it any other way and there did not seem any one about whom she could ask.

On her return to the Tio, she ran up to her room and eagerly opened the envelope. Inside were a couple of pairs of nylon stockings.

Victoria at any other moment would have been enchanted – nylon stockings having been usually beyond the reach of her purse. At the moment, however, hard cash was what she had been hoping for. Mrs Clipp, however had been far too delicate to think of giving her a five-dinar note. Victoria wished heartily that she had not been quite so delicate.

However, tomorrow there would be Edward. Victoria undressed, got into bed and in five minutes was fast asleep, dreaming that she was waiting at an aerodrome for Edward, but that he was held back from joining her by a spectacled girl who clasped him firmly round the neck while the aeroplane began slowly to move away…

Chapter 11

Victoria awoke to a morning of vivid sunshine. Having dressed, she went out on to the wide balcony outside her window. Sitting in a chair a little way along with his back to her was a man with curling grey hair growing down on to a muscular red brown neck. When the man turned his head sideways Victoria recognized, with a distinct feeling of surprise, Sir Rupert Crofton Lee. Why she should be so surprised she could hardly have said. Perhaps because she had assumed as a matter of course that a VIP such as Sir Rupert would have been staying at the Embassy and not at a hotel. Nevertheless there he was, staring at the Tigris with a kind of concentrated intensity. She noticed, even, that he had a pair of field-glasses slung over the side of his chair. Possibly, she thought, he studied birds.

A young man whom Victoria had at one time thought attractive had been a bird enthusiast, and she had accompanied him on several week-end tramps, to be made to stand as though paralysed in wet woods and icy winds, for what seemed like hours, to be at last told in tones of ecstasy to look through the glasses at some drab- looking bird on a remote twig which in appearance as far as Victoria could see, compared unfavourably in bird appeal with a common robin or chaffinch.

Victoria made her way downstairs, encountering Marcus Tio on the terrace between the two buildings of the hotel.

‘I see you’ve got Sir Rupert Crofton Lee staying here,’ she said.

‘Oh yes,’ said Marcus, beaming, ‘he is a nice man – a very nice man.’

‘Do you know him well?’

‘No, this is the first time I see him. Mr Shrivenham of the British Embassy bring him here last night. Mr Shrivenham, he is very nice man, too. I know him very well.’

Proceeding in to breakfast Victoria wondered if there was any one whom Marcus would not consider a very nice man. He appeared to exercise a wide charity.

After breakfast, Victoria started forth in search of the Olive Branch.

A London-bred Cockney, she had no idea of the difficulties involved in finding any particular place in a city such as Baghdad until she had started on her quest.

Coming across Marcus again on her way out, she asked him to direct her to the Museum.

‘It is a very nice museum,’ said Marcus, beaming. ‘Yes. Full of interesting, very very old things. Not that I have been there myself. But I have friends, archaeological friends, who stay here always when they come through Baghdad. Mr Baker – Mr Richard Baker, you know him? And Professor Kalzman? And Dr Pauncefoot Jones – and Mr and Mrs McIntyre – they all come to the Tio. They are my friends. And they tell me about what is in the Museum. Very very interesting.’

‘Where is it, and how do I get there?’

‘You go straight along Rashid Street – a long way – past the turn to the Feisal Bridge and past Bank Street – you know Bank Street?’

‘I don’t know anything,’ said Victoria.