They Came to Baghdad

others lent her books to read which she skimmed through and found tedious. She had, by now, left the Tio Hotel and had taken up her quarters with some other young women workers of various nationalities in a house on the west bank of the river. Amongst these young women was Catherine, and it seemed to Victoria that Catherine watched her with a suspicious eye, but whether this was because Catherine suspected her of being a spy on the activities of the Olive Branch or whether it was the more delicate matter of Edward’s affections, Victoria was unable to make up her mind. She rather fancied the latter. It was known that Edward had secured Victoria her job and several pairs of jealous dark eyes looked at her without undue affection.

The fact was, Victoria thought moodily, that Edward was far too attractive. All these girls had fallen for him, and Edward’s engaging friendly manner to one and all did nothing to help. By agreement between them, Victoria and Edward were to show no signs of special intimacy. If they were to find out anything worth finding out, they must not be suspected of working together. Edward’s manner to her was the same as to any of the other young women, with an added shade of coldness.

Though the Olive Branch itself seemed so innocuous Victoria had a distinct feeling that its head and founder was in a different category. Once or twice she was aware of Dr Rathbone’s dark thoughtful gaze resting upon her and though she countered it with her most innocent and kitten-like expression, she felt a sudden throb of something like fear.

Once, when she had been summoned to his presence (for explanation of a typing error), the matter went farther than a glance.

‘You are happy working with us, I hope?’ he asked.

‘Oh yes, indeed, sir,’ said Victoria, and added: ‘I’m sorry I make so many mistakes.’

‘We don’t mind mistakes. A soulless machine would be no use to us. We need youth, generosity of spirit, broadness of outlook.’

Victoria endeavoured to look eager and generous.

‘You must love the work…love the object for which you are working…look forward to the glorious future. Are you truly feeling all that, dear child?’

‘It’s all so new to me,’ said Victoria. ‘I don’t feel I have taken it all in yet.’

‘Get together – get together – young people everywhere must get together. That is the main thing. You enjoy your evenings of free discussion and comradeship?’

‘Oh! yes,’ said Victoria, who loathed them.

‘Agreement, not dissension – brotherhood, not hatred. Slowly and surely it is growing – you do feel that, don’t you?’

Victoria thought of the endless petty jealousies, the violent dislikes, the endless quarrels, hurt feelings, apologies demanded; and hardly knew what she was expected to say.

‘Sometimes,’ she said cautiously, ‘people are difficult.’

‘I know…I know…’ Dr Rathbone sighed. His noble domed forehead furrowed itself in perplexity. ‘What is this I hear of Michael Rakounian striking Isaac Nahoum and cutting his lip open?’

‘They were just having a little argument,’ said Victoria.

Dr Rathbone brooded mournfully.

‘Patience and faith,’ he murmured. ‘Patience and faith.’

Victoria murmured a dutiful assent and turned to leave. Then, remembering she had left her typescript, she came back again. The glance she caught in Dr Rathbone’s eye startled her a little. It was a keen suspicious glance, and she wondered uneasily just how closely she was being watched, and what Dr Rathbone really thought about her.

Her instructions from Mr Dakin were very precise. She was to obey certain rules for communicating with him if she had anything to report. He had given her an old faded pink handkerchief. If she had anything to report she was to walk, as she often did when the sun was setting along the river bank, near her hostel. There was a narrow path in front of the houses there for perhaps a quarter of a mile. In one place a big flight of steps led down to the water’s edge and boats were constantly being tied up there. There was a rusty nail in one of the wooden posts at the top. Here she was to affix a small piece of the pink handkerchief if she wanted to get into communication with Dakin. So far, Victoria reflected bitterly, there had been no need for anything of the sort. She was merely doing an ill-paid job in a slovenly fashion. Edward she saw at rare intervals, since he was always being sent to far-off places by Dr Rathbone. At the moment, he had just come back from Persia. During his absence, she had had one short and somewhat unsatisfactory interview with Dakin. Her instructions had been to go to the Tio Hotel and ask if she had left a cardigan behind. The answer having been in the negative, Marcus appeared and immediately swept her out on to the river bank for a drink. During the process Dakin had shambled in from the street and had been hailed by Marcus to join them, and presently, as Dakin supped lemonade, Marcus had been called away and the two of them sat there on opposite sides of the small painted table.

Rather apprehensively Victoria confessed her utter lack of success, but Dakin was indulgently reassuring.

‘My dear child, you don’t even know what you are looking for or even if there is anything to find. Taken by and large what is your considered opinion of the Olive Branch?’

‘It’s a thoroughly dim show,’ said Victoria slowly.

‘Dim, yes. But not bogus?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Victoria slowly. ‘People are so sold on the idea of culture if you know what I mean?’

‘You mean that where anything cultured is concerned, nobody examines bona fides in the way they would if it were a charitable or a financial proposition? That’s true. And you’ll find genuine enthusiasts there, I’ve no doubt. But is the organization being used?’

‘I think there’s a lot of Communist activity going on,’ said Victoria doubtfully. ‘Edward thinks so too – he’s making me read Karl Marx and leave it about just to see what reactions there will be.’

Dakin nodded.

‘Interesting. Any response so far?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘What about Rathbone? Is he genuine?’

‘I think really that he is –’ Victoria sounded doubtful.

‘He’s the one I worry about, you see,’ said Dakin. ‘Because he’s a big noise. Suppose there is a Communist plotting going on – students and young revolutionaries have very little chance of coming into contact with the President. Police measures will look after bombs thrown from the street. But Rathbone’s different. He’s one of the high-ups, a distinguished man with a fine record of public beneficence. He could come in close contact with the distinguished visitors. He probably will. I’d like to know about Rathbone.’

Yes, Victoria thought to herself, it all centred round Rathbone. On the first meeting in London, weeks ago, Edward’s vague remarks about the ‘fishiness’ of the show had had their origin in his employer. And there must, Victoria decided suddenly, have been some incident, some word, that had awakened Edward’s uneasiness. For that, in Victoria ’s belief, was how minds worked. Your vague doubt or distrust was never just a hunch – it was really always due to a cause. If Edward, now, could be made to think back, to remember; between them they might hit upon the fact or incident that had aroused his suspicions. In the same way, Victoria thought, she herself must try to think back to what it was that had so surprised her when she came out upon the balcony at the Tio and found Sir Rupert Crofton Lee sitting there in the sun. It was true that she had expected him to be at the Embassy and not at the Tio Hotel but that was not enough to account for the strong feeling she had had that his sitting there was quite impossible! She would go over and over the events of that morning, and Edward must be urged to go over and over his early association with Dr Rathbone. She would tell him so when next she got him alone. But to get Edward alone was not easy. To begin with he had been away in Persia and now that he was back, private communications at the Olive Branch were out of the question where the slogan of the last war (‘Les oreilles enemies vous йcoutent ’) might have been written up all over the walls. In the Armenian household where she was a paying guest, privacy was equally impossible. Really, thought Victoria to herself, for all I see of Edward, I might as well have stayed in England!

That this was not quite true was proved very shortly afterwards.

Edward came to her with some sheets of manuscripts and said:

‘Dr Rathbone would like this typed out at once, please, Victoria. Be especially careful of the