Victoria, with a sigh, inserted a sheet of paper in her typewriter and started off in her usual dashing style. Dr Rathbone’s handwriting was not particularly difficult to read and Victoria was just congratulating herself that she had made less mistakes than usual. She laid the top sheet aside and proceeded to the next – and at once realized the meaning of Edward’s injunction to be careful of the second page. A tiny note in Edward’s handwriting was pinned to the top of it.
The following day was Friday, the weekly holiday. Victoria ’s spirits rose mercurially. She would wear her jade-green pullover. She ought really to get her hair shampooed. The amenities of the house where she lived made it difficult to wash it herself. ‘And it really needs it,’ she murmured aloud.
‘What did you say?’ Catherine, at work on a pile of circulars and envelopes, raised her head suspiciously from the next table.
Victoria quickly crumpled up Edward’s note in her hand as she said lightly:
‘My hair wants washing. Most of these hairdressing places look so frightfully dirty, I don’t know where to go.’
‘Yes, they are dirty and expensive too. But I know a girl who washes hair very well and the towels are clean. I will take you there.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Catherine,’ said Victoria.
‘We will go tomorrow. It is holiday.’
‘Not tomorrow,’ said Victoria.
‘Why not tomorrow?’
A suspicious stare was bent upon her. Victoria felt her usual annoyance and dislike of Catherine rising.
‘I’d rather go for a walk – get some air. One is so cooped up here.’
‘Where can you walk? There is nowhere to walk in Baghdad.’
‘I shall find somewhere,’ said Victoria.
‘It would be better to go to the cinema. Or is there an interesting lecture?’
‘No, I want to get out. In England we like going for walks.’
‘Because you are English, you are so proud and stuck up. What does it mean to be English? Next to nothing. Here we spit upon the English.’
‘If you start spitting on me you may get a surprise,’ said Victoria, wondering as usual at the ease with which angry passions seemed to rise at the Olive Branch.
‘What would you do?’
‘Try and see.’
‘Why do you read Karl Marx? You cannot understand it. You are much too stupid. Do you think they would ever accept you as a member of the Communist Party? You are not well enough educated politically.’
‘Why shouldn’t I read it? It was meant for people like me – workers.’
‘You are not a worker. You are bourgeoise. You cannot even type properly. Look at the mistakes you make.’
‘Some of the cleverest people can’t spell,’ said Victoria with dignity. ‘And how can I work when you keep talking to me?’
She rattled off a line at break-neck speed – and was then somewhat chagrined to find that as a result of unwittingly depressing the shift key, she had written a line of exclamation marks, figures and brackets. Removing the sheet from the machine she replaced it with another and applied herself diligently until, her task finished, she took the result in to Dr Rathbone.
Glancing over it and murmuring, ‘ Shiraz is in
Then as she was leaving the room he called her back.
‘ Victoria, are you happy here?’
‘Oh yes, Dr Rathbone.’
The dark eyes under the massive brows were very searching. She felt uneasiness rising.
‘I’m afraid we do not pay you very much.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Victoria. ‘I like to work.’
‘Do you really?
‘Oh yes,’ said Victoria. ‘One feels,’ she added, ‘that this sort of thing is really worthwhile.’
Her limpid gaze met the dark searching eyes and did not falter.
‘And you manage – to live?’
‘Oh yes – I’ve found quite a good cheap place – with some Armenians. I’m quite all right.’
‘There is a shortage at present of shorthand typists in Baghdad,’ said Dr Rathbone. ‘I think, you know, that I could get you a better position than the one you have here.’
‘But I don’t want any other position.’
‘You might be
‘Wise?’ Victoria faltered a little.
‘That is what I said. Just a word of warning – of advice.’
There was something faintly menacing now in his tone.
Victoria opened her eyes still wider.
‘I really don’t understand, Dr Rathbone,’ she said.
‘Sometimes it is wiser not to mix oneself up in things one does not understand.’
She felt quite sure of the menace this time, but she continued to stare in kitten-eyed innocence.
‘Why did you come and work here, Victoria? Because of Edward?’
Victoria flushed angrily.
‘Of course not,’ she said indignantly. She was much annoyed.
Dr Rathbone nodded his head.
‘Edward has his way to make. It will be many many years before he is in a position to be of any use to you. I should give up thinking of Edward if I were you. And, as I say, there are good positions to be obtained at present, with a good salary and prospects – and which will bring you amongst your own kind.’
He was still watching her, Victoria thought, very closely. Was this a test? She said with an affectation of eagerness:
‘But I really am very keen on the Olive Branch, Dr Rathbone.’
He shrugged his shoulders then and she left him, but she could feel his eyes in the centre of her spine as she left the room.
She was somewhat disturbed by the interview. Had something occurred to arouse his suspicions? Did he guess that she might be a spy placed in the Olive Branch to find out its secrets? His voice and manner had made her feel unpleasantly afraid. His suggestion that she had come there to be near Edward had made her angry at the time and she had vigorously denied it, but she realized now that it was infinitely safer that Dr Rathbone should suppose her to have come to the Olive Branch for Edward’s sake than to have even an inkling that Mr Dakin had been instrumental in the matter. Anyway, owing to her idiotic blush, Rathbone probably
Nevertheless she went to sleep that night with an unpleasant little clutch of fear at her heart.
Chapter 17
