The Mule on the Minaret (47 page)

‘What's wrong with that?'

‘You'll see what's wrong when you see him. What time did you ask him for?'

‘Seven-thirty.'

‘Well, mind you are back by eight.'

‘That dangerous, is he?'

‘I suspect he is.'

‘Oh, very well then, eight.'

Eve shrugged. She had known that this was bound to happen some time. She was lucky it had not happened sooner. She took the Belorian file out of the cabinet.

For five months now he had been sending up a steady flow of information through the notional characters that Farrar and the
Prof. had created for him. The Germans had been satisfied with the information. There had been no need for him to come up to Turkey. But to maintain his
persona
he had to make an occasional appearance. She was surprised that Beirut had not warned them that he was on his way.

She looked down the passage. The light was green above Sedgwick's room. She tapped on the door. ‘Come in.' He looked up always as though he had all the time in the world to spare. ‘Ah, back so soon. What did they say about it across the street?'

‘Nothing. He read it and handed it back to me.'

‘No comment?'

‘No comment.'

‘What did you think of it?'

She had expected this question and was ready for it.

‘If we have time to spare, if we can afford to take a long view, then Baghdad is right.'

‘Do you think we can afford to take a long view.'

‘We're better able to now than we were a year ago.'

‘That's very true.'

He looked at her quizzically. Then smiled. ‘I don't really know what I should do without you, Eve. You bring everything down to earth.'

‘Am I to take that as a compliment?'

‘In this connection, yes.'

His eyes were twinkling. ‘How's Farrar going to feel?' he asked. ‘He isn't going to like it.'

‘That's what I'd say.' Sedgwick paused. ‘It's curious, isn't it, to think of those two working against each other? They were such a success together, as a team. They complemented one another. Why did they split?'

She did not reply. She had wondered that herself. ‘There must be some reason we don't know,' he said. ‘There always is. How did Farrar strike you?'

‘Someone you had to like.'

‘And the Prof.?'

‘Someone you couldn't not respect.'

‘That's hit it on the head, and the way things are now . . . of course, we don't know how Cairo'll feel: the decision lies in their hands. But I've a suspicion that they'll back the Prof. Is Farrar the man to bear a grudge?'

‘Not where the Prof.'s concerned. Not anywhere, I'd say, as far as that goes.'

‘Yet he's someone, isn't he, who might if pressed do something flighty, so as to show the rest of us where we all get off, for the hell of it.'

‘He might, indeed.'

‘That's what I was thinking.' He paused. He looked at her, then smiled. ‘I really don't know what I'd do without you. I can think aloud to you. Some man's going to know himself to be very lucky some day.'

It was her dismissal and she knew it, but she had not finished yet. ‘Alexis Belorian's in town,' she said. ‘So I have been informed.'

‘But his visit isn't on the files.'

‘There are files within files, you know.'

He pointed to a small grey cabinet in the corner. ‘It holds quite a lot,' he said.

She had seen that cabinet every time that she had come into his room, but she had never given it attention. It had never occurred to her that he had files that she had not seen; it sent a little shiver along her nerves. How much did he know that she did not know he knew; how much did he know that she did not know herself? She felt herself on shifting ground; not only herself but Aziz.

‘Alexis Belorian is coming round to have a drink with me tonight,' she said.

‘I think you would be justified in charging that against expenses.'

‘There's no reason why I shouldn't see him, is there?'

‘None at all. It would only make him suspicious if you avoided him. Where did you meet him, by the way?'

‘At an afternoon party in Beirut.'

‘Of course, yes. I remember. He met Aziz that day. And you've not seen him since?'

‘Once only, here, for a few minutes.'

‘You weren't, were you, with Aziz by any chance?'

‘As a matter of fact, I was.'

‘Ah, you were.'

‘It doesn't matter, does it?'

‘Of course not, no. Just something that occurred to me, that's all.'

Once again, she had the sense of the ground shifting under her. Yes, she had better get out of here in October.

She had half a bottle of whisky in her flat, but she was not going to waste that on Alexis. Vodka was good enough for him.

‘I hope that you are going to like this.' she said. ‘The only thing I can guarantee is that it's not harmful. I made it myself.'

‘Made it yourself.'

‘Of course, didn't you know that? We live on the starvation fringe. We do and make do. It isn't difficult. Filtering's the only problem. You put a wad of cotton-wool at the bottom of the funnel. Let the Vodka seep through drop by drop and don't use glycerine. It spoils the taste.'

‘Good. I'll remember that. Not to use glycerine.'

There was a twinkle in his eye. He was not unattractive. She could recognize that; he was flamboyant: he almost had elegance: almost but not quite. His clothes did not look quite new. Though his shoes shone, they had the wrinkles of a year's use at least, and though his collar and his cuffs looked as though he had put on a clean shirt that evening, they did not glisten with starch. He was plump, he would probably be fat at forty and obese at fifty, but his weight gave him a look of health and of well being. Most women would consider him attractive; but his assurance irritated her. She was conscious of a definite recoil. He probably was aware of it, which might be the core of her attraction for him. She was a challenge. He wanted to break down that barrier.

‘Have you seen anything of that Lebanese friend of yours?' he asked.

‘What Lebanese friend?'

‘The one I saw you with here.'

‘Aziz?'

‘Yes, that's his name, I think. Does he come up here often?'

‘Not very often. He's at the A.U.B.'

‘That's what I heard. Not very bright, I gather.'

‘Isn't he? I wouldn't know.'

‘I thought you saw him quite a lot.'

‘Only now and then. He cares for music; he likes to play my records. Do you ever see him in Beirut?'

‘Never. We move in very different worlds.'

‘You seemed to be moving in the same world the time I met you.'

'At my cousin, Annabelle's? I've never quite understood what he was doing there. Nor has she.'

There was the click of a lock outside. Kitty. Thank heaven she had kept her promise. ‘This'll be my room mate, Kitty Lang. It was she who talked to you on the telephone.'

‘So that explained it. I was wondering . . .' He did not finish his sentence. He had risen to his feet as the door opened. He checked at the sight of Kitty; he stood, gaping. His eyes wide and his mouth half open. Kitty had checked too, astonished by her effect on him. They stared at one another. Eve looked at him. Then looked at Kitty. ‘This lets me out,' she thought.

He recovered himself quickly, with his charms in full deployment. ‘Now this is a surprise. And what a delightful one. When I heard your voice, I thought: “Now that must belong to a very charming person.” Voices can be deceptive. A woman of fifty can have a very lovely voice. Yet somehow I felt it was a young voice that I was hearing. I wanted to find out who you were. I was planning to ask Miss Parish. Of course, voices can be deceptive in another way. A pretty voice doesn't necessarily mean a pretty face. Though if a woman has an attractive voice, she almost certainly has an attractive nature. If she hadn't an attractive nature, it would betray itself in her voice. There'd be a disagreeable undertone. So I was pretty certain that I should want to meet you; but how could I have guessed that your face would match your voice, that... it takes my breath away.'

Kitty laughed. ‘It doesn't seem to have.'

Inwardly Eve chuckled. Most certainly this let her out. ‘And now I see why I thought that Miss Parish worked with the British Council. It was a flat that you two were sharing; I thought it was an office.'

‘Oh, no,' Kitty said. ‘Eve's one of our hush-hush girls.'

‘She is?'

‘She tells everyone she is in the Foreign Office. A very funny Foreign Office I should say. I've no idea what she does, or whom she does it with. But she certainly gets a lot of perquisites that we don't get at the Council. That's why I bothered to come back early. I felt sure she'd have brought out her Dimple Haig.'

‘I'm afraid that Mr. Belorian isn't one of the friends that I can enter on an expense account.'

‘I on the other hand can put you down,' he said. ‘I have to know about local trade conditions. You can tell me a great deal I didn't
know. You already have, about filtering Vodka. I might have guessed about the wad of cotton-wool at the bottom of the funnel. But avoiding glycerine, no, that I'd not have thought of. It'll look very well in my report. It'll show them that I'm
au fait
with the local market. I can give us a good dinner on the strength of that. Where shall we go? Abdullah's? That's got the best food. But we might want music. Rejans? Why not. We might like to dance. It's only one man between two ladies, but I assure you that I shall be equal to my responsibilities.'

‘You needn't worry about me,' said Eve. ‘I couldn't have come out anyhow. But I've an idea that Kitty's free tonight.'

The alacrity with which Kitty accepted proved that she would have made herself free if she had not been.

Next morning, Kitty's bedroom door was still ajar. Eve pushed it open. The bed had not been slept in. On her return that evening, she recognized from the lack of bottles in the bathroom that Kitty had returned for a hurried packing. Next morning, she rang up Kitty at her office. ‘When are you coming up for air?' she asked.

‘He's leaving Tuesday morning.'

‘Then I'll be seeing you that night?'

‘And mind there's some whisky in that bottle. I shall need a stiff one.'

Kitty invariably returned bright eyed from a romance. On this occasion she was radiant. ‘I've never seen you look so good,' said Eve.

‘I've never felt so good.'

‘I can't wait to hear all about it.'

‘I can't wait to tell you. Have you got that whisky?'

‘I've got Dimple Haig.'

‘Bless you, that's heaven. My, but he was wonderful.'

‘He's a quick worker seemingly.'

‘And I wasn't dilatory. What's the point? Why be coy? They say that a man doesn't respect you if you go to bed on your first date. Why should I want to be respected, anyhow by an Armenian? If it had been an Englishman or an American that I had an idea of marrying, it might have been different: though I guess it wouldn't, me being what I am. Why waste time? Particularly with Alexis.'

‘Where was he so special?'

‘That's what I'm coming to; it was the first I'd been with . . . well, I suppose you'd call an Armenian an Oriental, wouldn't you?'

‘He might not like being called that.'

‘What does he think he is?'

‘A Levantine.'

‘That's the same thing almost. Let it pass. Anyhow, I'd always heard that Egyptians liked their women plump. You remember those dancers at the Bardia cabaret. Nobody would call me thin. No, don't say that I'm just right. I'm not. I've five pounds too much, at least. Some day I'll have to do something about it. I'm always a little shy about that with a man. I'm afraid that he'll be disappointed in me. I've never told you this before. Somehow I couldn't, then. I'd have been ashamed. One's Achilles,' heel you know. And I've developed my own technique, in self defence. I've heard women say that the preliminaries are the best part of all. And I can see that it is so for most women; not for me. I'm always afraid that the man's going to be disappointed. The first time anyhow; so I cut the preliminaries down; no long, garment by garment, tussle: straight to the battle; when it's once begun, and he's having a good time, and I make damn sure he's having one, he won't be noticing whether I'm five pounds overweight; he'll have too much else on his mind; besides, it'll be my face he's looking at; most of the time anyhow, and no one's complained about my face. That's my secret. Get started fast and make it last for ever; that's how I was planning to have it work with him. But was Alexis letting me?'

She was lolled back in the chair, her legs stretched out, her eyes half closed; a dreamy reminiscent expression on her face. She took a long, slow sip at her whisky; shook herself as though she were coming out of a doze. ‘That's how I'd meant to play it. Did I get a chance; hell, I didn't. He liked me just the way I was; he couldn't have too much of me. Preliminaries. I thought they'd never finish; the way he gloated over me, over every inch of me. It drove me mad. His hands, did you notice his hands? No, of course you didn't; they're short, pudgy hands, very soft. You'd think he'd never done a thing with them; those fingers, the way they kneaded me; that's the word, kneaded. He made me feel as though I were Cleopatra, an object of idolatry. You know how it is to have someone crazy about the very thing that you're uncertain of yourself; a society beauty wants to be complimented on her conversation, a blue stocking on her eyes; to have someone crazy about my figure; nobody's been crazy about me for that before. And it wasn't as though he didn't like the rest, my God it wasn't.