The Sword of Fate (8 page)

“I knew that already. She’s hitched up to some Italian fellow in the Legation here, isn’t she?”

“Yes, although I don’t know how that goes with her people. You see, the old boy is terrifically pro-British. He’s one of the biggest shipping men in Alex. We charter all his ships these days and he has a lot to do with our Naval authorities. As the Italians are pro-Hitler I shouldn’t think the old chap takes a particularly good view of his prospective son-in-law.”

“I see. How about the mother?”

“Oh, she’s just a great fat stooge. The old man subscribes very handsomely to all the pro-British charities, so it’s as a tactful compliment rather than for her usefulness that his wife is asked to sit on the committees.”

The fact that the Diamopholi
père et mère
were such keen supporters of the British cause seemed to augur well for their reception of an English officer, and on the following day I could hardly contain my impatience until the time came to set out for the Red Cross fête.

It was a much bigger affair than I had visualised and was being held by special permission in the grounds of the Royal Palace. On the outbreak of war Egypt had declared her intention of carrying out all her treaty obligations, and although she had not actually declared war on Germany, the greater part of the Egyptian officials and population were taking every opportunity such as this to demonstrate their sympathy for Britain. King Farouk and Queen Farida had graciously consented to open the show, and it was certain that all official Alexandria apart from the pro-Nazi members of the Diplomatic Corps would be there.

I arrived so early that the helpers had not completed the dressing of their stalls, but that was all to the good, as Barbara was able to take me along before the crowd arrived to the flower stall, which was being run by Madame Diamopholus and two other ladies.

She handled the situation beautifully. Sailing up to a large dark woman of portly dimensions, she said:

“Oh, Mrs. Diamopholus, may I introduce Mr. Julian Day? He has kindly offered to help, and as we’re full up already, Mother suggested that I should bring him over to you.” Upon which, with a swift smile, she abandoned me, having not only given me the
introduction that I had asked for but planted me upon Madame Diamopholus for the afternoon.

Out of the corner of my eye I had already caught sight of Daphnis. She was looking a positive dream in a very light summery frock and an enormous picture hat which set off her dark beauty to perfection, but she was standing on the other side of the stall, and I felt certain that she had not yet seen me.

Madame and I smiled politely at each other, and she murmured something about how kind it was of me to offer to help, but seemed quite at a loss to suggest anything that I could do. I had no intention of being passed on with her compliments to another stall, so I said quickly:

“I see you have some trays of buttonholes to be carried about for sale among the crowd. I’m afraid I can’t carry a tray myself because I’m in uniform, but I could accompany anybody who has one and sell from it to the ladies. I’ve often helped my mother with bazaars at home and I know from experience that at shows like this the women will always buy much more readily from a man.”

My mother had died long before I was old enough to help her at bazaars, but the mention of her was well calculated to strike the right note with Madame Diamopholus, and beaming upon me she did exactly as I had hoped she might. Daphnis was already carrying such a tray as I had mentioned. Her mother promptly called her.

When she saw me Daphnis went as white as a sheet. For a second I thought she was going to faint, but fortunately her mother hardly glanced at her before turning back to me while burbling:

“My dear, thees gentleman will ’elp you to sell from ze tray. ’E is Mr….”

“Day,” I supplied. “Julian Day.”

She beamed again:

“Mos’ kind of you to ’elp, Mr. Day. Thees ees my daughter, yes. I ’ope you make much money for ze Fund.”

I did not dare to take Daphnis’ arm to lead her away, but I hustled her out of earshot as quickly as I decently could, and without a word led her through the back of the refreshment marquee, where it was cool, semi-dark and there were a number of chairs. With a little gasp she plumped down on one as though her legs had been just about to give way.

“That’s better,” I said quietly. “Would you like a drink?”

She shook her head, so I went on:

“All right, then. Take it easy for a few minutes. I’m sorry if I gave you a shock.”

“To see you here was the last thing I expected,” she murmured.

“That’s just how I felt when Alcis told me that you were engaged to be married.”

“So Alcis told you. I guessed as much,” she said with sudden bitterness.

“Are you implying that you had intended to keep it secret?”

She looked up suddenly, her eyes defiant.

“What has my engagement to do with you? For all I know you’re engaged yourself to some girl in England. You wouldn’t want to marry a Greek, and in any case my parents certainly wouldn’t let me marry you, so marriages and engagements have nothing whatever to do with it, and if Alcis hadn’t been a spiteful little fool she would have kept her mouth shut.”

This short tirade presented an entirely new viewpoint to me. It seemed that, having decided in her own mind that there could be no question of marriage between us, Daphnis felt that fact absolved her from letting me know anything about her engagement, and in the meantime she regarded it as entirely her own affair if she cared to deceive her fiancé to the extent of entering upon a secret romance with me.

Before I could speak she went on:

“I suppose that’s the reason that you didn’t come back later; or was it that Alcis never gave you my message that I’d come down myself and let you in at half past one?”

“She never told me,” I muttered, “but perhaps that was my fault, as I left her pretty abruptly. You—you really wanted to see me after all, then?”

“Of course I did!” she exclaimed half-petulantly, tears starting to her eyes.

“But what about Paolo?” I asked. “Where does he come in?”

“He doesn’t come in—at least not as far as you’re concerned.”

“But, hang it all, you are engaged to him, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but because one’s engaged to someone it doesn’t follow that one is in love with him.”

At last a little light began to dawn in my bemused brain. I had been regarding this engagement all along as one would in England, where it is usual to assume in the case of young people that engaged couples are in love with each other; but in many foreign countries the old system of marriage by arrangement still goes on. Doubtless this Italian diplomat was an excellent
parti
, and Daphnis’ family had fixed up the match without even
consulting her. With her upbringing it would be natural for her to accept such a situation and be perfectly prepared to go through with it. But she was not in love with her fiancé at all, and the inference was that she was in love with me.

“If—if you don’t love him,” I stammered, “do you—could you …?”

She began to shake her head violently. “I didn’t ask you to come and make love to me, but you did and I liked you. Then you made me utterly miserable, going away like that. I hate you! I hate you!”

It was only with the exercise of the strongest control that I was able to refrain from seizing Daphnis and crushing her to me, flower-tray and all, but even in the semi-darkness of the marquee I dared not risk so much as to touch her hand unless it appeared as though it were done by accident, since people were constantly passing. The fact that she had been miserable on my account showed that she
did
love me and the happiness of knowing that was so great that, for a moment or two, I stood there absolutely tongue-tied. Suddenly she spoke again:

“You hadn’t even the decency to come riding on the beach next morning so that you could say good-bye to me.”

The reproach both amazed and shook me. In all those days and nights of going over the affair in my own mind it had never once occurred to me that if, instead of getting tight and sleeping late, I had gone out riding on the last morning of my leave, I could have met Daphnis and have at least obtained from her some sort of explanation about her engagement. Risking that someone who knew her might catch sight of us, I seized one of her hands for a moment and pressed it as I whispered:

“Daphnis, I’ve behaved like the most utter fool, but I adore you and things are going to be all right from now on.”

For a moment we gazed deep into each other’s eyes, and from the tenderness in hers I knew that I was forgiven. Paolo was forgotten. The only thing that mattered was that all was well between us. I knew that I must keep my head, though, and play my cards well for both our sakes, so I said:

“We mustn’t stay here any longer, otherwise your mother will start to wonder what’s become of us. Let’s go out and sell some of your flowers. We can talk again later.”

Outside in the strong sunshine the gardens of the Palace were beginning to fill rapidly with a colourful throng. Smart European women in bright silks, chiffon and lace, mostly escorted by British Naval, Army and Air Force officers, mingled with no less smartly
dressed Alexandrians and Cairenes accompanied by red-fezzed Egyptian officials. As we moved among them, in intervals of selling buttonholes from Daphnis’ tray, I told her how, once I had ascertained that I should be able to get an introduction to her mother through the Wisharts, I had got seven days’ special leave solely in the hope of seeing her again. Then I asked what chance there was now of my being able to break into the closely-guarded family circle.

She said she thought it would be best if she told her mother now that it was I who had been carried into their house after the accident. As my face had been covered with blood, and I had hardly regained consciousness before being carted off in the ambulance, that was sufficient explanation for our having appeared not to recognise each other at once when introduced that afternoon; and a decent interval having elapsed it would be assumed that I had only turned up again through pure coincidence. After this second apparently chance meeting and now that I was sponsored by the Wisharts she did not think her Mamma’s suspicions would be aroused if I hinted that I had very few friends in Alex and asked permission to call.

The afternoon passed all too quickly and during it I forced myself not to stick to Daphnis the whole time but to make myself as useful as I could to her mother and the other ladies who were running the stall. The impression I created was evidently satisfactory, as before we parted—after I had hinted that I was rather at a loss to know how best to fill in my six remaining days of leave—Madame Diamopholus herself suggested that as they were having a few people in on the Monday evening I should join them.

It was useless for me to attempt to see Daphnis out riding as Alcis had returned to Cairo several weeks previously, and Daphnis now had to ride with a groom in attendance, whom she said she dared not trust. In consequence I made up my mind to possess my soul in patience until the Monday evening, and on the Sunday morning had decided to have a good late lie in bed. However, a letter which had been brought by hand and was sent up with my breakfast-tray got me up earlier than I had intended.

It was a short note from Essex Pasha saying that he would like to see me between eleven and twelve at the Alexandria Police Offices, which he made his headquarters during the hot months of the year.

As soon as I arrived there I was shown up to a big apartment in which he was seated alone behind a desk. He was a very fine-looking man of between fifty and sixty, tall, broad-shouldered,
with grey hair and blue eyes. As an official of the Egyptian Government he wore a red fez, which was tilted at a rakish angle on the back of his head, and, with the scarlet gorgets of a General on the lapels of his tunic, made a bright contrast to his khaki uniform. With a friendly smile he waved me to a chair and told me to help myself to a cigarette. Without further preamble he went straight to the point.

“How well do you know the little Diamopholus girl?”

I was considerably taken aback, and I paused to light the cigarette before I answered with a laugh:

“I think Your Excellency ought to give me notice of that question.”

He shook his head and the little wrinkles round his blue eyes crinkled up.

“Come, come, my boy! You were much too occupied with her yesterday even to notice me; but I caught sight of you at least half a dozen times acting as her cavalier, so you must have spent the whole afternoon with her. You may rest assured that I shouldn’t dream of prying into your affairs unless I had a good reason.”

“All right,” I said. “In the middle of April I had a motor-bike smash and was carried into her house, where she bandaged me up. After that I saw her two or three times, mainly out riding in the early morning. Since that leave ended I haven’t seen or heard from her again until yesterday. But why do you ask?”

“Because we’re rather interested in her.”

I frowned, for the first time feeling a little uneasiness. “Surely, sir, you’re not suggesting that a girl like Daphnis is mixed up with the dope racket?”

“I’ve known stranger things,” his strong teeth flashed in a smile, “but it’s not that, and I’m concerned with even more important matters than the suppression of the dope traffic in these days. Ever since the war I’ve been largely responsible to the Egyptian Government for internal security in this country. However, I don’t want to take up more of your time than necessary, and it’s really a matter for Major Cozelli; he’s the head of our Italian Intelligence Section. I’m sure you’ll give him any information you can.”

As he finished speaking, Essex Pasha struck a bell on his desk, and having cheerfully wished me an enjoyable leave told the negro police orderly to take me along to Major Cozelli.

In a smaller office on an upper floor the Major rose from his
desk to greet me. He was a hard-eyed, cadaverous, dark-skinned man who also wore the red fez of an Egyptian official. His name suggested that he was at least half-Italian, which probably accounted for his present job, but he spoke faultless English and said smoothly as I sat down: