Scorpion Sunset (18 page)

‘If I thought our men who are being marched into Turkey would be cared for, I would be delighted to work alongside you, Colonel Muller. I'm grateful for your offer. I hope you understand why I cannot accept. I couldn't remain here well fed and in comfort for the remainder of the war while our troops suffer and die for want of medical attention in Turkey.'

‘Spoken like an English officer and gentleman, Major Mason. Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?'

‘I would be grateful for any drugs, food, equipment, blankets, or clothes you can spare.'

‘I will see what I can find, Major. When are you thinking of leaving?'

John's hand shook as he picked up his coffee cup. ‘As soon as possible, Colonel Muller. If not today, then first thing tomorrow morning.'

David Knight's Bungalow, British Military Compound, Basra

July 1916

David Knight walked through the door of the bungalow he shared with Charles and shouted for his bearer.

‘He's running your bath and I've told him we're dining out.' Georgiana leaned against the living room doorway and handed David a glass of brandy.

‘You look ravishing and beautifully clean after all the filthy bloody, broken, and battered bodies I've seen today.'

‘Another steamboat came in from upstream?'

‘Baghdad.'

‘I'm surprised Dr Picard and Theo didn't send for me.'

‘There were only British on board. Casualties from the Baghdad hospitals the American consul arranged to exchange for our Turkish prisoners. One of them told me he'd been treated by John in a makeshift medical tent on the march from Kut to Baghdad. John managed to get him a berth on a steamboat bound for Baghdad. Poor blighter has abscesses on his liver as well as dysentery which is why he was put on the list for exchange as soon as he reached the city.'

‘Did he say how John was?' Georgiana was as close to her cousin John as she was to her brothers.

‘Overworked, skeletally thin, putting the welfare of others before his own. All the things you'd expect of John.'

‘He's had to play the eldest brother, and look after others his entire life, including my two incorrigible brothers. He's not likely to change now.'

David took the brandy she offered him. ‘I feel guilty being here while he's God knows where, trying to look after thousands of starved, sick men.'

‘Take your guilt to the bath and wash it away with the dirt.'

‘You said we're dining out?'

‘Charles has booked a table for the usual crowd in the Basra Club.'

‘What time?'

‘Nine o'clock.'

‘We have three hours.' He winked. ‘Want to go to bed first?'

‘When you're clean, but not if you're going to fall asleep.'

He laughed, a deep chuckle that had first attracted her to him. ‘You'll never allow me to forget that, will you?'

‘No.'

‘I'll have that bath and be with you in five minutes.'

Georgiana took her brandy, sat at the table, and looked around the room. There were no photographs, no books, only a box of cigarettes on the table. She presumed that Charles, like David, kept his personal possessions in his room. Military life! She'd never thought about it until she'd reached Basra and been invited into soldiers' quarters. It made little difference if the men were single or married. Some wives, like Angela, made an effort to create a home, but it wasn't easy when the choice of furniture and furnishings was taken from them.

‘You look pensive. Penny for your thoughts.'

She glanced up David was watching her from the hall. ‘They're worth more than that.'

‘I did say five minutes.' David walked in, dressed only in a towel he'd slung around his waist.

‘Your hair is wet and dripping down your back.'

He removed the towel and rubbed it over his head.

‘If your or Charles's bearer walks in, they'd make assumptions about our relationship.'

‘I rather think they're already doing that – and about Charles and Kitty come to that. Charles seems to like her.'

‘That's an understatement.' She went into the bedroom.

He followed and closed the door. ‘What were you thinking about?' He finished drying his hair and dropped the towel to the floor.

‘The bungalow.'

‘This bungalow?'

‘As it happens, yes.' She unbuttoned her dress.

‘I was hoping you were thinking about me and what a wonderful lover I am.'

She stuck her tongue out of him.

‘You don't think I'm a wonderful lover?'

‘You have your moments. You're also on your way upstream.'

‘How do you know?'

‘I know.'

‘Charles?' he guessed.

‘Georgie …'

‘If you're about to say something serious, don't.'

‘Why not?' He climbed into bed.

‘Because it will spoil the mood.' She slipped out of her dress and draped it over a chair.

‘It's not serious – really serious. Just a thought about the future.'

‘The future isn't something to consider when we're in the middle of a war.' She unclipped her garters and dropped them on top of her dress.

‘You're a doctor –'

‘You've noticed.' She sat on the edge of the bed and unrolled her stockings.

‘You thinking of staying on in the Lansing after peace is declared?' He reached out and stroked her arm with the back of his finger.

‘I'll let you know after the treaties have been signed.'

‘Before John and Maud left India to marry here and go on to England – or at least that was their intention until the war messed up their plans – I went to his bachelor party in the mess. When John talked about the life he wanted for himself and Maud, it was the English village, the old Georgian house in a huge garden with an orchard, outbuildings, with plenty of room for his children, dogs, cats, ducks, pigs, and geese, a garden to sit and dream in after work was finished for the day …'

‘Sounds like he was describing his parents' house, Southall.' Georgiana's eyes misted when she recalled the upbringing she'd shared with her cousins.

‘Whether he was or wasn't, I envied him that dream, until I realised I didn't even have a girl to call my own and for a dream like that – house, domesticity, ducks, dogs, and so on – you need a woman you love who's equally in love with you.'

‘Sounds like John's bachelor party turned maudlin.'

‘Not the party, just me. Then when things became quite jolly in the mess and we moved on …'

‘To the rags?'

‘Women aren't supposed to know about rags.'

‘Women who don't dine with their garrulous retired officer fathers and uncles might not. I'm not one of them.' She left the bed and dropped her stockings on the chair. ‘Harry and Tom were expert at tapping into their elders' more risqué reminiscences.' She slipped off her chemise.

‘No corset again, Dr Downe?'

‘It's too damned hot to wear one.' She slid into the bed beside him.

‘Marry me,' he whispered turning towards her and cupping her face in his hands.

‘Not today.'

‘I'm serious.'

‘So am I.' She moved on top of him.

‘Georgie …'

‘Not now, David. As I said earlier, you're spoiling the mood.'

Chapter Twelve

The Smythes' bungalow, Basra

July 1916

‘It's good of Charles to invite us to dinner, but frankly after the day I've had I'd rather have a quiet evening in with you.' Peter locked his arms around Angela's waist.

‘We only have to stay for the meal. Charles will want to spend time with Kitty, Michael will want to get back to his Arab girl, and David will try to commandeer as much of Georgie's time as she will allow.'

‘What is going on there?'

‘Between Georgie and David? I've no idea.'

‘Just wondered if it's serious between them.'

‘It's none of our business.'

Peter smiled down at her. ‘I'm just so happy with you I want the whole world to feel the same way.'

‘You old romantic.' She tried to fall in with his mood, but all she could think of was that in another day he'd be gone again.

He sensed her thoughts and held her close, dropping a kiss on top of her head. ‘We're almost there, Angela. With Maude in charge we'll take Baghdad in no time.

‘And then?'

‘With luck I'll be posted out of this damned country.'

‘To where?'

‘Wherever the army sees fit to send me.'

Even as she returned his kiss she supressed the disloyal thought that Peter's allegiance was more to the army than her. She'd known what she was getting herself into when she married a soldier. But now … now there was Robin, and if she wasn't wrong, there would soon another small being for her to care for …

Mesopotamia, west of Baghdad

July 1916

John stood as close to the fire Dira and Corporal Baker had built as he dared without risking singeing himself. The night seemed colder than usual and he was unsure whether it was because he had become accustomed to the scorching days or because the temperature had dropped as the hot season was drawing to a close. In which case the rains would soon start, bringing in their wake, winter. He shivered at the prospect.

‘Here you are, sir, one of Dira's strong teas to set you up.' Sergeant Greening handed him a scalding tin mug. ‘There are two sugars in there, sir, just the way you like it.'

‘I'm surprised you remember, Greening. It's so long since we had sugar I've forgotten how many I take.'

‘That German colonel was generous when it came to giving us rations for the journey, sir. Reckon we'll be better fed for the next few weeks than any other men in the British Army in Mesopotamia.'

‘Unless we stumble across an abandoned division, in which case our supplies will be gone in an hour.'

‘It's not done to meet trouble halfway, sir, as my mother used to say. Dira's making dried beef stew with potatoes and vegetables. The bread's still soft and there's fig jam and olive oil for afters.'

‘A veritable feast, Greening.' John wasn't joking. He'd eaten a greater variety of food since they'd reached Baghdad than he had done during the entire siege in Kut. Although he was so accustomed to starvation rations he was having difficulty keeping food down.

‘A banquet we deserve, sir. We covered a lot of miles today.'

‘I thought we'd see more evidence of our men passing this way than two Bedouin in British tunics.' John drank his tea. It tasted good. He only hoped it wouldn't leave him with a craving for sugar when the German colonel's stock ran out.

‘If the brigadier was right about the Dorsets leaving Baghdad a month ago, the regiment will have long gone from here by now, sir,' Greening commented. ‘If any of the men fell sick or died on the march they'd be in their graves.'

‘If there wasn't anyone to dig one, they'd be left for the vultures, Greening. In which case we would have seen their bones.'

‘Not a pleasant thought, sir. I wouldn't say it in front of the men, but I can't help feeling that we – I mean all of Townshend's men – are being deliberately punished by command for losing Kut.'

‘You could be right; Townshend's surrender couldn't have pleased the Indian or the War Office.'

‘Do you think they've forgotten about us, sir?'

‘I hope not, Greening, for all our sakes.' He handed the sergeant his empty mug. ‘Thank Dira for me. That was the best cup of tea I've had on the march. It's given me the energy to take a stroll before dinner.'

‘Not too far, sir,' Greening warned.

‘Have you seen anyone out there?'

‘Private Jones thought he did.'

John laughed. ‘That man jumps a mile every time he catches sight of his own shadow.'

‘Whatever it was, Corporal Baker saw it too.'

‘In that case I'll be careful.' John glanced at their Turkish guards. The six men appeared to be even more indifferent to the fate of their British charges than the soldiers who'd escorted them from Kut to Baghdad. They were circled around their fire which they'd lit some distance from Dira's. Judging by the noise they were making they were also well oiled by raki or Turkish brandy.

‘Don't walk out of sight, sir,' Greening warned as John turned.

‘I won't, but reassure the men that if there are any tribesmen snooping around our escort should see them off. That's what they're there for.'

‘If the tribesmen only wanted to kill us I don't think Johnny Turk would be too bothered, sir. If we were wiped out they could pack up and return to Baghdad.'

John instinctively reached for his empty holster. ‘I'd feel happier if I'd managed to hold on to my gun.'

Greening lifted his eyebrows.

‘You haven't …'

‘What you don't know can't hurt you, sir, and Johnny Turk's too handy with his fists for my liking. Especially when he thinks we're hiding something from him.'

‘Where've you hidden …'

‘Any problems, sir, shout for me, Dira, or Corporal Baker,' Greening answered loud enough for the Turks to hear. He lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘our backs are broad enough to take a few Turkish lashes.'

‘You've been ill-informed, sergeant. They beat their prisoners on the soles of their feet these days, or so I've been told.'

‘That sounds nasty, sir.'

‘You need a stronger word than nasty to describe it, Greening. Be back in a few minutes.' John walked away. When darkness closed around him he turned and studied the circle of light emanating from their campfire. Baker, Jones, Williams and Roberts were thrown in sharp relief as they sat huddled around Dira's cook fire, smoking Turkish cigarettes. Dira was stirring a pot suspended over the flames and Sergeant Greening was standing over them.