The Mule on the Minaret (55 page)

On the morning that he left, it was in a lighthearted mood that she made her report to Sedgwick on his visit. ‘It was the same as usual. He brought up some questions about Turkish imports and exports. The British Council gave me a few figures. He seemed quite satisfied.'

‘Good, fine.' He looked at her quizzically. ‘I must say you always look wonderfully refreshed after he has been here.'

A week later she typed out the official report on Aziz's visit.

‘Aziz,' the report read, ‘has spent three weeks here. As Beirut has reported (X/37 3471 of May 31,1943), he brought up with him a list of inquiries about Turkish imports and exports. We provided him with the appropriate answers. Aunt Mildred reports that as far as she knows there was no contact between Aziz and the Germans. In her opinion the Germans have lost interest in Aziz.'

Three weeks later Beirut's reply arrived. Aziz has now been here for two Mondays. On neither of them has he been to Fawsi Café. Our Man Friday makes regular trips to Aleppo where he contacts Chessman on the Taurus. He has received no newspapers from Chessman. Chessman can offer no explanation. Chessman's assumption is that the Germans have lost interest in Aziz. We are inclined to find ourselves in agreement with our adversaries. This seems to be an example of one of those occasions when a highly promising project gets bogged down for no obvious reason. One has to accept the fact; and move on to the next assault. We do not consider, however, that Operation Aziz should be written off as an entire loss. It was through Aziz that we managed to enrol Belorian. And in our opinion he is one of the reddest irons in our fire; we are also of the opinion that there is still some use that can be made of Aziz. We will submit our views of this in a later summary.'

Eve's eyes widened as she read that final paragraph. She did not know what Beirut had in mind, but she knew Nigel Farrar. He was bright, brisk, ruthless. He did not spare himself; he did not spare others. Aziz was in danger. ‘I've got to get out of this,' she thought.

She was Aziz's link with Istanbul Intelligence. If she were not here to give him the answers to those fake inquiries, a whole new routine would have to be set up. It would not be worth Beirut's time. The enrolment of a successor would be too involved and Aziz might not welcome her successor. As long as she was here,
Aziz would think it worth his while to come. And as long as he made those trips he was vulnerable. When she had gone back to England, he might not bother to visit his parents, with whom he was in no great sympathy. Beirut was more fun than Istanbul and almost certainly in a little time, probably in a very little time, he would have found a girl-friend there. She had lit in him a fire that would not be easily put out. And if Aziz remained in Beirut Farrar would lose interest in him as quickly as had the Germans here in Istanbul. He was small fry, and there were big fish in the pool.

So that was that, she thought. She looked down the passage and saw the green light shining over Sedgwick's door. She knocked, was answered and went in. ‘Yes, Eve?'

‘You remember, that a year ago you offered me repatriation?'

‘I do, indeed. No one could have been happier than I when you declined.'

‘Thank you, Francis; I was very happy that you should have felt that way about me; but a year's a long time and these last weeks I have been feeling... Well, I don't feel as elastic as I was. I think I ought to have a change of atmosphere.'

‘We shall miss you, Eve. When do you feel you'd like to go?'

‘Before the winter starts; it's the winter that gets me down; it comes so quickly after the summer. If we could say mid August. Then I could get used to England and the blackout before the English winter starts.'

‘And that will give me time to find a replacement. The middle of August will suit me very well.'

‘Thank you very much.'

That would be several weeks before Aziz planned to come here. And if she were not here, as likely as not he would not come. He would slide unobtrusively out of Beirut's plans as he had out of the Germans' here in Istanbul. She herself would be ready to make a new start in England. She had got over Raymond. She had rid herself of her schoolgirl inhibitions. She was ready for anything that came.

The Nairn transport bus in which Reid and Mallet crossed the desert reached Damascus shortly before midday. Farrar was there to meet them. He was looking thin and tired; but he was as voluble as ever.

‘We've got a small party on tonight.' he said. ‘Nothing elaborate. One or two of your old friends, Prof., who'll be pleased to see you.'

‘Annabelle?'

‘Yes, she'll be there.'

‘Jane Lester?'

‘Yes. Have you heard about her?'

‘I've heard nothing in my city.'

‘You read about those prisoners-of-war who tried to escape and whom the Germans shot. Her husband was one of them.'

‘How's she taken it?'

‘The last way that you'd expect. She's knocked off the booze and started in on everything else that's handy. She's the most dated lady in the Lebanon. So if that's what you're out for, Prof, you'd better weigh in quickly.'

‘Has Diana come?'

‘No, she's in Cairo.'

That was a relief to Reid. He did not want to see her till his divorce was absolute. If he were to see her now, he would be unable to resist telling her. He did not want to do that yet. Too many men had said to unmarried women: ‘My divorce will be through in a few weeks; the moment it is, I shall of course be asking you to marry me.' He did not know if he would be asking
Diana to marry him. He could not know how he would be feeling when he saw her next. He did not know whether he had got over her or not. But either way his divorce would completely alter the setting of their relationship. They had never discussed his marriage, but she had always thought of him as a married man. She had never thought of him as a man who was likely to become unmarried. When they met next, he wanted to be free; free to speak and act as the mood prompted him. He had been afraid that she might be here.

He asked who had come from Cairo. Farrar ran through the names. ‘Oh yes. I'll tell you who else is here. Your old chum, Gustave.'

‘What on earth is he doing here?'

‘I wouldn't know. Cairo sent him.'

It surprised Reid that Gustave should have been sent. He had not thought of him as moving on that level. He was not a paper man. His value was in his local contacts. He was probably more often in mufti than in uniform. Still he was glad that Gustave would be there. He was fond of him. And Gustave could tell him about Diana.

‘What about Aziz? I don't suppose he'll be there.'

‘No, he won't be there.'

Aziz was another person about whom he felt curious. He had been worried by that last report about him. Farrar had something up his sleeve; he wondered what it was. But he could not ask him now, when a chauffeur was at the wheel.

‘I suppose I shall find Beirut very much the same,' he said.

‘No. That's just what you won't find. It's become a very different place.'

‘How so?'

‘Because it's become a different war. Beirut's not important any longer; not in the same way, at least, now that the Middle East has been cleared up. The Australian troops have gone. Ninth Army is only a skeleton formation: like your 6th Ind. Div. The few troops that are left are getting restless, particularly the French. They're wondering when the Second Front will open. They want to get back to France. They feel that the British and Americans are delaying the opening of the Second Front for reasons of their own. They suspect that they, the French, are not being given a square deal. There's a different feeling in the air. And it isn't a pleasant one. Nobody trusts anybody else. There's not the same
co-operation. The Lebanese are getting fractious too. They think the French are waiting to pull a fast one on them. I'm not sure they're not right. They're making mischief between us and the French. There's not the same sense of urgency that there was. There's no placard: “Think, plan and act in terms of March 1944.” The war's gone somewhere else. There's a feeling that nothing that's happening here really matters.'

There was an irritated impatient tone in Farrar's voice that had not been there before: dissatisfied and querulous. Perhaps it was not surprising. Farrar's contemporaries were in the field; they were fighting in Italy. Many of them had been killed in the North African campaign. Others were waiting for the opening of the Second Front. It had been all very well for Farrar to have referred laughingly to his ‘lucky war' when so few of his contemporaries were in action. It was different now. He was feeling out of things. Perhaps he had a sense of guilt; was wondering what his English friends would say to him when the war was over. He remembered those First War recruiting posters: ‘What did you do in the Great War, Daddy?' Farrar was going to need careful handling.

Farrar had said that Beirut was very different; but it looked completely the same as the car drove down from Aley and the red promontory of sand gave the familiar illusion of rising to a peak; there was the same acrid smell of Arak and the flat in the Rue Jeanne d'Arc was heartbreakingly unchanged. It did not seem nearly two years since he had his first drink there on that first evening in Beirut, the day he had met Diana.

The whole setting of the party was familiar. The mixture of officers in uniform, French and British, the great preponderance of males, the half-dozen picturesque young women with their black shining hair, worn loose upon their shoulders. Annabelle was as exquisite as ever. He looked for Gustave. In the nine months since they had met, Gustave had put on at least five pounds. But the additional weight suited him; there was no strain on the buttons of his smooth gaberdine tunic. Reid moved across to him. ‘You're looking very well,' he said.

‘I'm feeling very well.'

‘I'm delighted to see you, but I'm surprised to find you here.'

‘Surprised?'

‘I wouldn't have thought this conference was quite your line of country.'

‘It isn't.'

‘Then why did Cairo send you?'

‘As a matter of fact...' he paused, he looked round him, saw that no one in uniform was within earshot. ‘As a matter of fact, the idea of the exercise was that I should meet your Colonel.'

‘What on earth was the point of that?'

‘They've an idea of posting me to your Centre.'

‘But my dear Gustave...' Reid was astounded. He had thought that the whole point of Gustave, as an independent member of the Cairo centre, was his Egyptian background. He would be no use in that way in Iraq. Besides they talked a different Arabic. ‘Surely you won't like that,' he said. ‘There are no bints for you in Baghdad.'

‘I can do without them for a little.'

‘You think so now, but wait till you've been without them for six months, in that heat too. Do you think you'd like the work, at your age? It's a very monastic life.'

‘It would be nice to put up a crown.'

That, even more, astounded Reid. How on earth did Gustave imagine that he was going to get a majority in their Centre. The Establishment only allowed for a Colonel and two Majors, with Johnson because of his seniority being allowed local rank. There was something very curious here. It was something that Farrar had cooked up, he fancied. Farrar had said that he did not know why Cairo had sent Gustave here, but Farrar only told the truth when a lie would have been easier. ‘I hope you do come,' he said. ‘We'll do our best to make you welcome.'

‘Thanks, but it's off the record; don't say a word to your Colonel till mine's broached the business.'

‘I won't. Have you seen anything of Diana, by the way?'

‘I see her every day.'

‘How is she?'

‘Fine.'

‘And how's her romance going?'

‘What romance?'

‘The one with the French naval officer.'

‘Oh, that's all over. He was transferred to Tripoli.'

‘Who's taken his place?'

‘I wouldn't know. But I guess someone has. There's no man shortage in the Middle East.' And Diana was not the woman to let herself be neglected.

He moved away from Gustave. Annabelle was beckoning to him. ‘Ah, but it is good to see you. We have been missing you. How is it in Baghdad? They tell me it is very hot there.'

‘It is so hot that the flies die off in summer and go under ground.'

‘How are the damsels of Baghdad?'

‘There are no damsels in Baghdad.'

‘Then why did you go there, my poor friend?'

‘I was posted there.'

‘You should undo that posting and come back here with us and send that wicked captain in your place. It would be very good for him to be for a little while in a place where there were no damsels.'

‘It would be very bad for my nerves, Annabelle. And besides, I am no longer a Captain. I am a Major now,' said Farrar.

‘I know you are, and I am very happy for your sake. I am very proud for you. But major, that has such a dreary sound; so middle-aged and pompous and unsuccessful. It sound as though you were retired. I shall always think of you as captain. As my gallant wicked captain.'

‘Suppose I were to become a Colonel?'

‘Ah, that is different. Colonel has a dashing sound. It sounds successful; as though you would go higher still. Yes, when you are a colonel, I will call you Colonel.'

‘You say “higher still”. Would you like me to be a Brigadier?'

‘That would sound even worse. A Brigadier; a postman or a fireman. I would rather that you were a Major than a Brigadier.'

‘But if I went one higher and became a General.'

‘Now that is something, a General is a man of high distinction. A young girl could not be blamed for a
faiblesse
for a General.'