natural curiosity of disposition.
‘Looking for a young man I talked to for a few moments in a public square in London,’ was hardly an answer that Victoria could give. She said, remembering the newspaper paragraph she had read, and her statement to Mrs Clipp:
‘I’m joining my uncle, Dr Pauncefoot Jones.’
‘Oh, so that’s who you are.’ Mrs Cardew Trench was clearly delighted at having ‘placed’ Victoria. ‘He’s a charming little man, though a bit absent-minded – still I suppose that’s only to be expected. Heard him lecture last year in London – excellent delivery – couldn’t understand a word of what it was all about, though. Yes, he passed through Baghdad about a fortnight ago. I think he mentioned some girls were coming out later in the season.’
Hurriedly, having established her status, Victoria chipped in with a question.
‘Do you know if Dr Rathbone is out here?’ she asked.
‘Just come out,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘I believe they’ve asked him to give a lecture at the Institute next Thursday. On “World Relationships and Brotherhood” – or something like that. All nonsense if you ask me. The more you try to get people together, the more suspicious they get of each other. All this poetry and music and translating Shakespeare and Wordsworth into Arabic and Chinese and Hindustani. “A primrose by the river’s brim,” etc…what’s the good of that to people who’ve never seen a primrose?’
‘Where is he staying, do you know?’
‘At the Babylonian Palace Hotel, I believe. But his headquarters are up near the Museum. The Olive Branch – ridiculous name. Full of young women in slacks with unwashed necks and spectacles.’
‘I know his secretary slightly,’ said Victoria.
‘Oh yes, whatshisname Edward Thingummy – nice boy – too good for that long-haired racket – did well in the war, I hear. Still a job’s a job, I suppose. Nice-looking boy – those earnest young women are quite fluttered by him, I fancy.’
A pang of devastating jealousy pierced Victoria.
‘The Olive Branch,’ she said. ‘Where did you say it was?’
‘Up past the turning to the second bridge. One of the turnings off Rashid Street – tucked away rather. Not far from the Copper Bazaar.’
‘And how’s Mrs Pauncefoot Jones?’ continued Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘Coming out soon? I hear she’s been in poor health?’
But having got the information she wanted, Victoria was taking no more risks in invention. She glanced at her wrist-watch and uttered an exclamation.
‘Oh dear – I promised to wake Mrs Clipp at half-past six and help her to prepare for the journey. I must fly.’
The excuse was true enough, though Victoria had substituted half-past six for seven o’clock. She hurried upstairs quite exhilarated. Tomorrow she would get in touch with Edward at the Olive Branch. Earnest young women with unwashed necks, indeed! They sounded most unattractive…Still, Victoria reflected uneasily that men are less critical of dingy necks than middle-aged hygienic Englishwomen are – especially if the owners of the said necks were gazing with large eyes of admiration and adoration at the male subject in question.
The evening passed rapidly. Victoria had an early meal in the dining-room with Mrs Hamilton Clipp, the latter talking nineteen to the dozen on every subject under the sun. She urged Victoria to come and pay a visit later – and Victoria noted down the address carefully, because, after all, one never knew…She accompanied Mrs Clipp to Baghdad North Station, saw her safely ensconced in her compartment and was introduced to an acquaintance also travelling to Kirkuk who would assist Mrs Clipp with her toilet on the following morning.
The engine uttered loud melancholy screams like a soul in distress, Mrs Clipp thrust a thick envelope into Victoria’s hand, said: ‘Just a little remembrance, Miss Jones, of our very pleasant companionship which I hope you will accept with my most
‘Looking for a young man I talked to for a few moments in a public square in London,’ was hardly an answer that Victoria could give. She said, remembering the newspaper paragraph she had read, and her statement to Mrs Clipp:
‘I’m joining my uncle, Dr Pauncefoot Jones.’
‘Oh, so that’s who you are.’ Mrs Cardew Trench was clearly delighted at having ‘placed’ Victoria. ‘He’s a charming little man, though a bit absent-minded – still I suppose that’s only to be expected. Heard him lecture last year in London – excellent delivery – couldn’t understand a word of what it was all about, though. Yes, he passed through Baghdad about a fortnight ago. I think he mentioned some girls were coming out later in the season.’
Hurriedly, having established her status, Victoria chipped in with a question.
‘Do you know if Dr Rathbone is out here?’ she asked.
‘Just come out,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘I believe they’ve asked him to give a lecture at the Institute next Thursday. On “World Relationships and Brotherhood” – or something like that. All nonsense if you ask me. The more you try to get people together, the more suspicious they get of each other. All this poetry and music and translating Shakespeare and Wordsworth into Arabic and Chinese and Hindustani. “A primrose by the river’s brim,” etc…what’s the good of that to people who’ve never seen a primrose?’
‘Where is he staying, do you know?’
‘At the Babylonian Palace Hotel, I believe. But his headquarters are up near the Museum. The Olive Branch – ridiculous name. Full of young women in slacks with unwashed necks and spectacles.’
‘I know his secretary slightly,’ said Victoria.
‘Oh yes, whatshisname Edward Thingummy – nice boy – too good for that long-haired racket – did well in the war, I hear. Still a job’s a job, I suppose. Nice-looking boy – those earnest young women are quite fluttered by him, I fancy.’
A pang of devastating jealousy pierced Victoria.
‘The Olive Branch,’ she said. ‘Where did you say it was?’
‘Up past the turning to the second bridge. One of the turnings off Rashid Street – tucked away rather. Not far from the Copper Bazaar.’
‘And how’s Mrs Pauncefoot Jones?’ continued Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘Coming out soon? I hear she’s been in poor health?’
But having got the information she wanted, Victoria was taking no more risks in invention. She glanced at her wrist-watch and uttered an exclamation.
‘Oh dear – I promised to wake Mrs Clipp at half-past six and help her to prepare for the journey. I must fly.’
The excuse was true enough, though Victoria had substituted half-past six for seven o’clock. She hurried upstairs quite exhilarated. Tomorrow she would get in touch with Edward at the Olive Branch. Earnest young women with unwashed necks, indeed! They sounded most unattractive…Still, Victoria reflected uneasily that men are less critical of dingy necks than middle-aged hygienic Englishwomen are – especially if the owners of the said necks were gazing with large eyes of admiration and adoration at the male subject in question.
The evening passed rapidly. Victoria had an early meal in the dining-room with Mrs Hamilton Clipp, the latter talking nineteen to the dozen on every subject under the sun. She urged Victoria to come and pay a visit later – and Victoria noted down the address carefully, because, after all, one never knew…She accompanied Mrs Clipp to Baghdad North Station, saw her safely ensconced in her compartment and was introduced to an acquaintance also travelling to Kirkuk who would assist Mrs Clipp with her toilet on the following morning.
The engine uttered loud melancholy screams like a soul in distress, Mrs Clipp thrust a thick envelope into Victoria’s hand, said: ‘Just a little remembrance, Miss Jones, of our very pleasant companionship which I hope you will accept with my most
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