grateful thanks.’
Victoria said: ‘But it’s really too kind of you, Mrs Clipp,’ in a delighted voice, the engine gave a fourth and final supreme banshee wail of anguish and the train pulled slowly out of the station.
Victoria took a taxi from the station back to the hotel since she had not the faintest idea how to get back to it any other way and there did not seem any one about whom she could ask.
On her return to the Tio, she ran up to her room and eagerly opened the envelope. Inside were a couple of pairs of nylon stockings.
Victoria at any other moment would have been enchanted – nylon stockings having been usually beyond the reach of her purse. At the moment, however, hard cash was what she had been hoping for. Mrs Clipp, however had been far too delicate to think of giving her a five-dinar note. Victoria wished heartily that she had not been quite so delicate.
However, tomorrow there would be Edward. Victoria undressed, got into bed and in five minutes was fast asleep, dreaming that she was waiting at an aerodrome for Edward, but that he was held back from joining her by a spectacled girl who clasped him firmly round the neck while the aeroplane began slowly to move away…?
They Came to Baghdad
Chapter 11
Victoria awoke to a morning of vivid sunshine. Having dressed, she went out on to the wide balcony outside her window. Sitting in a chair a little way along with his back to her was a man with curling grey hair growing down on to a muscular red brown neck. When the man turned his head sideways Victoria recognized, with a distinct feeling of surprise, Sir Rupert Crofton Lee. Why she should be so surprised she could hardly have said. Perhaps because she had assumed as a matter of course that a VIP such as Sir Rupert would have been staying at the Embassy and not at a hotel. Nevertheless there he was, staring at the Tigris with a kind of concentrated intensity. She noticed, even, that he had a pair of field-glasses slung over the side of his chair. Possibly, she thought, he studied birds.
A young man whom Victoria had at one time thought attractive had been a bird enthusiast, and she had accompanied him on several week-end tramps, to be made to stand as though paralysed in wet woods and icy winds, for what seemed like hours, to be at last told in tones of ecstasy to look through the glasses at some drab-looking bird on a remote twig which in appearance as far as Victoria could see, compared unfavourably in bird appeal with a common robin or chaffinch.
Victoria made her way downstairs, encountering Marcus Tio on the terrace between the two buildings of the hotel.
‘I see you’ve got Sir Rupert Crofton Lee staying here,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Marcus, beaming, ‘he is a nice man – a very nice man.’
‘Do you know him well?’
‘No, this is the first time I see him. Mr Shrivenham of the British Embassy bring him here last night. Mr Shrivenham, he is very nice man, too. I know him very well.’
Proceeding in to breakfast Victoria wondered if there was any one whom Marcus would not consider a very nice man. He appeared to exercise a wide charity.
After breakfast, Victoria started forth in search of the Olive Branch.
A London-bred Cockney, she had no idea of the difficulties involved in finding any particular place in a city such as Baghdad until she had started on her quest.
Coming across Marcus again on her way out, she asked him to direct her to the Museum.
‘It is a very nice museum,’ said Marcus, beaming. ‘Yes. Full of interesting, very very old things. Not that I have been there myself. But I have friends, archaeological friends, who stay here always when they come through Baghdad. Mr Baker – Mr Richard Baker, you know him? And Professor Kalzman? And Dr Pauncefoot Jones – and Mr and Mrs McIntyre – they all come to the Tio. They are my friends. And they tell me about what is in the Museum. Very very interesting.’
‘Where is it, and how do I get there?’
‘You go
Victoria said: ‘But it’s really too kind of you, Mrs Clipp,’ in a delighted voice, the engine gave a fourth and final supreme banshee wail of anguish and the train pulled slowly out of the station.
Victoria took a taxi from the station back to the hotel since she had not the faintest idea how to get back to it any other way and there did not seem any one about whom she could ask.
On her return to the Tio, she ran up to her room and eagerly opened the envelope. Inside were a couple of pairs of nylon stockings.
Victoria at any other moment would have been enchanted – nylon stockings having been usually beyond the reach of her purse. At the moment, however, hard cash was what she had been hoping for. Mrs Clipp, however had been far too delicate to think of giving her a five-dinar note. Victoria wished heartily that she had not been quite so delicate.
However, tomorrow there would be Edward. Victoria undressed, got into bed and in five minutes was fast asleep, dreaming that she was waiting at an aerodrome for Edward, but that he was held back from joining her by a spectacled girl who clasped him firmly round the neck while the aeroplane began slowly to move away…?
They Came to Baghdad
Chapter 11
Victoria awoke to a morning of vivid sunshine. Having dressed, she went out on to the wide balcony outside her window. Sitting in a chair a little way along with his back to her was a man with curling grey hair growing down on to a muscular red brown neck. When the man turned his head sideways Victoria recognized, with a distinct feeling of surprise, Sir Rupert Crofton Lee. Why she should be so surprised she could hardly have said. Perhaps because she had assumed as a matter of course that a VIP such as Sir Rupert would have been staying at the Embassy and not at a hotel. Nevertheless there he was, staring at the Tigris with a kind of concentrated intensity. She noticed, even, that he had a pair of field-glasses slung over the side of his chair. Possibly, she thought, he studied birds.
A young man whom Victoria had at one time thought attractive had been a bird enthusiast, and she had accompanied him on several week-end tramps, to be made to stand as though paralysed in wet woods and icy winds, for what seemed like hours, to be at last told in tones of ecstasy to look through the glasses at some drab-looking bird on a remote twig which in appearance as far as Victoria could see, compared unfavourably in bird appeal with a common robin or chaffinch.
Victoria made her way downstairs, encountering Marcus Tio on the terrace between the two buildings of the hotel.
‘I see you’ve got Sir Rupert Crofton Lee staying here,’ she said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Marcus, beaming, ‘he is a nice man – a very nice man.’
‘Do you know him well?’
‘No, this is the first time I see him. Mr Shrivenham of the British Embassy bring him here last night. Mr Shrivenham, he is very nice man, too. I know him very well.’
Proceeding in to breakfast Victoria wondered if there was any one whom Marcus would not consider a very nice man. He appeared to exercise a wide charity.
After breakfast, Victoria started forth in search of the Olive Branch.
A London-bred Cockney, she had no idea of the difficulties involved in finding any particular place in a city such as Baghdad until she had started on her quest.
Coming across Marcus again on her way out, she asked him to direct her to the Museum.
‘It is a very nice museum,’ said Marcus, beaming. ‘Yes. Full of interesting, very very old things. Not that I have been there myself. But I have friends, archaeological friends, who stay here always when they come through Baghdad. Mr Baker – Mr Richard Baker, you know him? And Professor Kalzman? And Dr Pauncefoot Jones – and Mr and Mrs McIntyre – they all come to the Tio. They are my friends. And they tell me about what is in the Museum. Very very interesting.’
‘Where is it, and how do I get there?’
‘You go
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