Palace Circle (45 page)

Knowing that his father would probably have no time to spend with him except at the airstrip, Jack was out of Grey Pillars within minutes.

“Where are we going, sir?” Corporal Slade asked as he put the jeep into gear.

“Heliopolis airport, to meet a plane.”

“Anyone important, sir? It's not the prime minister, is it? Or the foreign secretary?”

“No, Slade,” he said as Slade slewed the jeep out into Sharia Qasr el-Aini, “it's someone far more important than that.”

Completely mystified, Slade shot him a quick glance, narrowly missing a camel plodding down the center of the road.

Jack grinned. “I'm going to meet the prime minister's envoy, Sir Jerome Bazeljette.”

“Blimey.” Slade was impressed. “Fancy you having the same name as a nob like that. I bet he won't half be surprised when he finds you have the same moniker. I don't think he's more important than the prime minister, though, Major. If you don't mind me saying so, that is.”

Jack chuckled, in high good spirits. “I don't mind you saying so, Slade. But in my books he is. Now how about we try to avoid this flock of sheep and take a shortcut through El-Ahmer?”

They reached the airstrip just as the plane landed. As Jack vaulted from the jeep, he saw that Ivor was there to welcome his father on behalf of the ambassador and a brigadier was there to welcome him on behalf of Sir Claude Auchinleck. There were a couple of minor aides also standing on the runway and as Jack strode to join them, and Ivor gave him a nod of greeting, the door of the plane opened.

His father had never looked like a conventional Englishman. Though his hair was now silvered at the temples, Sir Winston Churchill's fifty-seven-year-old envoy was still so dark-haired and swarthy that he looked almost Egyptian. And the scar through his left eyebrow made him appear not only raffish but as if he would be an ugly customer in a fight—a fight that he wouldn't need much excuse to begin.

Instead of immediately descending the steps that had been run up to the door Jerome paused, turning around to speak to someone behind him. A second later a sandy-haired little
boy stepped uncertainly out of the plane's shadowed interior to stand beside him.

“Dear God,” he heard Ivor say disbelievingly, “he's brought the Sinclair orphan with him. Now how the devil did he get permission to do that?”

As the brigadier's eyes nearly popped out of his head, Jerome walked down the steps, his hand reassuringly on Andrew's shoulders.

“On behalf of Sir Miles, welcome to Cairo, Sir Jerome,” Ivor said, mindful of official protocol.

Jerome shook his old friend's hand hard. “It's good to be here, Conisborough. As you see I have a young companion with me. I shall be dropping him off at Nile House before continuing with my schedule. Will Davina be there, do you know?”

“It's not likely, Jerome,” Ivor said, forgetting about the formalities and the presence of the brigadier and the aides. “She works, breathes, and sleeps at the hospital, but I'll have a message sent to her—and to her matron. I think I can guarantee she'll be at Nile House by the time you and Andrew arrive.”

Jerome gave a nod of thanks and turned his attention to the brigadier. “I believe I'm to meet with General Auchinleck at 1300 hours. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. At general headquarters, sir.”

It was just after ten o'clock and Jack noted that his father looked deeply pleased at the pocket of time he had been given.

“As for you, Major Bazeljette,” his father said, smiling as he greeted him last of all. “Who dropped word to you of my arrival?”

“Brigadier Haigh, sir,” Jack said with a grin, as mindful as Ivor had been that this was a formal occasion.

“Then I'm sure Brigadier Haigh will be happy for you to accompany Andrew and me to Nile House,” Jerome said, adding in a low voice as he turned away from the reception committee,
“The ride into Cairo might be the only time we get to talk to each other, Jack.”

Hoping that the male secretary who had accompanied his father would be traveling in a separate car, he strode across to where Slade was waiting for him.

“You're to return to GHQ on your own, Slade.”

“Yes, Major.” Slade was bewildered. “And how will you be traveling back to Cairo, sir?”

“I'll be traveling with my father, Slade,” he said, and as Slade's jaw dropped, Jack walked back to where Jerome and Andrew were seated in the rear of a black limousine.

“Andrew, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Jack,” Jerome said as the big car swung away from the airstrip. “Jack wasn't much older than you now are when he first came out to Cairo and stayed at Nile House. You'll find living there very different from Shibden Hall, but you'll soon get acclimatized.”

Andrew gave both of them a shy smile. “I already like the sun, sir. It doesn't shine much in Norfolk.”

Jerome said, gently putting the boy at ease, “Jack and I have quite a lot of talking to do, Andrew, and only a little while in which to do it. It would be best if you tried not to listen and concentrated on looking out for camels and a glimpse of the pyramids. Anything you hear I'd like you to keep to yourself. Okay?”

“Okay, sir,” Andrew said solemnly. “I'm a Cub Scout. I know all about keeping secrets.” And he turned his back to the two of them and began looking intently out of the window.

“I'm here for forty-eight hours, Jack.” Jerome gave Jack's hand a fatherly pat. “It's the usual thing. Winston wants me to talk with Auchinleck and Sir Miles Lampson and get the feel of the mood out here. Needless to say, I'm going to squeeze in as much time with Delia as I can. Incidentally, my secretary is going straight on to general headquarters and Ivor isn't following us to Nile House. He doesn't want his divorce from Delia
to be scuppered by the accusation of collusion. Now, what is the situation with your brief?”

Jack's response was unhesitating. “It's grim. My monitoring group have targeted a coded transmission being sent from Gezira Island. So far they haven't been able to pinpoint its exact location. The bugger transmitting doesn't stay on the air long enough. I reckon he's only a radio operator, but if we could trace him we'd then be able to lay hands on our spy. It has to be someone with access to military secrets, and I've scrupulously checked every bloody brigadier and colonel at GHQ with authority to take top secret information out of the building. None of them has an Egyptian girlfriend or buddy who could be passing them on.”

As the limousine neared Cairo's poverty-stricken outskirts Jack paused for a second, and then said, “I've also learned that embassy staff at attache level have authorization to see whatever military information they deem necessary, so they are my next line of inquiry. Getting information on names and backgrounds isn't easy because the embassy doesn't want to cooperate. I've got a gut instinct about the leak coming from the embassy. When you get back to London, I'd greatly appreciate it if you would send me the kind of information I'm after.”

“Will do. Your brief allows you to go anywhere and interrogate anyone, doesn't it?”

Jack nodded.

“Then don't be afraid of tackling the embassy. If Tobruk falls, Cairo will be Rommel's next stop. And the domino effect won't stop there. If he takes Cairo, he'll have control of Suez and once that happens, we'll lose our route to India, Singapore, and Australia, and access to the Arabian oilfields.”

Jerome didn't add that then the war would be over, with the Allies defeated and the Axis powers victorious, because he didn't need to.

The prospect of losing the war was so horrendous that they
were silent for a minute. Then, as the limousine became clogged in the chaotic traffic of Kasr el-Nil Street, Jerome turned the conversation to family matters. “How is Fawzia, Jack? I should have asked you earlier. Was your arrival in Cairo a surprise for her?”

“It was. And not a pleasant one. We've agreed to divorce.”

Jerome's eyebrows rose but to Jack's relief he made no comment. Jack realized that his news hadn't come as a surprise— though he was pretty sure that when he mentioned Farouk's name, Jerome would be shocked.

As the limousine cruised through the wide leafy streets of Garden City Jerome said, “I've asked whether the Royal Horse Artillery could organize an ad hoc polo match while I'm here—and if so, you and Darius could play.”

“Brilliant. I've barely seen Darius since I've been here and far too little of Davina.”

His father was, he knew, about to ask after Petra, but they were already at the house. Andrew was saying, round-eyed, “Is this where I'm to live? Right next to the river?”

Jack could see Davina's little Morris parked on the far side of the drive and as Jerome said, “It is, indeed, Andrew. And at the rear of the house there are donkeys,” Davina hurtled out of the house.

The chauffeur opened the door for Jerome while Davina ran around to Andrew's side of the car. “Welcome to Nile House, Andrew,” she said with a beaming smile. “I'm Davina, and please don't look so startled. Nile House isn't a hospital. I'm only in nurse's uniform because I've come straight from work in order to welcome you.”

“That's all right,” Andrew said comfortably as he stepped out of the car. “I didn't think it was a hospital,” he added as she held out her hand and he slipped his hand into it, “because hospitals don't have gardens and donkeys, do they?”

“Jerome! Jerome!” Delia came out of the house as if her feet were winged, a blazing smile of joy on her face.

With a shout of exultation Jerome strode toward her and as she threw herself into his arms he swung her off the ground as if she were a young girl.

It was extraordinary behavior for a middle-aged statesman and Jack was grateful there was no one there to witness it but himself, Davina, Andrew—and a rather startled chauffeur.

“You must have a drink,” Davina said to Andrew, as Delia, her feet once more in touch with the ground, led the way into Nile House. “A welcome drink is traditional and Adjo will be impatient to meet you. When I arrived in Cairo, Adjo was my very first Egyptian friend and I'm sure he'll soon be yours.”

In the relative coolness of the vast drawing room Jack took off his peaked cap and accepted from a safragi one of the rose-water drinks he found so sickly sweet. Jerome and Delia still had their arms around each other's waist and he looked across to Davina to see how she was taking this blatant statement of the open way the two of them now intended conducting their relationship.

She showed no sign of being startled and he realized that, like him, she had probably known for a decade what the lay of the land was between his father and her mother.

“I'm just going to show Andrew to his room,” she said as Andrew manfully downed his drink, “and then, as matron has given me the rest of the afternoon off, I'm going to spend it showing him around Cairo.”

“I'm seeing General Auchinleck at one o'clock,” Jack heard his father say to Delia. “Then I'm meeting with Sir Miles Lampson. Tomorrow I shall be going into the desert to have a look at our forward positions. Winston wants a firsthand account. I'm hoping a polo match is going to be arranged, but whether I'll be able to get to it is doubtful. Other than that, this next hour is all the time we're going to have together.”

Aware that their conversation was becoming increasingly personal, Jack moved away. When Davina and Andrew rejoined
him the boy said happily, “I can see the pyramids from my bedroom window. And Davina is going to take me on a sailboat on the river. Adjo says the sailboats are called feluccas.”

“I shall be staying here for a little longer,” Jerome said to Jack, putting his arm around Jack's shoulders. “You can take the limousine if you need it—just as long as you send it back.”

“I don't need it, Dad. If I don't see you at the polo match, have a safe flight back to London.”

Aware that it was highly possible they wouldn't see each other for a long time they hugged and then, following in Davina and Andrew's wake, Jack walked out of the room and out of the house.

Davina and Andrew were already piling into her open-topped little Morris and she asked him if he wanted a lift.

He shook his head. “I'm going back to Grey Pillars. Getting in and out of that car would be more trouble than it's worth.”

It was then he realized he'd left his cap behind.

With a sigh of irritation he turned back toward the house.

As he walked from the entrance hall into the drawing room there was no sign of his father and Delia.

He picked up his cap and as he left the room, he heard the sound of laughter from the floor above him and seconds later the slam of a bedroom door.

He looked at his watch. It was eleven forty-five. As he walked into the fierce sunlight he grinned, knowing very well why his father had been so pleased to have an hour free before he had to leave for his meeting with General Auchinleck.

The polo match took place on the day his father was scheduled to leave. As it was such an impromptu match the only spectators were family and friends. Neither Jack nor Darius cared. For the first time they found themselves playing on the same
team and as their ponies twisted and turned it was as if the years had rolled back to the days before the war, when they were just competitive friends.

Jack was playing in Number Three position and as he fed the ball to Darius, he gave a whoop of triumph. Despite the attacking Royal Horse Artillery he knew Darius was going to score.

Riding like a barbarian, his friend defeated all the opposing team's efforts to block him and thwacked the ball straight between the posts. Elatedly Jack stood up in his stirrups, his polo shirt soaking wet, unable to remember when he had last enjoyed himself so much.

Lunch was a family picnic in a quiet corner of the sporting club's flower-filled grounds. To Jack's disappointment, Darius had an urgent meeting and so wasn't able to be with them. Sholto, who hadn't been at the polo match, wasn't with them either.

“So far, I've never seen Petra and Sholto together,” Jack said to Davina as they sat a little distance from where Petra was spreading a white tablecloth on the grass and Delia was unpacking the picnic food prepared by the club's chef. “When I asked Delia how Petra and Sholto were, she simply said ‘fine’ and changed the subject. When I asked Petra how Sholto was, she also changed the subject. From which I gather that things are far from fine.”