The Levant Trilogy (68 page)

Angela said to Harriet: 'It may be ages before
he gets through. You might as well come and eat.'

'I can't eat.'

Harriet sat through the afternoon in the foyer,
awaiting a summons to the telephone. It was six in the evening before the
porter was connected to the Garden City flat. Smiling at his achievement, he
called Harriet and handed her the receiver. Her impatience, that had lapsed
during the hours of waiting, now filled her with such perturbation, she felt
sick. A strange safragi answered the telephone. In a remote, small voice, she
asked for Professor Pringle.

'Not here, Blofessor Blingle.'

'Where is he?'

'How do I know, lady?'

How, indeed! How did anyone ever know where Guy
was?

'Who is there?'

'Not no one. All out, lady.'

Desperately, she asked for the safragi she had
known: 'Where's Hassan? Tell him to come to the 'phone.'

'No, no Hassan. Hassan gone away. Me Awad, me do
all now.'

'I see. Thank you, Awad.'

Downcast with disappointment, she went to the
bar to join Angela and Castlebar. She said: 'He's not at the flat. I can't find
anyone.'

Angela looked at Castlebar: 'If we took the
train tonight, we'd be in Cairo tomorrow morning.'

Scarcely understanding, Harriet stared at her:
'Do you mean you'd come with me?'

'Of course. We can't let you go alone.'

'Angela, you're the best friend I've ever had.'

'Thanks: but the truth is we want to go to
Cairo. Bill can't stand the food here. If it hadn't meant leaving you to fend
for yourself, we would have gone before this.'

After supper, when Lister came to the hotel,' he
found Harriet, Angela and Castlebar packed and ready to set out for the
station. They would take the train to Jaffa and there change to the Kantara
train which would reach the canal before day-break. They would not be in Cairo
as soon as Angela supposed, but they would be there soon enough.

'And you're taking all this baggage? You travel
like a Russian princess.' Lister smiled at Angela but his manner was unusually
subdued. He offered to arrange sleepers for them. Most of the wagon-lits were
permanently reserved for army officers and usually left empty. He went to the
telephone and came back saying: 'I've fixed it,' then he helped carry the bags
to Angela's car. At the station, Angela put the car keys into his hand.

'I'll leave it with you.'

'A loan?'

'In a way. I don't suppose I'll ever ask for it
back.'

'A car's always useful.' Lister looked down at
the keys for some moments before he said: 'I'm afraid I've bad news for you,
Harriet. Your friend Aidan Pratt has been shot.'

'But not dead?'

'Well, yes. It was on the train coming back from
Cairo. In the corridor.'

'Who would shoot him? He had no enemies.'

'No, no enemies. He shot himself.' Lister raised
his wet, blue eyes and looked at Harriet: 'I'm sorry. Bad time to tell you, but
thought you ought to know.'

The whistle blew and Harriet, too confused by
her own problem to give Aidan the attention due to his memory, embarked with
Angela and Castlebar on her return to Egypt.

The news of Aidan Pratt's suicide reached Guy
with unusual speed. The commanding officer at Kantara had telephoned the
Embassy where Dobson was on night duty and Dobson, coming in to breakfast next
morning, said: 'You know that actor chap, Aidan Sheridan! He seems to have gone
berserk on the train to Palestine. Killed himself in the corridor of the
sleeping-car. Put his gun to his head and blew his brains out. I imagine we'll
hear from the Minister of Transport about the mess. Why couldn't he have waited
till he got to his own quarters.' Then, observing Guy's face, he apologized:
'Didn't mean to upset you. He wasn't a particular friend, was he?'

'I saw him fairly often. He used to ring up when
he came here. In fact, I had supper with him last night. He was attached to
Harriet and upset by her death, but not to that extent. I'm afraid he was
rather a one for dramatic gestures.'

'Unstable sort of chap, was he?'

Bemused by this second tragedy, Guy said: 'I
don't know. I don't think I'd say unstable. The war had trapped him in an
intolerable situation and he probably took this way out.'

'The war's trapped a good many of us but death's
a pretty desperate escape route.'

Guy could feel little more than exasperation at
Aidan's death. Too much was being imposed on him. He tried to put it out of his
mind but for the rest of the day Aidan's dark, appealing gaze followed him as
he went about his work. Aidan had wanted response, reassurance and affection,
perhaps even love, and Guy had made it clear that he would give none of those
things. He remembered that Harriet had accused him of taking up with
inadequate people so for the first time they felt understood and appreciated.
Then, their dependence becoming tedious, he would leave her to cope with them.
She had, apparently, coped with Aidan. Guy, having talked him out of his
defences, had become bored with him and wished him away. He had gone, and gone
for good.

Edwina, told of his death, dismissed Aidan
without a tear: 'You mean that actor who came to the fish restaurant? I'm not
surprised he shot himself. He was an absolute misery.'

It was the eve of her wedding and she passed at
once to the much more important subject of the reception.

'You're coming, aren't you, Guy darling?'

Guy, in no mood for parties, tried to excuse
himself: 'I'm afraid I can't. I promised to go and see Simon.'

'Oh, but Guy, you can see Simon any time. This
is a special occasion; I don't get married every day.'

'Well, the arrangements have been rather sudden,
and I'm committed to Simon. He's leaving the hospital. It may be some time
before I see him again.'

'Bring him with you. I'd love him to come. Now,
Guy, you've no excuse. You're to come to my reception. I'll never forgive you
if you don't. You're such a close friend, if you weren't there, people would
think we'd had a row or something.'

Realizing it would be wise to put in an
appearance, Guy telephoned Simon at the hospital and asked if he would like to
come to a party in Garden City.

'Will Edwina be there?'

Simon's voice was eager and Guy said: 'Of
course,' forgetting to tell him that the party was to be Edwina's wedding
reception.

Simon was hoping to leave the hospital soon. He
refused all offers of rest in convalescent homes and intended to take himself
to Kasr el Nil barracks before being posted to an office job. What the job
would be, he did not know but it was to be temporary. The party in Garden City
had come at the right time. It would be for him a celebration of his complete
recovery.

He had brought from England, as part of his kit,
a dress uniform of fawn twill which, packed in an insect-proof tin trunk, had
followed him about in the regimental baggage train. Now, for the first time, he
had a use for it. The tin trunk had been sent after him to the hospital. He
dragged it out from under his bed and Greening found him trying to smooth out
the creases in the twill.

'Dressing ourselves up, are we, sir? Come on,
I'll get that pressed for you.'

Guy, when he reached the hospital, found Simon
dressed and ready, a handsome and elegant young officer, in high spirits and
aglow with health. Guy had brought a taxi which took them to Garden City
earlier than they were expected.

Simon, breathless at the thought of seeing
Edwina again, bounded up the long flight of steps to the upper flat with Guy
some way behind. Shown into the Living-room, Simon was deflated at finding they
were alone.

'But where is Edwina?'

'Don't worry. She'll be along soon.'

They waited with the appurtenances of the party
all round them. There was a table with cold meats and a cake from Groppi's,
five rented champagne buckets and three cases of champagne. There were also
vases of tuberoses, white asters, Lilies and ferns.

'I say, it's quite a party, isn't it?' Simon
said.

It was some time before the other guests came,
and they came all together. Simon, unaware of the nature of the occasion, was
surprised that there should be so much laughter in the street; then came an
inrush of young people, mostly from the British Embassy, all wearing white
carnations. There was still no sign of Edwina but her name was repeatedly
mentioned and when most of the guests hurried out to the balcony, Simon
realized they were watching for her. He guessed that this was a wedding party
yet it did not occur to him that it could be Edwina's wedding.

There was the sound of a car door banging below.
The guests on the balcony shouted a noisy welcome. Two girls entered, dressed
in pink chiffon and carrying bouquets of Parma violets. Then, at last, Edwina
herself appeared. She stood posed in the doorway of the room so all might
admire her in her dress of white slipper satin, a veil thrown back, a wreath of
gardenias crowning her resplendent hair. She remained there for nearly a
minute, the day's bright star, then the dazzled audience thought to applaud.
She burst out laughing and the young men crowded about her, clamouring for a
kiss.

Simon, stunned, realized there was a man looking
over her shoulder: the dim, grinning face of Major Brody, the man in possession.
As Edwina was drawn into the room, the safragis started bringing round the
champagne in ice buckets. Simon, given a glass, whispered to Guy: 'You didn't
tell me.'

Edwina was now making her way round the room.
The effusive hostess, she greeted each guest in turn, kissing the girls who
were her office friends. The guests embraced her and she gave squeals of
excitement, declaring her love for all of them. Coming to Simon, she was
stopped, astonished by the change in him. She gasped before she said: 'But you
look wonderful!'

As she bent to kiss him, a confusion of emotion
strained her face and she said under her breath: 'You're so like Hugo
...
so like Hugo!' then turned quickly away
and gave her attention to Guy.
'Dear
Guy,
so glad you're here,' speaking his name as though there existed between them a
particular intimacy. He kissed her lightly and she passed on.

The cake was a large cream sponge but Edwina,
using Tony Brady's dress sword, cut it as though it were a real bridal cake. As
this performance went on, Simon said pleadingly to Guy: 'Please, let's go.'

Guy was about to make their excuses to the
wedded couple when he became aware that the room had grown silent. People were
staring towards the door and a figure, apparently uninvited and unexpected, was
sidling into the room, self-consciously smirking, as surprised at finding
himself at a party as the party was at seeing him. The new arrival was
Castlebar.

Guy pushed forward, saying: 'But this is
wonderful! Jake's been taken from us and you've come to console us.'

'Y-y-yes,' Castlebar was fumbling for his
cigarette pack: 'Y-y-you're right. I have come to console you.'

Edwina, asserting her importance, said: 'Good
gracious, where have you come from? Where have you been all this time?'

'Oh, swanning around,' Castlebar managed to get
a cigarette into his mouth and his speech became clearer, 'I came to see Guy.
Didn't know there was something on. Angle's downstairs in a taxi and she sent
me up to break it to you. She thought I should come up first and t-t-tell you,
she's not alone.' Whatever Castlebar intended to say to Guy, he had obviously
been warned to say it without undue haste. He lit his cigarette before adding:
'It
...
it's about Harriet.'

There was an uncomfortable movement throughout
the room. This was no time for recalling the dead and Guy, going close to him,
said urgently: 'You don't know, of course, but Harriet was lost
...'

'But that's just it. That's what I came to tell
you. She wasn't. She kept trying to telephone you yesterday but couldn't get
hold of you, so we thought we'd better come straight here and Dobson asked
sternly: 'What are you talking about, Castlebar?'

'I'm not doing very well, am I? I wanted Angela
to come up first but she decided to stay with Harriet.'

'What do you mean?' Guy, agitated, took
Castlebar by the shoulders and shook him: 'Are you trying to say Harriet is
alive?'

'Yes. I've been telling you - she's downstairs
with Angela.'

Dobson pulled Castlebar away from Guy and gave
him another shake: 'If you're lying, I think I'll murder you.'

'I'm not lying. Don't be an ass. Who would lie
about such a thing? She
is
alive.
She didn't get on to the ship for some reason, I don't know why. She went to
Syria and we found her there and brought her back. That's the truth. If you go
downstairs, you'll find her with Angle in the taxi.'

Guy did not seem able to move and Edwina,
elevated by all that had happened that day and was still happening, darted forward:
'I'll go. I'll bring her up. I was her best friend.'

Guy, his face creased in an expression of
longing and disbelief, stared at the door until Edwina returned holding Harriet
tightly, Angela following behind. Edwina cried out to the room: 'Isn't this
marvellous! To think it should happen at my wedding! The whole of Cairo will be
talking about it.'

Harriet took a step towards Guy then stopped in
uncertainty: 'I wasn't sure you'd want me back.'

Guy put out his arms. She ran to him and he
clutched her against his breast and broke into a convulsive sob. Dropping his
head down to her head, he wept loudly and wildly while people watched him,
amazed. He was known as a good-humoured fellow, a generous and helpful fellow
but no one expected him to show any depths of emotion.

Harriet kept saying: 'I'm sorry. I didn't know
the ship went down. If I'd known, I wouldn't have stayed away.' She tried to
explain her action but Guy did not want an explanation. His paroxysm subsided
and, finding his voice, he said: 'What does it matter? You're safe. You're
alive. You're here,' and, his face still wet with tears, he started into
laughter.

Simon, caught up in the drama of Harriet's
return, no longer wanted to leave the party. Had Guy offered to go with him, he
would have said: 'It doesn't matter,' and it did not matter. A part of his mind
had been returned to him. His vision of Edwina had dropped out of it, just as
Anne's photograph had dropped from his wallet, and he knew he was free of her.
His sudden freedom produced in him an emptiness like an empty gift box that in
time would be filled with gifts.

Looking at her now, he saw the glow had faded.
Her hair was still lustrous, her skin smooth, yet it was as though a film of
dust had settled on the golden image.

She had been a fantasy of his adolescence but
now he had not only reached his majority, he was verging on maturity. He had
been the younger son, Hugo's admirer and imitator, and Edwina's attraction had
lain not only in her beauty but the fact he had believed her to be Hugo's girl.
He had wanted to be Hugo and he had wanted Hugo's girl, but now he was on his
own. And Edwina had been no more Hugo's girl than she could be his.

He realized he was becoming less like Hugo. He
was losing the qualities that had made him Hugo's counterpart. He was becoming
less simple, less gentle, less considerate of others. He had, he feared, been
tainted by experience, but he did not greatly care. Hugo did not have to face
the future; he could remain innocent forever. But there was no knowing what he,
Simon, might still have to endure.

Harriet came over to speak to him. Not knowing
he had been wounded, she asked: 'How are you, Simon?'

'Very well, thank you.' And that was the truth.
He had passed through the ordeal of slow recovery and he was very well.

There was a flurry as Edwina, having gone to
change, reappeared in a suit of white corded silk; a pretty girl, a very
pretty girl, but the magic was no longer there. Her departure left Simon
unmoved. For him, she had already gone.

The party dwindled; the guests went off to their
different offices. Dobson, before returning to the embassy, came close to
Harriet and, surprisingly, squeezed her round the waist.

There remained only Guy and Harriet, Simon,
Angela and Castlebar, together with the debris of the feast. They sat down with
little to say, exhausted by events.