Fortunes of War

by Olivia Manning

‘Oh, dear God, no! I couldn’t bear it. And how could I persuade him to give up his room?’

  ‘It’s your flat. Don’t persuade him, order him.’

  Dobson again appealed to Guy: ‘Come with me and help me deal with Percy,’ but Guy was in a hurry to get away. Agitatedly rubbing his soft puffs of hair, Dobson went to speak to Percy.

  Hearing uproar from the bedroom passage, Mrs Dixon sat up in alarm then turned piteously to Harriet: ‘Oh, this is my fault. I must go. We’re not so poor we can’t afford a room at Shepherd’s.’ She began gathering up the child and its belongings and Harriet had to explain that it was not a question of what one could afford. In Cairo, the few main hotels were so full that even senior officers had to share rooms and sometimes share beds. As for inferior hotels, she would find them intolerable.

  Mrs Dixon remained on the sofa, watching fearfully as Percy passed through, carrying his belongings to Dobson’s room. He looked blackly at her, muttering his rage as he went. His room vacated, Harriet went to look at it. It was the only one on the right of the corridor and it faced the blank wall of a neighbouring house. She now understood why Dobson had allowed Percy to remain in it. Who else would want it?

  She said to Mrs Dixon, ‘I’m afraid it’s not much of a room.’

  Lifting a hand, Mrs Dixon said, ‘What does it matter? Anything will do.’

  After Harriet had helped her unpack her immediate necessities, she dropped on to the bed and cried, ‘Oh, to be safely on board ship.’

  ‘Well, we will be soon, Mrs Dixon. But, meanwhile, you’ll find the flat isn’t so bad.’

  Mrs Dixon smiled weakly: ‘My name’s Marion,’ she said.

  Marion Dixon, though grateful for Harriet’s support, was chiefly admiring of Angela. Of the three women, united by the prospect of their long sea voyage, Angela was the most expectant of pleasure. Her hopes animated Marion and persuaded her that they were in for what Angela called ‘a rattling good time’.

  Angela, herself, having heard that many things in England were in short supply, spent much of the day shopping, coming back with parcels that she opened to amuse Marion. Marion had few interests, apart from the boy Richard, but she loved clothes and fingering Angela’s silks and new dresses, she said, ‘I long to get my figure back so I can wear things like that.’

  While Edwina and the men were leaving for work, the three women lingered on at the breakfast table, suspended in the nullity of the present but promised a future of stimulating newness.

  Angela often said, ‘Bokra fil mish-mish.’

  First hearing it, Marion, who spoke a different Arabic, asked: ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Apricots tomorrow: good times to come.’

  Marion smiled her wan smile: ‘I was so frightened but I’m not any more,’ and she told her new friends that if, by some mischance, her baby was born at sea, their presence would console her.

  Dobson laughed at them: ‘You three, really! You’re like a cluster of schoolgirls discovering sex.’

  Edwina, feeling left-out, said, ‘I wish I could go with you. But, of course, I can’t. There’s the show and I couldn’t let Guy down.’

  Harriet, putting her on trust, said, ‘You’ll look after Guy for me, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, darling, you know I will. I’ll see he doesn’t get into mischief. You can rely on me.’

  When the others had gone, the three sat in the darkened living-room where, even in winter, the shutters were put up against the sun that splintered in through the cracks. Some previous resident had had a fireplace built into a corner, a very inadequate fireplace. The only fuel to be found was cow-cake, which gave off more smoke than heat. The curious, bland smell of the smoke filled the flat and seemed to Harriet a part of the futility of her life in Cairo. She told herself she was thankful to be leaving it and yet, at times, she was furious because she had agreed to go. It had all been decided too quickly. She should have dwelt upon it. She should have taken time to think. And now it was too late and she thought, ‘At least, I’m getting away from this bloody show. I needn’t care whether it fails or not.’

  In her bleakest moods, she wondered what would happen to her in London. Angela talked as though their friendship would survive the displacement but Harriet realized, if Angela did not, that their social spheres were very different. Angela, who was wealthy, had wealthy friends. She jokingly spoke of them as the ‘Q and G’, the Quality and Gentry, and said they were brilliantly entertaining. ‘You’ll love them,’ she told Harriet, but Harriet would have to work, not only as a reason for living. She would need the money. Guy could make her only a small allowance.

  When she mentioned this to Angela, Angela said, ‘I intend to work, too. I shall start painting again. You know, when he was killed, I was painting. That’s why I didn’t see what he had picked up. I thought I would never paint again, but it will be different in England. A new life, a fresh start. We’ll find a flat with a studio. I’m told everyone’s left London so you can get flats and studios for the asking.’

  Harriet, sharing Marion’s faith in Angela, said, ‘Then we’ll both work. Something to do: that’s the most important thing in life.’

  Flaunting her emotional independence, Angela said one evening, ‘Let’s go to the Union.’

  ‘But Bill and Mona will probably be there.’

  ‘What if they are? All that’s in the past now. I’m indifferent to Bill. Let’s go and say goodbye to the Union and thanks for the fun we had there.’

  Marion refused an invitation to accompany them. Guy and Edwina were at a rehearsal. Dobson was out and having heard stories of children being raped by frustrated servants, she would not leave Richard alone with the safragis.

  At the Union, Angela gave her usual order for a bottle of whisky and several glasses. Smiling mischievously, she said to Harriet, ‘Let’s see who we can pick up.’

  They were soon joined by Jackman who seated himself as a right: ‘Haven’t seen you for ages. Not surprised. That rhinoceros, Bill’s wife, would drive anyone away.’

  ‘I don’t see her here tonight.’

  ‘No, Guy’s talked her into that show of his. She’s rehearsing, I believe.’

  ‘And Bill? What’s he up to?’

  ‘Oh, he’s around. I’m inclined to keep clear when he has Mrs C in tow.’

  Hearing that Castlebar was alone in the club, Angela became silent and did not move till some instinct told her he was nearby. He came with his usual tentative, wavering walk and paused a few yards away. She slid her eyes to one side, observed him, then gave her whole attention to Jackman. He had been telling the women that in his opinion the ‘Alamein business’ had been a ‘put up job’: ‘The order was “stretch them to breaking point” and they stretched them.’

  Angela laughed flirtatiously at him: ‘Come off it, Jake. You’re a terrible liar. I never believe a word you say.’

  Jackman, who had not noticed Castlebar, went on protesting his ‘inside information’ while Castlebar stood twitching and shivering like a hungry pariah dog that longs for sustenance but dares not approach too near. Angela, pretending to be absorbed by Jackman, again gave him an oblique glance and aware she was aware, he edged nearer and put his long, yellow hands together as though in prayer. Angela spoke sternly to him: ‘Bill, come here at once.’

  He advanced eagerly, his hands still held up, and muttered: ‘Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.’

  ‘I agree. Sit down beside me. I require, as a penance, that you drink a very large whisky.’

  Grinning delightedly, Castlebar sat where he was told while Jackman, realizing he had been fooled, frowned and indignantly asked: ‘Where did you come from?’

  While Castlebar was setting up his cigarettes, Harriet said, ‘So Mona is singing in the show? How did Guy manage that?’

  Castlebar snuffled and giggled and said, ‘You know what your old man’s like. He buttered her up till he had her eating out of his hand.’

  When, Harriet wondered, did all this happen? — and where? S
he had the despairing sense of being completely outside Guy’s life and she thought, ‘At least I’m going in good time. I’m young enough to start another life.’

  Angela, having permitted Castlebar to return to the circle, kept her head turned from him while he watched her, willing her to face him. At last, forced to look round, she met his eyes and for a long minute they gazed at each other in meaningful intimacy, then Angela stood up. She said to Harriet, ‘I think we should go.’

  Flustered and disappointed, Castlebar wailed, ‘You going already? The bottle’s only half empty.’

  ‘I’ll leave it for you and Jake. We girls need our beauty sleep. I suppose you know we’re going on the boat to England. We’ll be away in a few days.’

  Castlebar’s mouth opened with shock and his cigarette fell between his knees. While he was scrabbling for it, Angela gripped Harriet by the arm and hurried her out to the gate where a taxi had just put down a fare. The two women got into it and, all in an instant, they were away.

  ‘I thought you and Bill were about to be reconciled.’

  Angela laughed: ‘Never in this world. He won’t have the chance to ditch me again. I said I was going and, I’m going. Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new.’

  ‘You’re very wise,’ Harriet said, thinking that Angela was a great deal wiser than she expected her to be.

  Dobson told the waiting women that, as another security measure, the ship might leave earlier than intended. He guessed the sailing date as 28 December.

  With time so short, Harriet suggested to Angela that they visit the places they had always meant to visit. They should see the great mosques, the Khalifa and the zoo.

  ‘Oh, what fun, yes,’ Angela agreed, having the ability to find fun in everything. But next morning, when they were setting out for the zoo, the telephone rang. The call was for Angela who stood so long in the hall, talking in a low voice to the caller, she lost all interest in the zoo.

  Coming back to Harriet, she said, ‘I’m sorry darling, but I don’t think I can “zoo” it today. I’ve still so much shopping to do.’

  ‘Shall I come with you?’

  Angela ignored the question. Wherever she was going, she meant to go alone. A taxi was waiting for them and she said in agitated apology: ‘You don’t mind if I take it? Hassan can get you another one.’

  Not waiting for an answer, Angela hurried from the flat and Harriet, at a loss, telephoned Mortimer to tell her their probable departure date.

  ‘So you’re really going? It sounds a bit mad to me,’ Mortimer said.

  ‘It is mad, but it’s a solution, I can’t go on living in limbo.’

  ‘Well, if it’s at all possible, we’ll be there to see you off.’

  It seemed then that everything was settled and, forgetting the zoo, Harriet went out to do some shopping on her own. Returning for luncheon, she found Marion in the sitting-room, gazing dully at Richard who was whimpering and throwing his toys about.

  ‘Angela not back yet?’

  Marion shook her head and Harriet asked, ‘What have you been doing all morning?’

  ‘Nothing. Richard’s got nettle-rash. It makes him so cross, poor little fellow. Oh, Harriet, to be in England!’

  England, it seemed, was a solution for every difficulty met here.

  When Angela had not returned by tea-time, Harriet went to her room and was relieved to see her splendid cases still piled against the wall. Without reason, she had feared Angela had gone for good. Reassured, she told Hassan to bring in the tea-tray.

  When he put down the tray, he said, ‘Man here’ and he handed Harriet a grimy slip of paper. It authorized the bearer to collect Lady Hooper’s luggage. Going back to the room, Harriet opened the wardrobe and found it empty. At some recent time, Angela had packed her clothes in expectation — of what? — perhaps only of a sudden summons to the boat.

  The man stood humbly in the doorway and Harriet asked him: ‘Where is Lady Hooper?’

  He was one of the itinerant porters who sat about in the bazaars ready to transport furniture and heavy objects to any part of the city. He said, ‘Lady say she send letter.’

  ‘But where are you taking her luggage?’

  ‘Lady say no say.’

  Harriet motioned him to the cases. He was naked to the waist, short, square and strong-smelling. He belonged to the strict Moslem sect that believes the Messiah will be born of a male and he wore baggy pantaloons in order to catch the babe should it present itself without warning. He was dark-skinned but not negroid. The rope of his trade, his greatest and perhaps his only possession apart from the pantaloons, encircled his neck and massive shoulders. His air was savage but his manners were gentle and looking over the cases to compute their number, he touched them with an amiable, almost loving, respect. He regretfully shook his head. He could not carry them all at one time but would have to make two journeys. He asked would the lady be willing to pay so much? Harriet said she was sure she would.

  He sorted the luggage into two heaps then, grunting and muttering instructions to himself, he roped cases on to his chest, back and sides, and hoisted others up to his shoulders.

  Laden like a pack mule, he grunted his way out of the flat, leaving behind him a stench of stale sweat. Harriet threw open the verandah doors and went out into the fresh air. Looking down at him as he went among the poinsettias to the front gate, she saw that from bearing so much weight, his feet had become almost circular and appeared to have toes all round. She watched until he reached the road where he set off at a fast trot and turned the corner out of sight.

  An hour passed, then he came back with the promised letter: ‘Harriet, darling, you can guess what has happened. Bill has escaped but he’s terrified she’ll track him down. So we’re going into hiding until she gets used to the separation. If she comes howling to you, tell her nothing. Sorry to miss the good times on board ship, but you and Marion have fun for me. See you again one day. Love, Angela.’

  ‘What good times, what fun?’ Harriet asked aloud, angry that she had not foreseen what had happened. Angela had said she would not give Castlebar a second chance but Harriet, abandoned once, had not had the sense to see that the same thing could happen again.

  No other word came from Angela. Rumours went round Cairo that she and Castlebar had been sighted in Jerusalem, in Haifa, in Tel Aviv and in Upper Egypt but their disappearance remained as much a mystery as the killing of Pinkrose.

  Mona Castlebar did call at the flat, not ‘howling’ but in such fury, she could scarcely get a word out of her clenched face. When she found her voice, she accused Harriet: ‘You know where they are, don’t you?’

  ‘No. Nobody knows.’

  ‘My God, I’ll do for them, you wait and see if I don’t. He’ll lose his job. He’ll have nothing to live on. I hope they starve.’

  ‘No danger of that. Angela has more than enough for both of them.’

  ‘So that’s it? She bought him with her money? I thought there must be something. He wouldn’t have gone otherwise. She bought him.’ Bitterly satisfied by this explanation of her husband’s perfidy, she sat brooding on it as though she had nowhere else to go.

  It was Christmas Day and everyone except Percy Gibbon had given presents to Richard. They littered the floor, to the annoyance of Percy who would, if he dared, have kicked them out of the way.

  Mona watched Richard pushing the wheeled toys about then overturning them pettishly and whimpering his discontent. She looked as though she liked the scene no better than Percy did and at last, rising, she said, ‘Well, there are some things to be thankful for,’ and she took herself off.

  Everyone was home for Christmas luncheon which was no different from any other luncheon. Richard, put into his high chair, struggled and cried and spewed out the soft-boiled egg which his mother tried to spoon into him.

  Percy had seen this exhibition often enough but now, irritated by the toys on the floor, he stared at it with incredulous distaste so Marion became more nervous than usual.
Her hand shook and the egg yolk went over Richard’s chin and bib.

  ‘Disgusting!’ Percy said with feeling and Dobson remonstrated with him:

  ‘Really, Percy, the child has to be fed.’

  Brought to the point of open complaint, Percy hit the table: ‘He needn’t be fed in public. She could take him into her room — my room, I should say.’

  Guy tried to reason with him: ‘Oh, come now, Percy, the child has to be with adults in order to learn table-manners.’

  Percy leapt up: ‘Well, he won’t learn them from me.’

  ‘That’s only too evident,’ Harriet said.

  At this, Percy strode into the room he shared with Dobson, slamming the door so violently, Richard began to scream and Marion to weep, asking: ‘What am I going to do? What am I going to do?’

  Harriet said: ‘Put him in his pram and we’ll take him to the zoo,’ but Marion could not face the excursion. Weary of the petulant child, Harriet went to the zoo alone.

  She walked across the river among crowds to whom Christmas Day, under the brilliant sky, was no better and no worse than any other day.

  Just inside the zoo gates were the parrot stands, a long row of gaudy colours, each bird different from its neighbours. They gave occasional squawks but were too busy with preening and fussing and fluttering over their feathers to make much noise.

  Harriet wandered round, desolate that, leaving Egypt, Angela was not going with her. There was no reason now for going at all. She had said to Dobson a few days before: ‘I know you were kind, getting me a berth on the ship, but would it make any difference if I changed my mind?’

  Dobson observed her reflectively: ‘It would make a difference to you. You look as though a puff of wind would carry you away. You might catch anything in this condition. I recently heard of a chap who got tertian malaria and was gone in a matter of hours.’

  And Harriet had taken on the responsibility of Marion who had been dismayed by Angela’s flight and, in near panic, all her incipient apprehensions aroused, had said to Harriet, ‘But you are coming, aren’t you? You won’t leave me. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.’