Harriet did not speak. Dobson, who had maintained a decorous face until then, could scarcely keep from laughing: ‘My dear lady, this is a funeral, not a wedding. If you must make an entrance, you should come in immediately after the coffin.’
Mona’s face fell. She tried to argue but had in the end to agree that Dobson, an authority on protocol, probably knew best.
Angela, to Harriet’s surprise, wanted to attend the funeral service. ‘I must go. Of course I must. What would Bill think if he didn’t see me there? You’ll come and call for me, won’t you? We’ll go together.’
Harriet, calling for Angela, found her in a short dress that looked too fashionably chic for a funeral.
She said: ‘It’s my only black. I know it’s not suitable, but what does it matter? I suppose I’ll have to wear a hat!’ She pulled a milliner’s box from the wardrobe and brought out a wide-brimmed hat of black lace trimmed with pink roses: ‘This will do, won’t it?’ She sat it on her head without looking in her glass. ‘Is it all right?’ she turned to Harriet, her face red, swollen and dejected beneath the pretty hat.
‘It will do,’ Harriet said.
In the cathedral, the three front rows of pews were filled by Mona’s selected guests: a few members of the embassy staff and some senior lecturers from the university.
Guy, though he had received an invitation, had chosen to sit at the back and Harriet and Angela sat beside him. Almost at once the congregation rose. There was a shuffle of feet in the porch, then the coffin began its journey down the aisle. Mona’s invitations had said ‘No flowers by request’ but did not state whose request. Her own wreath, a large cross of red carnations, was conspicuous on the coffin lid. As Dobson had directed, she followed the coffin in, walking slowly, her head bowed, her legs hidden by a black velvet evening skirt that crawled like a snake on the ground behind her. Her corsage revealed to advantage her broad, heavily powdered shoulders and full bosom.
Guy, his face taut with distaste, whispered: ‘If she were a better actress, she’d manage to squeeze out a tear.’
Angela remained calm until the cortège reached her then, looking askance, seeing the coffin a few inches from her, she broke into agonized sobs that could be heard beneath the thumping and grinding of the organ. There was some furtive glancing back by the distinguished guests in the front row. Aware of nothing but her own grief, Angela sank down to her seat and buried her face in her hands, abandoning herself to heart-broken weeping that went on throughout the service.
The service over, Mona left the cathedral in front of the coffin, her head now raised to denote a ceremony completed. As the seats emptied, Guy and Harriet remained with Angela, making no move until it seemed likely that the hearse would have set out for the English cemetery. But Mona was in no hurry to curtail her advantage as hostess. When Guy supported Angela out to the porch, the hearse still stood by the kerb while Mona moved about among her select guests. She had found no one to escort her behind the coffin but there were several prepared to companion her for an evening’s drinking. She gave a quick, elated glance at Angela’s bedraggled hat and defeated figure, then she seized Guy by the arm: ‘You’re coming to Mahdi, aren’t you?’
Guy excused himself, saying he had an appointment at the Institute.
She still held to him: ‘You know there’s to be an evening reception, don’t you? I’ve arranged for a tent to be put up behind Suleiman Pasha. I thought we’d get our first at the Britannia Bar then move on to Groppi’s and the George V, and reach the reception about six o’clock. You can pick us up somewhere, can’t you?’
Though Harriet and Angela were standing on either side of him, Mona made it clear that the invitation was for Guy alone. He muttered discouragingly: ‘I’ll come if I can.’
The hearse was an old Rolls-Royce decorated with black ostrich plumes and black cherubs holding aloft black candles. Angela kept her eyes on the coffin with its great carnation wreath and as the equipage moved off, stared after it as though by staring she could bring Castlebar back alive.
Watching the string of cars that took Mona and her guests away, Harriet said: ‘She’s spending a lot of money, isn’t she?’
Guy told her: ‘It’s all on the university. She’s not only getting her widow’s pension but a large grant from funds. She’s had to put up some sort of show, and she thinks Bill would have wanted it.’
Guy conducted the women to the Semiramis and left them there. Harriet sat in the shuttered gloom of the Royal Suite, keeping watch over Angela, imagining she had no consciousness of time, but at exactly six o’clock, she sat up: ‘Let’s go and look at the reception tent.’
Still in her black dress but without a hat, Angela held to Harriet’s hand as they went in a gharry through the crowded streets. The fog of heat still hung in the air. The faded pink of the evening sky was streaked with violet. It was the time when windows, unnoticed during the day, were lighted up, revealing a world of mysterious life behind the dusty, gimcrack façades of buildings. For Angela none of this existed. There were no crowds, no sky, no windows, no life of any kind. She sat limp, waiting to see the tent, the last vestige of the lover she had lost.
The tent was not easy to find. There were a number of small midans behind Suleiman Pasha and the gharry wandered around, up one lane and down another, until at last they came on it: a very large, square, canvas tent appliquéd all over with geometrical designs and flowers cut from coloured cloth. The flap was tied back to catch what air there was and the two women could see something of the interior. Carpets overlapped each other on the ground and there were a great many small gilt chairs. The scene was lit by the greenish glow of butane gas. The guests were near the open flap. There were not many of them and those that Harriet recognized were the hardened remnants of Mona’s drinking acquaintances. She could see Cookson with his hangers-on Tootsie and Taupin. Then, to her surprise, an unlikely figure moved into sight.
‘Look who’s there — Jake Jackman!’
Angela did not care who was there. She stared at the tent and beyond the tent into emptiness, her face a mask of hopeless longing.
When Mona came near the entrance, her black hem still snaking after her, Harriet felt they had better go. They drove back to the hotel where Angela refused to eat but, worn out by despair, went willingly to bed.
Harriet, walking home, met Major Cookson and Tootsie. Cookson was in a nervous state and very eager to talk: ‘My dear, the funeral! It began so well but ended, I fear, on an unpleasant note.’ He told her that Mona, finding she was entertaining not the select few but Jake Jackman and others like him, became bored and resentful. She allowed them a couple of drinks each then told them if they wanted any more, they would have to pay for them.
‘Dear me!’ said Cookson. ‘What a scene! Just imagine how Jake reacted to such an announcement! I am afraid there was a bit of a fracas. Tootsie and I felt it better to leave.’
‘What was Jake Jackman doing there? Is he back for good?’
‘Well, no. To tell you the truth, he’s being sent to England under open arrest. He’s to go on the next troopship.’
‘What do you think will happen to him there?’
‘I don’t know. Probably nothing very much.’
Returning to the Royal Suite next morning, Harriet found Angela surrounded by all her sumptuous luggage and clothing. She was attempting to pack and said: ‘I can’t stand this room a moment longer. It’s so . . .so vacant. I haven’t slept all night. The place depresses me. I really hate it. Look at that beastly view. I’m sick of the sight of it.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘God knows. Nobody needs me now.’
‘Angela, I need you.’
Angela shook her head, not believing her, and Harriet said: ‘Come back to Garden City with me. Your room is just as you left it. There’s only Guy and Dobson now and if you don’t come, I’ll be alone most evenings. So, you see, I need you. Will you come?’
‘Would Dobson have me back?’
&nbs
p; ‘You know he would. Will you come?’
Angela dropped the clothes she was holding and sighed. Like a lost and trusting child, she put out her hand, ‘Yes, if you want me. You know, this is the end of my life. No one will ever love me again.’
‘I love you.’ Feeling that enough had been said, Harriet stuffed the clothes into the gilt-bound crocodile and pigskin cases then rang down to the porter and ordered two gharries. When Angela first arrived in Garden City she had brought two gharries, one to take her excess luggage, and she would return with two gharries.
Awad spent the morning piling the cases under the window in Angela’s old room that looked out on the great, round head of a mango tree. The air was very hot and filled with the scent of drying grass.
‘Home again,’ Harriet said.
Angela smiled and, putting her head down on the pillow she had so often shared with Castlebar, she said: ‘I think I can sleep now,’ and closed her eyes and slept.
Twenty-two
It was some days before Guy, wrapped up in his many interests, realized that Angela had become a permanent inmate of the flat. He had seen her at mealtimes and had imagined she was seeking the consolation of company: then he met her coming out of the bathroom wrapped up in a towel and it occurred to him to ask Harriet: ‘Is that crazy woman back here for good?’
‘If you mean Angela — yes, she is.’
‘How did she manage that? I’m sure you didn’t encourage her?’
‘I did encourage her. In fact, I persuaded her to come.’
‘Then you must be as mad as she is. She took poor Bill Castlebar away and finished him off. Heaven knows what she will do to you.’
Guy was angry but Harriet was not affected by his anger. She said firmly: ‘Angela helped me when I needed help; now, if I can, I’ll help her. So don’t try and influence me against her. You have your friends; let me have mine.’
Guy was startled by her tone and she remembered how Angela had advised her to box his ears. And that, in a sense, was what she had done. After his first surprise, he was clearly uncertain how to deal with the situation. Harriet was moving out from under his influence. She had gone away once and had, apparently, managed very well on her own. He was unnerved by the possibility she might go away again. Even more unnerving was the possibility that Angela, who had taken Castlebar from him, should now attempt to steal Harriet.
He said: ‘Apart from anything else, Angela is rich. She’s used to a completely different way of life. It would be a mistake to put too much trust in a woman like that. Sooner or later, she’ll go off as she did last time.’
Guy waited for Harriet to relinquish her independent attitude and agree with him, but she did not agree. She said nothing and Guy, taking hold of her hands, felt it best to be generous: ‘I know you are lonely sometimes and if you’re fond of Angela and feel she’s a friend, well and good. But don’t forget our life will change when the war ends. It will all be different then. I’ll have much more free time and we’ll do everything together.’
‘Will we?’ Harriet doubtfully asked.
‘Of course we will.’ Lifting her hands to his lips, he murmured: ‘Little monkey’s paws!’ Then remembering some pressing business elsewhere, he put them down, saying: ‘I have to go but don’t worry; I won’t be late.’
Twenty-three
It was mid-September before Simon was declared fit for active service. Impatient and eager for action, he went straight from the MO’s office to his ward and started to put his belongings together. He wanted to leave the hospital at once but would have to stay until he was posted somewhere.
Greening, who had been waiting for him, said: ‘We’ll be sorry to see you go, sir,’ but Simon was too excited to regret his separation from Greening or anyone else.
Laughing, he said: ‘This time next week, I’ll be in the thick of it.’
‘I wouldn’t bank on that, sir. The MO recommends you take it easy for a bit. They’ll find you a nice, cushy office job, I expect.’
‘Not for me. “Active service” means “active service” and that’s what I want. I’ve been pampered long enough.’
‘Don’t forget we had to remake you — that takes time.’
‘I’ll tell them I’ve been remade good as new. I need a fresh start. Fresh country. I’ve had enough of Egypt.’
The country Simon had in mind was Italy. Recently Allied forces had landed near Reggio, taking the precaution to come ashore in the middle of the night. It proved unnecessary for the Italians were only waiting to surrender. As a result the Germans occupied Rome, sank their battleship, the Roma, and sent the whole Italian fleet full speed for Malta.
Italy was where things were happening. It was the place for Simon. Ordered to Movement Control, he said gleefully to Greening: ‘I know a chap there who’ll wangle anything for me.’
The chap was Perry, a fat, jovial major, smelling of whisky, to whom Simon had had to report the day after Tobruk fell. Impressed by his youth and eager desire to reach the front, Perry had promised to send him into the desert ‘at the double’. The promise had been kept. Perry would see to it that Simon was properly fixed up.
But times had changed. Army personnel had been cut to a minimum and many offices had closed. Movement Control, once at Helwan, was now in Abbasia Barracks again and Simon found that Major Perry had been posted to Bari. The middle-aged captain who interviewed him was far from jovial. He stared a long time at the medical report and said: ‘I see you’re down for an office job, Mr Boulderstone.’
‘Well, sir, I’d much rather see some action. I’m no good at office work and I’m perfectly fit. I want to be back in the fight.’
The captain, not unsympathetic, gave him a glance: ‘You look all right to me, but we’ve got to fall in with the MO’s advice. We’ve arranged for you to go to Ordnance. Stationery Office. You won’t find it too bad.’
‘How long will I have to stay there, sir?’
‘Not long. It’s just a token job. Anyway, we’ll all be out of here soon.’
Appeased, Simon asked for accommodation in the barracks and was given a room identical with that he had occupied on his first night in Egypt: bare, with three camp beds and reeking of fumigating smoke. The sense of life repeating itself made him the more determined to get away.
Simon was now drawn to the Garden City flat, no longer in hope of seeing Edwina, but because it was the only place he could call a home.
Guy and Harriet had taken over Edwina’s room at the end of the corridor, which for months remained redolent of Edwina’s gardenia scent, and Harriet suggested that Simon move into their old room. He said: ‘It’s not worth the bother. I’ll be off any day now.’
She knew what he meant for they all felt themselves transient, living on expectations though not knowing what to expect. The events that occurred about them no longer related to them. Like the captain at Abbasia Barracks, they all believed they would be ‘out of here soon’.
Edwina came only once to the flat after her marriage. Finding Dobson and Harriet in the living-room, she confided to them that Tony was a bore with no sense of fun and, giggling ruefully, she said she was already pregnant. After she left, Dobson shook his head sadly: ‘I suppose that accounts for the hasty marriage! Poor girl! To think that men once waved guns about and threatened to kill for her sake, and here she is stuck with a dull dog like Tony Brody!’
‘I don’t imagine she’ll be stuck for very long,’ Harriet said. ‘I bet, once the baby’s born, she’ll find another major; one with a more highly developed sense of fun. But did men threaten to kill for her sake?’
‘I believe someone waved a gun about once, but it was a long time ago, when she was eighteen and quite exquisite.’
Dobson stared unseeing, distracted by the memory, and Harriet marvelled that beneath his ironical sufferance of Edwina’s foibles, he had kept hidden this knowledge of her dramatic past.
Simon’s job, that he described as ‘stamp licking’, did not last long. Early in October h
e was ordered to Alexandria to take charge of two hundred men bound for an unnamed destination. So far as Simon was concerned there could be only one possible destination. He would be off to Italy at last.
Guy, who went to the station with him, said: ‘I envy you going to Alex at this time of the year,’ but Simon, all prepared to fight his way up to Rome, had no interest in Alex. He was now a full lieutenant, rising into authority, but to Guy he was still a charge and one he did not want to lose.
‘How long are you likely to be in Alex?’
‘I don’t know. Probably a week.’
‘We might come up and see you.’
‘Yes, do come.’
As the whistle blew, Guy put his hand on Simon’s arm and Simon, covering it with his own hand, said: ‘Thanks for everything.’ It was a detached valediction — he felt as remote from Guy as he had from Greening — but to Guy it was gratitude enough. The visit to Alexandria, posed as a vague possibility, now became an imperative and as soon as he saw Harriet, he asked her to come with him. He was surprised that she did not immediately agree.
‘You want to go, don’t you?’
‘I’ve wanted to go to a good many places since we married, but you’ve never had time to go with me.’
‘Oh, darling, this is different. Don’t be unreasonable. We may never see Simon again.’
They set out on the following Saturday, starting early when the light, now fading into the cool topaz of winter, gave a particular delicacy to the delta. Looking out at the belt of green cut into sections by glistening water channels, Harriet thought of their arrival in Egypt and said: ‘Do you remember our first camel?’
Guy, intent on the Egyptian Mail, murmured ‘Yes’ and Harriet watched for a camel. One appeared, led by a boy on a very long rope. It moved slowly, planting leisurely feet into the dust beside the railway track, and slowed down when the rope was jerked, holding its head back, refusing to be hurried.
Fortunes of War Page 62
