Death of an Effendi

by Michael Pearce

  ‘Ah!’

  Savinkov sat down suddenly.

  ‘It was, then, as Natasha said?’

  ‘It was not as Natasha said,’ corrected Owen firmly. ‘If what she said was the same as what she said last night.’

  Savinkov waved a hand apologetically.

  ‘I know, I know. She told me. Please forgive her. She thinks that all countries are like Russia, all police forces are like the Okhrana. But that is not important. What is important is that she said—she said that Tvardovsky’s death was not an accident. Is that so?’

  ‘There are doubts.’

  ‘Captain Owen, you were there and I was there. I certainly thought it was an accident. Are you telling me now that it wasn’t?’

  ‘Mr. Savinkov,’ said Owen. ‘You asked me earlier if this break-in was anything to do with Tvardovsky. The answer is: possibly. And the reason why we think that is that it resembles a break-in that was made into Tvardovsky’s property after his death. In that case certainly and in this case probably the break-in was carried out by people who were not ordinary thieves. In neither case were they searching for money. I wonder if you, as a friend of Tvardovsky, have any idea of what they were searching for?’

  Savinkov seemed taken aback.

  ‘I? No, I’m afraid—’

  He seemed, however, to be thinking: thinking, it appeared to Owen, more than ordinarily deeply.

  ***

  Late in the afternoon Mahmoud returned. He made straight for Owen.

  ‘I have been over to the hotel,’ he said. ‘I wanted to speak to your boatman.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It was as you said.’

  He laid his hand apologetically on Owen’s arm.

  ‘I had to make sure,’ he said.

  ***

  Mahmoud spent the rest of the day working through the wreckage left by the break-in, at the end of which he gave permission for everything to be tidied away. The next morning he and Owen returned to Cairo and Owen went into his office to catch up on what had been happening in his absence.

  Not a lot, it appeared; except, said Nikos, that a Mr. es-Rahel had rung repeatedly. Owen guessed that it would have been to protest about the censorship. He glanced through the latest number of Al-Liwa. There was no mention of Strakhov. The censorship, for good or ill, appeared to be holding. He saw no reason to return the calls.

  Just as he was leaving the office, es-Rahel rang again. It was not about the censorship. It was to say that Strakhov was being deported: the next morning.

  ‘Deported?’ said Owen, stunned. ‘But he can’t be! There have been no proceedings.’

  ‘There aren’t going to be any. He is being deported by direct order of the Minister.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘He would have gone already had it not been for us. He managed to smuggle a message out and we were able to secure a delay. But only for twenty-four hours. He will be deported tomorrow; unless, Captain Owen, you can do something to prevent it.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘I’m just on my way to the opera.’

  ‘I know, Paul, but—’

  ‘And the Old Man’s off to play bridge.’

  ‘Look, Paul—’

  ‘And what are you doing at the office, anyway? That’s a strange place to be at this time in the evening. Have you no sense of priorities?’

  ‘Paul—’

  ‘Interrupt the Old Man when he’s doing something important? No, I don’t think I could do that. And would it be a good idea, anyway? Suppose he’d just lost a ruler or a rubber, or whatever strange thing he always seems to be losing when he plays cards? What would he say? I think he would say: “Someone’s got to suffer for this, and it might as well be a Russian.” I think that’s what he’d say, so where would it get you? No, Gareth, I really don’t think, in all conscience, that I could approach the Old Man.’

  ‘Paul, please—’

  ‘No, no, altogether a bad idea.’

  ‘Paul—’

  ‘I don’t think it would be fair to bother him. As a matter of fact, I don’t think it’s fair to bother superiors at all. Much better to do it yourself.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘I’ll just send a telegram—I could do that on my way to the opera—saying that instructions have come from the Admiralty that Strakhov is to be held for a further forty-eight hours.’

  ‘The Admiralty?’

  ‘Yes, it will puzzle them, too. Not to mention the Admiralty, when they inquire there. And by the time they’ve sorted it out, the forty-eight hours will have elapsed.’

  ‘You don’t think, Paul, that, well, questions might be asked?’

  ‘If they are, I shall say that they’ve completely misunderstood a casual inquiry from a travelling Russian bootblack salesman.’

  After he had put the phone down, Owen sat for some minutes thinking in the increasing darkness of his office. Then he rang the offices of Al-Liwa, which, like most newspapers, worked late.

  ‘Mr. es-Rahel? Owen here. I think we have forty-eight hours’ grace. Now, naturally, we shall be doing all we can; but it did occur to me that a well-placed article in your newspaper could be of help. Yes, it is a reversal of policy, you could say that. But circumstances change, don’t they, Mr. es-Rahel, and we have to change with them. Flexibility is the watchword of the government this week, so I think an article on the subject might well creep through. There’s still time to catch tomorrow’s edition—no, there’s no need to show it to me beforehand. On this, as on all things, Mr. es-Rahel, I’m sure I can trust you—’

  ***

  After he had finished going through the next day’s newspapers, Owen gathered them up into a bundle and took them into Nikos’ office and dropped them on his desk. Nikos, too, worked late; in fact, Owen was not sure that he went home at all.

  ‘Any of them you want anything done about particularly?’ asked Nikos, continuing to concentrate on his neat rows of figures.

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘All of them?’ Nikos swivelled round in astonishment.

  ‘Yes. A surprising omission, which I’d like you to point out to them.’

  ‘We don’t usually point out omissions,’ said Nikos doubtfully.

  ‘We will on this occasion. It’s an interesting story that Al-Liwa has got hold of.’

  ‘Al-Liwa?’ said Nikos incredulously.

  ‘Yes. It is to do with a Russian named Strakhov.’

  ‘There’s nothing about a Russian named Strakhov in tomorrow’s Al-Liwa,’ said Nikos, who read all the newspapers beforehand too.

  ‘There will be. They can get the details from Mirza es-Rahel.’

  ‘Mirza es-Rahel?’ said Nikos, reeling.

  ***

  The next morning, early, Owen went to the Abdin Palace and called in at the Khedive’s office, where he found the man who had liaised with him over the arrangements for the conference in the Fayoum.

  ‘Why was a guard placed on Tvardovsky? Because someone asked for it, I suppose,’ said the man indifferently.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You really want to know? After all this time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man from the Khedive’s office sighed. It was clearly going to be that kind of a day. He rang the little handbell on his desk and a lackey came in.

  ‘The financiers’ conference in the Fayoum: bring me the papers.

  He turned back to Owen.

  ‘It would have been someone awkward. The Russians, I expect, since it was mostly Russians who were there. But why bother? What, after all, is a financier between friends? Or between enemies, for that matter. We weren’t even putting a guard on His Highness. We discussed that, didn’t we? Only we felt that in a place as remote as that, there was no need. I remember Prince Fuad being particularly firm on that point. “A threat,” he
said, “could come only from the Nationalists; and since they’re all half-educated city-dwellers, they’d never be able to find their way to a place like that.” In fact, he was rather doubtful if we could, either. The only thing that persuaded him in favour of the place was the possibilities for shooting.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Owen patiently.

  ‘And, really, it wasn’t such a bad idea. The Russians took it up at once. We wanted to arrange something special, you see; and what do foreigners think of when they think of Africa? “Game,” said Prince Fuad, and of course, he was quite right. I know Egypt hardly counts as Africa—Egyptians shudder at the thought—but for foreigners it does. And I know that nowadays there’s no big game in Egypt—and I have no intention of going to the provinces to find out, it’s mostly snakes and scorpions, as far as I can tell—but Prince Fuad said that ducks would be all right. “It’s still shooting,” he said, “and that’s the main thing. It will make them feel that they’re big boys; and then they’ll give me lots of money.” Which it looks as if they may do. So, on the whole,’ said the official, ‘it worked out rather well.’

  ‘Except for Tvardovsky.’

  ‘Tvardovsky? Oh, yes.’

  The lackey came in with a bulging file. He put it on the official’s desk.

  ‘Well, open it,’ said the official impatiently.

  The lackey opened it and the official began to riffle through the papers.

  ‘Actually,’ he said, after a moment, ‘it looks as if it wasn’t the Russians after all.’

  ‘Who did ask for the guard, then?’

  The official picked up a piece of paper and looked at it, surprised.

  ‘It rather looks as if Tvardovsky asked for the guard himself,’ he said.

  ***

  ‘You are spending,’ said Zeinab accusingly, ‘rather a lot of time in the Fayoum.’

  ‘Well, yes, unfortunately. The old lady I mentioned—’

  ‘The young woman I saw?’

  ‘There are two of them. An old lady and a young lady.’

  ‘And they both happen to live in the Fayoum?’

  ‘The old lady does. The young one was just visiting.’

  ‘At the same time as you?’

  ‘The old lady’s house was broken into. The young one happened to be there—she was returning a picture—and sent for me.’

  ‘She didn’t send for the police or the Parquet or the Mudir? She sent for you, personally? Since when have your services been available on a personal basis? Official services, I mean.’

  ‘She knew I had been there before.’

  ‘Well, yes, you’re always there.’

  ‘Asking about Tvardovsky.’

  ‘So she sent for you? Seeing at once that a break-in was a political matter?’

  ‘As it happens, it could well be a political matter. In so far, at least, as it connects with Tvardovsky. Mahmoud thinks so.’

  ‘Ah, Mahmoud!’

  ‘We’re working on this together.’

  ‘He covers up for you, and you—?’

  ‘There’s nothing to cover up for, for Mahmoud.’

  ‘But there is for you? Well, yes—’

  ‘Neither of us are covering up for anything. We’ve got nothing to cover up. We’re just working on a case, that’s all. And, as a matter of fact, about our biggest problem is that everyone else is covering up.’

  ‘Oh, everyone else? That is a good story. That is a clever twist. You wouldn’t have thought it up for yourself. Did she think it up for you? As she thought up all that stuff about the mummy portrait?’

  ‘That bloody mummy portrait!’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ said Zeinab sullenly, ‘I have a message for you. From Raoul. About a bloody mummy portrait.’

  ***

  He managed to persuade Zeinab to go with him. As they sat in the arabeah, driving along the Imad ed Din, an idea came to him.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘why don’t we go away together for a weekend? I have been spending a lot of time out of town recently, I admit. Why don’t we take a break? Just the two of us?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘We could go to the Fayoum,’ he said, with sudden inspiration. ‘That hotel!’

  ‘That woman!’

  ‘No, no. She’ll be miles away. She lives somewhere else. Alexandria, I think. Why not? Get away from Cairo, the heat, the smell, the dust—’

  ‘But get away to what?’

  ‘The hotel! It’s a lovely situation—water, trees, everything green. We could go for walks by the lake—’

  ‘What would we do?’ said Zeinab.

  ‘Well, as I say, go for walks. Look at things,’ said Owen, losing confidence.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well—birds.’

  ‘Birds!’

  ‘Pelicans, flamingoes—’

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Zeinab. ‘Is there any music? Apart from the birds, I mean? Theatre? Art galleries?’

  ‘We could go to Medinet,’ said Owen. ‘There are lovely old wooden bridges, water-wheels, beautiful houses with terraces, balconies—’

  He sold it to her on the strength that it was Venice.

  ***

  ‘It is about a man in Alexandria,’ said Raoul. ‘He is dead. Now, among his effects there is a really beautiful mummy portrait, and I just wondered if somehow you—’

  ‘Tvardovsky? Was that his name?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ said Raoul, staring. ‘You know him?’

  ‘Do I know him! Yes, and I know the portrait.’

  ‘Then—?’

  ‘It’s all in the hands of the lawyers—’

  ‘Their names?’ said Raoul, reaching for a pencil.

  ‘Demetriades and Atiyah. But he left a will. The portrait will be covered by that.’

  ‘You have no idea of the principal beneficiaries?’

  ‘He left everything to an old lady, living in the Fayoum. You probably know her. She’s the one who lent you that mummy portrait you had the other day in your exhibition—’

  ‘Irena Kundasova? Well, I don’t know her but Natasha does. I’ll get her to speak to her. Although,’ said Raoul, his face falling. ‘I know she likes to hold on to her pictures. Still, Natasha—funny about that—the picture going to Irena Kundasova. But not so strange, I suppose. These emigrés all hang together. It’s a pity he didn’t leave it to someone else, though, someone less interested in art. Still,’ he said, brightening, ‘perhaps she’ll feel she’s got enough of that sort of thing already. At her age. Yes, that’s what I’ll do,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll get Natasha to speak to her. By the way, have you seen Natasha’s latest? No?’

  He led the way to where some watercolours were hanging.

  ‘This one!’

  It was a view of Medinet: old houses framing an arched bridge.

  ‘Nice, isn’t it? At the amateur level. She’s done several. She liked Medinet. She says it reminds her of Venice.’

  ‘Venice!’ said Zeinab, looking at Owen.

  ***

  ‘What is it this time, then?’ said the Financial Secretary, making room for Owen at the bar. ‘Want some advice about how to handle your pocket money? My turn, I think. Whisky-soda, isn’t it? Wahid whisky-soda!’ he called. ‘No, make that two. Etnein!’

  ‘Cheers! No, not this time. I want to know about the Fayoum.’

  ‘Is the Khedive thinking of holding another conference there? Good idea! Lovely spot. Only tell him to make it a bit longer this time so that I can get some fishing in.’

  ‘Not as far as I know. But I just may not know. There’s a story making the rounds that the conference was intended to be the first of a series.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the Financial Secretary noncommittally.

  ‘Why would that be? What’s so special
about the Fayoum?’

  ‘Nothing’s special about the Fayoum, except that, as you’ve seen, it’s a fertile place. If you want to grow anything, that’s the place to do it. And, just at the moment, with the international cotton price so low, we’re wondering what else Egypt could grow. There’s plainly a need for diversification.’

  ‘Fruit, vegetables, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Don’t forget grass. Grass grows there, too, and where you have grass you can have cows and sheep. Still, other countries can probably grow cows better. No, the most likely possibility is grain.’

  ‘The Fayoum was once the granary of Rome. Or so Tvardovsky said.’

  ‘Tvardovsky, of course, was on to this early. Financiers tend to work these things out ahead of the rest of us. Mind you, not that far ahead. The government’s been thinking about the development of the Fayoum for some time.’

  ‘According to Tvardovsky, the key was water.’

  ‘The trouble with water is that you can’t think of the Fayoum in isolation from the rest of the country. Take water off higher up and you leave less for those lower down, like the farmers of the Delta. That’s why we’ve been concentrating so far on building an infrastructure: a really good light railway system, roads, bridges, even schools.’

  ‘And for that, of course, you need money. That was the other thing the Fayoum needed, Tvardovsky said: money.’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Was that what that conference was about?’

  ‘Actually, no. They would have liked it to have been about that. But we are holding them off. We don’t want everything in the Fayoum to be in the hands of foreign investors. We’ve even gone so far, in the case of the light railways, as to confine the holding of shares in the company to native Egyptians. And we may well do the same in other cases, too.’

  ‘The covered markets?’

  ‘Possibly. The trouble is,’ said the Financial Secretary, swishing the ice round in the bottom of his glass, ‘that however much we try to keep the foreign capitalists out, the buggers will keep sneaking in!’

  ***

  Further along the bar Owen saw the Chairman of the British Chamber of Commerce, up for the day from Alexandria to plead, no doubt, some unlikely commercial cause, and wormed his way through the crowd towards him.