Mohammed’s son, with all his mental difficulties, had inherited his father’s religious devoutness but in his case it had propelled him towards the Turkishness of his mother’s side of the family. And Yasmin, for whom the Turkish rule of the past was as much to be resisted as the British rule of the present, was moving determinedly towards a new loyalty to the Egypt that she sensed was coming.
In some ways the hardest thing for Mohammed Sekhmet to cope with was his daughter. For a long time he couldn’t even speak of her. In her he saw an anticipation of all the later disasters that had fallen upon his family. From the start she had shown a disposition to stray outside the old certainties that had guided his family for generations. Was it any wonder that she had gone so badly astray? For that he blamed himself rather than her; but the remedy was obvious. It was to return her as speedily as possible to the old traditions. That meant marriage: and marriage, moreover, to someone who would see that in future she kept to the norms expected of women in her society.
Owen pleaded Yasmin’s cause but got nowhere. Indeed, he began to feel that he was making things worse for her. He decided to consult Aisha.
Aisha, after consideration, said that this time she was unable to help but suggested that she ask Mahmoud.
Owen hesitated. Greatly as he liked Mahmoud, he wasn’t sure he was the right man for this.
‘Don’t you think he might be a little too—?’
‘Mahmoud takes a traditional view of the family,’ said Aisha, ‘and so, if you can persuade him, he is just the man to speak to Mohammed Sekhmet.’
It took a long time, and an even longer time, once he was persuaded, for Mahmoud to persuade Mohammed Sekhmet, but eventually he did. Yasmin, then, was to be allowed to resume her education, first at school and then—Well, where? Owen felt that Yasmin had a natural bent for the law. Here, though, they encountered a problem. There were no law courses for women; indeed, few courses for women at all.
Once again Labiba Latifa came to the rescue. Not in the law as such, perhaps, but some of the new courses in social work with women and children included law as part of the curriculum and could be taken by women.
And if that failed, she could always join Zeinab at the hospital annexe.
Zeinab was working terribly hard as more and more wounded soldiers poured into Egypt. Increasingly they were Egyptian, first the Camel Corps casualties from the skirmishes with the Senussi, then the Labour Corps casualties from the fighting along and across the Canal.
Work suited Zeinab. She found administration surprisingly satisfying but there was more to it than that. As an administrator she met men, both British and Egyptian, on equal terms. Under the general pressure of work old differences began to matter less.
Owen did not see as much of her as he would like; but then, neither did Faruq.
When Faruq resumed his importuning, Zeinab was simply too busy to notice.
Owen noticed, though, and in the discussion at the Intelligence Committee of the spy chain and the Pashas’ role in it took the chance to point out the risks of having someone like Faruq so close to all the information that was passing through the Sultan’s Office. Shortly afterwards Faruq left Cairo.
At first Owen had some difficulty in pressing charges against the Pasha Ismail. True, he had been exporting cotton illegally but the circles around the Sultan took a relaxed view of that. Wasn’t everybody doing it? They took a similar view of the Pasha’s links with the spy chain. Wasn’t everybody doing that, too?
What about the killing, asked Owen? Was everybody doing that too?
Perhaps not. However, it was only a fellah that had been murdered and the Mamur Zapt seemed to have got the man who did the actual murdering. Why bring a Pasha into it?
Here, surprisingly, Hassan Marbri took a hand. Owen had passed all his information on to him. It was his first case and he meant to make the most of it. The Pasha was implicated in the killing of an Egyptian citizen, he insisted, and the law must take its course. The Parquet sided with its own—it didn’t like the Pashas any more than it did the British—and ensured that Ismail was brought to trial. On Sabri’s murder, as opposed to the espionage, the donkey-barber was prepared to give evidence. The Pasha Ismail was convicted along with him and after that their criminal activities came to an end.
***
Georgiades was now happily back on the streets. He had lost his care-worn look and seemed positively blooming. Then one day Owen came into the office and found him ashen.
‘What’s the matter?’
Georgiades could only shake his head dumbly.
‘Something gone wrong?’
‘Rosa,’ Georgiades managed to gasp.
‘The deal?’
Georgiades nodded his head despairingly.
‘It’s gone wrong?’
‘It’s gone right,’ said Georgiades hoarsely.
‘Gone right?’
‘She’s made so much money that it’s indecent.’
‘Well, surely—’
‘All my life,’ said Georgiades, ‘I’ve been a working man. I was brought up to work. I like work. And although the pay’s not much, it’s been okay as far as I’m concerned. But now my wife comes along and makes more money in a couple of months than I’ll make in the whole of my life! It’s all wrong.’
‘Well, I’ve never understood this financial stuff myself,’ said Owen. ‘It all seems a bit shady to me. But, look, Rosa’s not shady. She’s sharp, that’s all. A good businesswoman, like her grandmother. There’s nothing wrong with that. And, hell, she’s made you rich!’
‘I don’t want to be rich. I want to be normal.’
‘Look, it will help with the house and the kids.’
Georgiades shook his head.
‘This is only the beginning,’ he said. ‘Now she’s done it once, she’ll want to do it again. She’s set up a company. I’m on the board.’
‘You’re on the board? Christ!’
‘I know. I’ve said to her, look, Rosa. I’m not the man for this sort of thing. No, no, you are, she said. You’re just the kind of director I like: sit there, understand nothing, say nothing, do nothing. Just nod when I tell you.’
‘Look, you’re not going to leave?’
‘Leave? Who said anything about leaving?’
‘Well, you know, with all this money—’
‘It’s got to be ploughed back. That’s what Rosa says, There’s going to be no splashing around, she says. We’ll live as we’ve always lived. Except that she’s taken over half the street as offices.’
When last heard of, Rosa was selling Curtis the sand of the desert; for the cement he would be needing, she assured him, when they started building the new fortifications along the Canal.
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