Scorpion Sunset

by Catrin Collier

  ‘I heard a fight broke out among the Arabs in one of the streets down by the wharf.’

  ‘It did. We admitted fourteen men with various broken bones and degrees of concussion. On the plus side, no women and children were involved. They obviously had the sense to stay out of the way of the flying fists.’

  ‘What was it all about?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Search me. We talked to them through interpreters but are none the wiser. It’s possible the interpreters wanted to keep us in the dark but the injuries made a nice change from fevers and dysentery.’ She looked down at the baby who was smiling up at her and playing with her rope of coral beads. ‘Every time I see this child he appears to have doubled in size. The rate he’s growing he’ll be talking and running around in no time.’

  ‘He will.’

  Something in Angela’s voice alerted Georgiana. ‘You don’t want him to grow up.’

  ‘Of course. It’s just that …’

  ‘You’ve become close to him and you’re afraid Maud will return to reclaim him?’

  ‘No,’ Angela was emphatic. ‘He’s Maud’s son and he’ll always be Maud’s son no matter how long I look after him. She gave birth to him, and that gives her the sole right to raise him. I only wished I knew where she was and what kind of a life she’s living.’

  ‘You’re concerned in case it’s not conducive to bringing up a child?’

  ‘I’m concerned she might be in trouble and too proud to ask for help.’

  ‘I’ve met her, of course, and saw her in the mission, but I can’t say I really know her. I’ve also heard the rumours about her. My first impression was she didn’t seem the type to attract John. Too shallow, pretty, and fluffy. I always thought he’d marry a sensible woman, his intellectual equal who’d be able to play chess and discuss literature and art with him. Not a woman whose conversation only extended as far as fashion, balls, and parties.’

  ‘You didn’t like her?’

  ‘It’s not a question of liking or disliking Maud. I just thought that she was wrong for John. After meeting her, I couldn’t help wondering if John had married her simply because she was the most suitable woman around. There is a shortage of unmarried women in India, isn’t there?’

  ‘So I’ve heard.’

  Angela poured the tea and set a cup on the side table beside Georgiana. ‘I’ve always thought of Captain Mason as an exceptionally kind, considerate, and gentle man. Not an intellectual, though.’

  ‘John’s the most widely and best-read person I know. I was closer to him than Harry when we were growing up. Probably because Harry was always in trouble and I liked the quiet life too much to join my twin in his escapades.’

  ‘John never mentioned books to me.’

  ‘Did you ever talk to him when you were alone?’

  Angela thought. ‘Not often.’

  ‘You were right when you said he was considerate. He always allows others to choose the topic of conversation rather than have them think he’s talking down to them. Are you concerned that if Maud does reclaim Robin you might not be able to see him?’ Georgiana ventured.

  ‘I admit I would hate being separated from Robin, especially if I felt that Maud was taking him to a worse place than this one. I’m enjoying looking after him especially now that Peter’s left. Between teaching in the Lansing, running the house, and setting aside some time each day for Robin, I’ve barely time to worry about Peter or consider where he is and what he’s doing, except just after I wake in the morning and in the few minutes before I go to sleep.’

  ‘It’s better to be busy than sit and worry about what’s happening upriver,’ Georgiana agreed.

  ‘I’m sorry, that was selfish of me. You must be worried about Michael and David.’

  ‘Michael is a civilian and he has a battery of well-paid Arabs looking after him. David and I are friends. I like him, and he’s fun to be with. But most people who are one-person parties are. Frankly,’ she smiled, ‘David is the sort of man my mother used to warn me about. Charming, good-looking, good company, an incorrigible flirt, and a wonderful friend provided you never rely on them. They make dreadful husbands.’

  ‘Isn’t that harsh on David?’ Angela asked.

  Georgiana’s smile broadened. ‘David would be the first to admit it’s an accurate description of him. My husband, Gwilym, was the complete antithesis to David.’

  ‘Charles told me he was killed on the Western Front.’

  ‘Gwilym was a pacifist. Like many pacifists he volunteered as a stretcher-bearer. It never occurred to either of us that he would get killed or that we would never see one another again.’ She fell silent and a faraway look stole into her eyes.

  ‘You obviously loved him very much.’

  ‘I adored him, but we were from different worlds. A bit like you and Peter. It wasn’t easy for Gwilym to adapt to my world of doctors and family. Especially when my father flatly refused to allow him into his house.’ Georgiana switched the conversation from her to Angela. ‘But you couldn’t have found it easy to marry into British military society.’

  ‘It was strange at first, especially when some of the officers went out of their way to belittle me simply because I was American. But most of Peter’s friends were welcoming. Especially your brother Harry. Peter and I would never been able to marry when we did, or have such a marvellous honeymoon if Harry hadn’t arranged leave for Peter and given us his lieutenant-colonel’s bungalow. I miss him so much. He used to call into the mission without ceremony every time he was in Basra. No matter how bad the war news he always managed to cheer everyone up and reassure me that Peter was safe and would remain safe. I can’t bear the thought of him lying dead in an unmarked grave, with no one to mourn him or hold a proper service.’

  Georgiana was finding it increasingly difficult to keep the secret of Harry’s ‘death’. ‘Harry will always live on in the hearts of those who knew him,’ she said ambiguously.

  ‘He made friends with everyone. In that respect he was very like David.’

  ‘But unlike David he fell in love with one woman and managed to remain faithful to her after they married, according to what Charles and Peter have told me.’

  ‘I never met Furja but Harry’s eyes positively glowed every time he spoke about her. She must be a very special woman. After news came of Harry’s death I asked if anyone knew where she lived so I could visit her, but if she was still in Basra no one could give me her address.’

  Georgiana looked down at Robin on her lap. He’d fallen asleep without her even noticing. Her coral necklace was entwined in his fingers, his feet tucked into the folds of her skirt.

  ‘Here, I’ll take him from you and settle him down.’ Angela lifted him from Georgiana’s lap and laid him in the cot before tucking him in. When she’d finished she looked at the tea tray. ‘Shall I send for more tea or would you like a brandy?’

  ‘A brandy, please.’ Georgiana stretched out in the chair and lifted her feet on to a footstool. ‘This really is pleasant. I’m never out of sight or earshot of the wards in the hospital, and on the rare occasions I make it as far as my room in the Lansing Mission I’m always on edge waiting for the telephone to ring to inform me of an emergency.’

  ‘You could move in here,’ Angela suggested shyly.

  ‘No I couldn’t. What if Peter returned suddenly?’

  ‘You could move out if his presence would make you feel uncomfortable.’

  ‘I don’t know about uncomfortable. I’d certainly feel like a gooseberry.’

  ‘Peter and I are well past the honeymoon stage.’

  ‘Didn’t look like it to me the last time I saw you together in the Basra Club.’

  ‘We won’t be taking Baghdad in a hurry, and Peter, Charles, and Michael are sure that’s the objective. We have three bedrooms, I’m in one, the nanny and Robin occupy the other, and we have one free.’

  ‘The thought of spending another leisurely evening like this is very tempting, especially if I could sleep over at t
he end of it,’ Georgiana conceded.

  ‘Then move in. We can cheer one another up. You must be feeling as forlorn and wretched as me now most of the men have gone up-country. I’d really welcome your company.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be here that much. I work long hours in the hospital and rarely make it back to the mission more than one or two nights a week.’

  ‘You might make an effort to organise more free evenings for yourself if you knew you were more or less out of reach of the hospital.’

  ‘I might at that.’ Georgiana sipped the brandy Angela had given her.

  ‘I’ve another reason for asking. I’m fairly sure I’m pregnant and – you don’t have to say yes to this – but I’d like you to take care of me, not an army doctor.’

  Georgiana smiled. ‘That’s wonderful news, and I’d be delighted to take care of both of you.’

  ‘Both of you …’ Angela smiled as she repeated the words.

  ‘Realisation has just dawned?’

  ‘It has.’

  ‘Does Peter know he’s about to become a father?’

  ‘No, I suspected I might be pregnant when he left but I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t want to give him any extra worries. I wish …’

  Georgiana waited but when Angela didn’t finish her sentence she did it for her. ‘He wasn’t in the army and didn’t have to fight a war?’

  ‘So many of our friends have been killed. I can’t help wondering how many more will have to give their lives before it ends.’

  ‘It can’t go on much longer.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘I have to, every time I think of all the friends of Harry, Michael, John, and Tom who have died here or on the Western Front. If we lose the few who are left, an entire generation will be wiped out.’

  ‘Reverend Butler says that America will be forced into the war sooner rather than later and they will come in on the side of the Allies.’

  ‘Do you think he’s right?’ Georgiana asked.

  ‘It’s so long since I left America I have no idea what Americans believe. Theo seems to think that the German, Irish, and Scandinavian Americans will do all they can to keep America neutral, as does Dr Picard.’

  ‘No matter what happens we can’t do anything to change it. Harry used to tell me to ignore anything that can’t be influenced. So how about we discuss the practicalities of me moving in here with you and your new baby. Do you want a boy or a girl?’

  Angela smiled. ‘A boy with red hair who looks exactly like Peter. That would be wonderful.’

  ‘It would be.’

  Georgiana couldn’t supress the thought that it would be even more wonderful if there were no more wars left for him to fight when he reached his father’s age.

  Sheikh Saad

  September 1916

  Peter, Charles, and David walked down the gangplank of the ship that had taken them upriver from Ali Gharbi to Sheikh Saad.

  ‘I would give whole worlds for an iced bath, a glass of good whisky, and a crack sniper to rid us of these bloody Arabs.’ Charles instinctively ducked as a bullet whistled overhead.

  ‘It’s not the bullets you have to worry about, Major Reid, but your disappearing kit. The Arabs are lousy shots, but expert thieves. They creep about at night stealing blankets, rifles, and even tents and mosquito nets from under and over officers as well as men.’

  ‘Captain Boris Bell,’ Charles held out his hand and shook Boris’s hand enthusiastically. ‘I haven’t seen you since you were hospitalised after that final failed push to relieve Kut. How are you?’

  ‘As you see fit, active, and,’ Boris fingered his insignia, ‘captain no longer.’

  ‘Then we’re all majors. David Knight, medical corps, Peter Smythe, Dorsets, meet Boris Bell, 6th Indian Cavalry.’

  Boris shook their hands. ‘I take it you gentlemen are ready to have another go at Johnny Turk?’

  ‘We owe them one for forcing Townshend to surrender at Kut,’ Peter said bitterly.

  ‘What’s the organisation like here?’ Charles asked.

  ‘Better than it was when the Relief Force was trying to fight through to Kut.’ Boris ducked as yet another bullet whistled overhead, hit a tent pole, and fell harmlessly to the ground. ‘Maude has everything under control. The fittest men are being pushed straight on up to the front at Sannaiyat. The cavalry and mounted troops are being held back here because the animals require a greater quantity of supplies. You know what the grazing is like upstream.’

  ‘What grazing?’ Charles asked.

  ‘Precisely. Ammunition, including the new Stokes trench mortars, is being stockpiled. Morale is good among officers and men …’

  ‘Really?’ Peter was sceptical.

  ‘Maude knows what he’s doing and he’s determined to march into Baghdad. Once we take the city Johnny Turk will have to retreat from this part of the world.’

  ‘And all we’ll have left to do is chase him back into Turkey,’ David laughed. ‘A month or two and we should have it cleared and ready for the civil servants. They can import the surplus from India. They’ll love pushing forms around beneath the minarets.’

  ‘But before that happens we have to advance.’

  ‘Is there a hospital here?’ David asked.

  ‘Here and at Sannaiyat.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you report for duty?’ Charles asked.

  David shook his head. ‘Command’s managed without me until now. I’ll wait until they track me down. So,’ he turned to Boris, ‘where does a man go for fine dining and wine here?’

  It was Boris’s turn to laugh. ‘I see you brought the jokers with you, Charles.’

  ‘More than one by the look of it.’ He spotted Michael walking towards him in Arab robes.

  ‘I’ve been in the desert interviewing the natives,’ Michael explained, ‘And say what you like about skirts, this outfit is more comfortable than khaki or civvies.’

  ‘We’ll take your word for it.’ Peter was shaken by the sight of Michael in Arab dress. It reminded him of all the times Harry had sneaked into the Basra base after the nights he’d spent gambling in Abdul’s.

  ‘What’s the story among the Arabs?’ Charles asked. ‘Are they on our side?’

  ‘You’ve been in this country longer than me, Charles, you should know.’

  ‘Know what?’ Charles challenged Michael.

  ‘I’m surprised that you haven’t yet learned that the only side the Bedawi are on is their own.’

  ‘Will they support us in the push upriver?’ Charles pressed.

  ‘For what’s it’s worth – and it is just an opinion, they’ll support us as long as we’re pushing out the Turks. Once the Turks have gone they’ll probably start pushing us out.’

  ‘It’s rumoured the sepoys are making bully beef curry for tonight, but it won’t be served for another hour, how about all you gentlemen retire to my tent …’ Boris ducked as bullets started flying again.

  ‘Where the hell are they shooting from?’ Peter demanded irritably.

  ‘Boats, camels, but they’ve yet to hit anything that bleeds. Brigadier sent out snipers earlier to see if they could cut them down. To continue, I have some Chianti and whisky in my tent, possibly enough for all of us. Anyone care for a pre-dinner snifter?’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Charles looked around. His bearer, Chatta Ram, was already erecting his tent. ‘I’ll just check on my gear and finish a letter that can go back downstream with the boat and I’ll be with you.’

  ‘To hell with my gear,’ David said to Boris, ‘I’ll join you now.’

  Chatta Ram had erected his own small tent and had started on Charles’s.

  ‘Have you seen my travelling desk?’ Charles asked.

  ‘Yes, sahib.’ As always when they were in company Chatta Ram answered him formally. He unfolded a travelling chair, and handed Charles his desk.

  Charles opened it and looked at the letter he’d started writing on the boat the night before.

  My dear Kitty,<
br />
  I know it must seem strange that I have to write what I couldn’t say to you in words, but I wanted you to know how much and how totally and completely I love you and most of all how unworthy I am of receiving your love …

  Charles unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped the pen into it, and continued to write.

  I have a son, Kitty. His name is Robin, his mother is Maud Perry. The wife of my closest friend. I cannot tell you how ashamed I am at having to confess that to you. I will understand if you never want to see me again. Believe me, you cannot possibly despise me any more than I despise myself. I have not only betrayed the moral code of decency all Englishmen try to live by but my best friend …

  ‘These damned snipers are getting to be a bloody nuisance, sahib,’ Chatta Ram grumbled. ‘I’m afraid to stand upright in this camp.

  ‘What do you mean getting to be, Chatta Ram?’ David appeared and handed Charles a glass of whisky. ‘They are a bloody nuisance. Come and join us, Charles, there are loads of fellows here we know.’ He glanced at the writing desk. ‘Your lady love can wait. You know what the post is like. That will be dumped in a mail bag in a warehouse at one of the boat changeover points like Qurna for a month or two.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Charles capitulated. He blotted what he’d written, returned it to his desk, and took the glass from David.

  They walked away from Charles’s tent towards Boris’s.

  ‘Careful you don’t catch the sun’s rays with that,’ David warned. ‘It’ll give Sniper Abdul a target and you’ll lose your fingers.’

  Even as David spoke another shot pinged, and Charles fell.

  ‘Come on, old man.’ David stooped down and turned Charles over. He stared in disbelief at the bullet hole in the centre of Charles’s forehead.

  Chatta Ram ran at speed towards them. Boris, Michael, and Peter charged from the tables and chairs in front of Boris’s tent.

  ‘Charles?’

  No one noticed Chatta Ram had used Charles’ first name.

  ‘Is he?’

  David looked up at Michael. ‘Dead? Yes.’ He stared down at Charles. ‘I should never have taken him that whisky. I should have left him writing where he was. I should never …’