by Paul Scott
‘Hey, Sarge, what d’you reckon, then?’
The speaker was a REME corporal. He was standing against a wall with an AB of the Royal Navy.
‘Reckon?’
‘To all this.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘No, with him.’ The corporal nodded at the sailor then looked at Perron’s glass. ‘What they rush you for the booze?’
‘They don’t. It’s free. It usually is at parties.’
‘Parties? Isn’t it Amy’s?’
‘Well the hostess’s first name is Aimee.’
‘Hostess?’
‘The lady giving the party.’
Perron recited the Maharanee’s full title. The corporal looked at his mate. The sailor said, ‘The rotten sods.’ The corporal felt in a pocket and produced a grubby piece of paper. He looked at it and then showed it to Perron. On it was written: ‘Amy’s’, the address and flat number and a note at the bottom saying: ‘Six chips.’ Perron handed the paper back. He shook his head. ‘I think someone’s played a practical joke on you. It’s not that kind of place. What did you say when the bearer opened the door?’
‘I just said, “Amy’s?” He didn’t ask for names or nothing so it looked okay. At least it did until we saw the company. I mean, women –coming in. We’d better blow before we get chucked out.’
‘I don’t think you would be.’
‘But we don’t know anyone and from the look of this lot we aren’t likely to.’
‘Hey, have a dekko at that,’ the sailor said. He nudged the corporal in the ribs. Perron turned round. Aneila was flowing down the corridor to her aunt’s room.
‘Yeah, that’s better. Who’s she, Sarge?’
‘The Maharanee’s niece.’
‘Any more like her inside?’
‘Yes, several.’
‘Who are you with, Sarge?’
‘No one in particular.’
‘If anyone asks can we say we’re with you?’
‘You’d better say you’re friends of Captain Purvis, but he hasn’t turned up yet.’
‘Suppose he does turn up?’
‘He won’t. He’s ill in bed.’ A bearer came by with a loaded tray. Perron stopped him. ‘Have a drink anyway, then you won’t look conspicious. There’s beer too if you want it. You only have to ask.’
The two lads gingerly took glasses from the tray.
‘Okay?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Thanks, Sarge. Captain Purvis?’
‘Leonard Purvis. The economist.’
The corporal nodded, abstractedly.
‘See you, corporal,’ Perron said and turned away. Major Merrick had come out of the room and was waiting for him.
‘I’d like a word.’
They moved to an uncluttered part of the passage.
‘Are you on duty?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Are you expecting your officer?’
‘No, sir.’
‘I take it this disguise is permitted?’
‘In certain circumstances, yes, sir.’
‘Always a bit risky though, isn’t it? However slight the chances of coming across someone who knows you. For instance, Miss Layton has just told me about your meeting earlier this afternoon. In your other uniform.’
‘Not in anyone else’s hearing I hope, sir.’
‘No. But quite properly she thought I ought to know.’
‘Did you tell her you knew already, sir?’
‘Without going into detail, yes. This officer – Captain Purvis? Is he in your department too?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Are you going back to his flat?’
‘I shall have to, sir. To change.’
For a while Merrick stared at him without speaking. In the living-room another record was put on and there was some loud laughter. Eventually Merrick said, ‘What time do you expect to leave?’
‘I’m not sure, sir.’
Merrick glanced at the other people in the passage. Three young Indian women sat on the settee chattering and giggling. The corporal and the sailor were now being talked to by the middle-aged Englishman in the cummerbund. Merrick continued: ‘I’ve been thinking about making our excuses and taking Miss Layton home. Everything considered and in view of what you know, would you think that justified, to save her possible embarrassment?’
A movement near the doorway into the living-room caught his eye. The middle-aged civilian was shepherding the corporal and the sailor in. He gave the sailor an encouraging pat, low enough on the spine to rank as a slap on the buttocks. Perron returned his attention and saw that the gesture had not gone unnoticed by Merrick. Perron assumed as blank an expression as he could manage.
‘I simply can’t say, sir. It should be quite easy to slip away, I imagine, without giving offence.’
‘Giving offence wouldn’t bother me. What I’m asking you to tell me is whether in your view the reasons for your own presence here are likely to become apparent, through some kind of general or particular unpleasantness.’
‘I’m not sure I understand you, sir,’ Perron said. ‘It’s all fairly routine from my point of view.’
Merrick looked across Perron’s shoulder in the direction of the settee where the three Indian girls were.
‘Routine?’ he said.
Perron lowered his voice although with no one in easy earshot there was no need. ‘The reason for my presence, sir.’
Merrick continued staring at the girls on the carved sofa and then looked in the opposite direction at the main door of the flat which the bearer had just opened. Two tall white girls, exaggeratedly made up and wearing sarees, came in ahead of a couple of Air Force officers, an Englishman and an American. The taller of the girls, who seemed familiar with the flat, led her companion down the passage towards the room set aside for women. As she went by she gave Perron a dazzling smile. But heavy make-up – and pungent scents – had never much appealed to him, neither for that matter had white women in sarees. Their bones were usually too big – as in this case. He watched them go into the women’s room. Apparently the three Indian girls thought them as incongruous as he did; they lowered their heads, covered their faces and laughed.
‘I sympathize with you then, sergeant, if this is routine.’
‘I don’t mean the party, sir. The reason for my being at it.’
‘You see nothing odd about the party, though? Nothing that would encourage you seriously to consider leaving if you were in my shoes and had Miss Layton to think of? Or even if you were by yourself and had no special reason for staying?’
‘I suppose it is a bit noisy, sir. And of course it does have its unusual aspect.’
‘What is that, in your opinion?’
‘Other ranks mixing with officers, sir. But of course I knew beforehand, otherwise I should have had to come in civilian clothes and that leads to so many awkward questions; who does one work for, what does one do. A sergeant is more anonymous.’
‘And better bait. Well, I won’t ask you what you expect to hook but if you’re thinking of this as routine I should advise you to be careful where and how you cast. In fact, although I think you’re being less than frank with me I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and a friendly warning. I have a much longer experience of this country and its peculiarities, on most levels of its society. In Indian terms you may think this an example of the top level because the hostess is a Maharanee. That is as may be. But it’s at the top you find the scum, isn’t it? You can certainly see plenty of it here. I must give Count Bronowsky the benefit of the doubt too and assume he had no idea the particular kind of party the Maharanee is giving this evening. I shall know better about that in a moment when I go back in and tell him I intend to take Miss Layton home before things get worse.’
‘Worse, sir?’
‘Worse.’ Merrick studied him. ‘I begin to wonder about your powers of observation, sergeant. The two white girls in sarees who have just gone into the ladies’ room – one of whom made a pass at
you – are boys, probably airmen. The three Indian girls giggling on the sofa there are also boys, not professional transvestites, which as you may know is a special kind of Indian sect, and all right in its place, but not I assure you all right here. They will undoubtedly dance for the company later in the evening and manage to make it clear what they are, and what they are offering.’
Perron looked at the three figures on the settee. He studied their covered breasts, their ringed fingers and bare forearms, the sandalled feet and bangled ankles; the shapes of jaws, joints and noses. Because he had been told, he saw.
He turned back to Merrick.
‘Yes, I see.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. The English boys’ get-up is very good but crude in comparison. That’s why the Indian boys laughed at them. Tell me at least one thing. Are the REME corporal and the AB you were talking to also on duty, like you?’
‘No, sir. Certainly not to my knowledge.’
‘Do you know who they’re with?’
‘They’re just with each other, sir. But the party’s a bit of a surprise to them. They were expecting something rather different.’
‘Meaning?’
‘A place called Amy’s at a cost of six rupees.’
‘They weren’t far wrong. Would you say that an ageing teaplanter wasn’t what they hoped to find?’
‘I should think it highly unlikely that they did, sir.’
‘In that case, sergeant, I think your duties might conceivably extend to ordering them to leave, for their own good.’
Perron felt a twitch of irritation.
‘I don’t think I need interfere, sir.’
‘Then you misjudge the degree of temptation.’
They broke off. The two white men in sarees had come out of the women’s room. This time Perron got a smile from both of them. They wore wigs. Now that he had been told, the masquerade was obvious. When they had gone by he glanced up the corridor where the two officers they had come with were waiting for them, holding drinks ready. The draped hips swung rhythmically. As the men reached their escorts Perron caught the American officer’s eye: a beefy-looking fellow, who winked at him.
He looked back at Merrick, thinking of the map room.
‘Do I, sir? Misjudge the degree of temptation?’
‘I think you do. A corporal and a sailor can’t have found it easy to scrape together six rupees each for a visit to a prostitute. Some flattering attention, a taste of what they think of as the high life, an offer of a handsome tip or a present that they can sell in the bazaar aren’t necessarily inadequate or unacceptable payment to very young fellows like that. Alternatively, the tea-planter might find himself badly beaten up and his money gone and there could then be two more young men who’ve discovered a way of making easy money and will end up in serious trouble. Either consequence is one it seems sensible to avoid.’
‘I do see that point of view, sir. But I couldn’t risk it.’
‘Risk it?’
‘Risk doing what you suggest. They might not go quietly.’
‘They would if you took them on one side and dealt with it tactfully but firmly.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
Merrick paused, but never let his glance fall.
‘Have you a proper identity card with you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then you could show it to them on the quiet.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Why not?’
Perron’s irritation was gone and his temper roused.
‘You must know why not, sir.’
‘Would you show it to me if I asked to see it?’
‘No, sir.’
‘If I ordered you to?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Let me put a hypothetical case, sergeant. I have seen you in one place, in one persona, apparently bona fide, but here I find you in another and in the most unsavoury surroundings. I have suspicions about your true identity. I order you to show me the card. You refuse. I call another officer to ring for the military police. What then?’
‘Presumably I would be arrested, sir.’
‘And then?’
‘And then, sir, we should see.’
Suddenly Merrick smiled.
‘Your officer was right.’
‘Right about what, sir?’
‘About your being a tough nut to crack. I think I told you he was singing your praises. But I wanted to find out how easy it would be to force you to act against your better judgment and the security of the job you’re doing. I agree it would be quite absurd to risk drawing attention to yourself by warning those fellows off. If I’d looked like succeeding in browbeating you into it I’d have had to stop you. I was only testing you out.’
‘May I ask why, sir?’
‘I can’t tell you here. But if it’s not too late when you get back to Queen’s Road and have collected your things from Captain Purvis, ring the bell at Lieutenant-Colonel Grace’s door on your way down and ask for me. Colonel Grace is Miss Layton’s uncle. You know, of course, who her father is.’
‘Do I, sir?’
‘Weren’t you pumping young Kasim? I could have sworn you were.’
‘Yes, I know who her father is.’
‘Well, if you call you may meet him. They’re going back to Pankot tomorrow. I should want you to say nothing about Havildar Karim Muzzafir Khan, either to him or to Miss Layton. In fact nothing at all about the circumstances in which we met before. The other taboo subject, at least in front of Miss Layton, is the subject of Hari Kumar. It might conceivably crop up because Colonel Layton is an old Chillingburian too.’
Merrick broke off. The door of the Maharanee’s room had opened and Aneila was coming hastily towards them. Seeing Perron she ran to him and grasped his arm.
‘Oh thank goodness you are still here, Auntie is asking for you. Please come quickly. She is in a terrible temper and won’t come out to her party. It is so embarrassing with all these people here.’
Still holding his arm she turned back towards the room so that Perron was forced to follow. As he went Merrick said, ‘We shall be here for another few minutes, I expect.’
Directly Aneila entered the room the Maharanee cried, ‘Shut the door! I cannot stand it! Why do they hang around in the corridor when there are all the rooms to use? Why don’t you organize things better? How am I going to rest for my party with all this noise going on?’
‘Oh, Auntie, please don’t shout, people will hear!’
‘How can they hear? I cannot even hear myself speak!’
But it no longer mattered. Aneila had shut the door and stood, visibly trembling, leaning against it.
The Maharanee was still on the couch but by its side now was a small table holding a tray, the bottle of whisky and a glass.’
Pointing at the bottle she said, ‘Taste it! Taste it! What is this Purvis creature trying to do? Poison me?’
Perron went across to the couch and picked up the bottle. It was nearly a quarter empty. He glanced at the Maharanee and then at the label. Surprised, he put the uncapped top near his nose and sniffed. The label was genuine. He wondered where Purvis had managed to get hold of it. He hadn’t seen a bottle since 1939. He had first tasted the particular brand of whisky it contained at the age of eighteen when it had had an elaborately erotic effect on him. He looked at the Maharanee again, warily.
‘You see!’ she shouted. ‘It is disgusting! Taste it! The taste is even more disgusting than the smell. Aneila, why are you standing there doing nothing? Get Mr Perron a glass.’
Aneila ran into the adjoining bathroom.
‘Actually, Your Highness, it’s a very fine and rare old malt whisky, an acquired taste perhaps, admittedly –’
‘It is disgusting! What is keeping you, Aneila? I said bring Mr Perron a glass.’
‘I’m bringing it, Auntie.’
She ran in with a tumbler. It was wet from running water from the tap under which it had been rinsed.
‘Pour him one!’
‘Well? Is it not disgusting?’
‘Not to my way of thinking, Your Highness. On first acquaintance it could seem a little smoky but that’s part of its charm to people who like it.’
‘They must be depraved then. Who but people with depraved tastes could drink such disgusting stuff?’
‘There’s a very interesting story about it. They said it wasn’t until the English learnt to drink and appreciate it that they managed to subdue the Scots.’
‘Scots, English, what is the difference? You are all barbarians. Are there many of you at my party?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’
‘Who else? Aneila is hopeless. She remembers nobody’s name.’
‘So far I’ve talked to only a few. I think you know one of them – Count Bronowsky.’
She waved a hand impatiently. ‘Yes, I know. Even Aneila can tell me that. But why is he here? Why is Dmitri here tonight? I told him any time except tonight. Who is with him?’
‘The secretary who’s a son of Mr Mohammed Ali Kasim.’
‘Politics!’ she exclaimed. ‘It is too boring.’
‘And a Major Merrick with a charming girl called Sarah Layton. Count Bronowsky brought them.’
‘He is mad! And how can Sarah Layton be charming? With a name like that she must be English. I detest English girls. They are always so stupid and rude. They come out here because in England they are nobody and wouldn’t be looked at twice. It is impossible. The party is cancelled, Aneila. Tell the servants to lock up the drinks and stop preparing the food. Tell them to go to bed. I am ill. Poisoned by this Purvis creature. I wish to see no one, not even Mira if she arrives. We shall leave Bombay tomorrow. It is too full of spongers and hangers-on. I am tired of it. Tired of it.’
