فصل 09

Chapter nine

From Baghdad Airport to the Tio Hotel, Victorias ears had been attacked non-stop by noise - horribly loud car horns, people shouting, whistles blowing - and the never-ending sound of Mrs Hamilton Clipp talking.

As well as that, there was a thick, brown dust storm in progress. Palm trees, houses, humans were all covered. Victoria was not impressed.

She arrived at the Tio Hotel feeling terrible.

An alley led from Rashid Street towards the Tigris River. At the entrance of the hotel, they were greeted by a fat young man with a very big smile. This was Marcus Tio, the owner of the Tio Hotel.

His words of welcome were interrupted as he shouted orders to servants about their baggage. ‘Here you are once more, Mrs Clipp - but what has happened to your poor arm? - You fools, do not carry that case like that! Idiots! - But, my dear, what a day to arrive! And you have brought a young lady with you. - It is nice always to see a new young lady in Baghdad - but, my dear, you must have a drink at once.’

Sometime later, her head spinning from a large whisky which Marcus had insisted she drank, Victoria found herself in a white room containing a large bed, a dressing-table, a wardrobe and two comfortable chairs.

The dust had changed Victoria’s hair from black to red-brown and her face was sore. She pulled aside the curtain and looked out onto a wide balcony above the river. But there was nothing to be seen of the Tigris, only thick dust.

After a bath, lunch and a long sleep, Victoria stepped out on to the balcony and looked with approval across the Tigris. The dust storm had passed and she could see palm trees and houses in the pale light.

Voices came up from the garden below. Mrs Hamilton Clipp was talking with one of those sun-tanned Englishwomen who can always be found in any foreign city.

‘… and I really don’t know what I’d have done without her,’ Mrs Clipp was saying. ‘She’s the sweetest girl you can imagine. And very well connected. A niece of the Bishop of Llangow.’

‘Bishop of Llangow? Nonsense, there’s no such person,’ said the other woman.

Victoria frowned. She recognized the type of Englishwoman who is unlikely to be tricked by false bishops.

‘Perhaps I got the name wrong,’ Mrs Clipp said doubtfully. ‘But she certainly is a very charming and capable girl.’

‘Ha!’ the voice said.

Victoria decided to avoid this lady and started to consider her situation. She was sure the Tio Hotel was expensive - and Mrs Clipp would not be paying for her. Travelling expenses to Baghdad were what Mrs Clipp had offered. The contract was completed. Mrs Hamilton Clipp would leave on the evening train to Kirkuk - and that was the end of that.

What then must Victoria do? The answer came immediately. Find Edward, of course, and Edward must find her a job.

With some irritation, she realized that she did not know Edward’s last name. But he had come to Baghdad as the secretary of a Dr Rathbone - an important man.

Victoria went downstairs in search of information. Going through the hall, she went out on to the terrace by the river. Somebody spoke from behind her.

‘I must introduce myself. I’m Mrs Cardew Trench. I believe you arrived with Mrs Hamilton Clipp.’

It was the Englishwoman. She had the loud voice of someone used to giving orders. She was drinking whisky.

‘Yes,’ said Victoria, wishing to escape quickly. ‘I did.’

‘She told me you were the niece of the Bishop of Llangow.’ Victoria collected her strength. ‘Did she really?’ she asked with a polite smile.

‘Got it wrong, I suppose?’

Victoria smiled. ‘Americans do get some of our names wrong. It does sound like Llangow. My uncle is the Bishop of Languao?’

‘Languao?’

‘Yes - in the Pacific. He’s a Colonial Bishop, of course.’

‘Oh, a Colonial Bishop,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘That explains it.’

Victoria thought with pride that it explained it very well! ‘And what are you doing here?’ continued Mrs Cardew Trench.

Looking for a young man I talked to for a few moments in a public square in London was not really an answer that Victoria could give. Remembering what she had told Mrs Clipp, she said, ‘I’m joining my uncle, Dr Pauncefoot Jones.’

‘Oh, so that’s who you are.’ Mrs Cardew Trench was delighted at having found out who Victoria was connected to. ‘He’s a charming little man, though he’s always forgetting things. I heard him talk last year in London - excellent speaker - I couldn’t understand a word, though. Yes, he passed through Baghdad about two weeks ago. I think he mentioned some girls were coming out later on.’

Now it was clear that she was respectable, Victoria asked, ‘Do you know if Dr Rathbone is here?’

‘He just arrived,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. “‘World Brotherhood”. What nonsense! All this poetry and translating Shakespeare and Wordsworth into Arabic. “A primrose by the river’s brim.”

‘What’s the good of that to people who have never seen such a flower?’

‘Where is he staying, do you know?’

‘At the Babylonian Palace Hotel, I believe. But his offices are up near the Museum. The Olive Branch - silly name. Full of young women in trousers,’ she said, clearly shocked at such a modern style of dress.

‘I know his secretary slightly,’ said Victoria.

‘Oh yes, that young man Edward - nice boy - too good for that long-haired crowd of people - he did well in the war, I hear. Still a job’s a job, I suppose. Good-looking boy - those serious young women are interested in him, I imagine.’

Victoria began to feel rather jealous.

‘The Olive Branch,’ she said. ‘Where did you say it was?’

‘Up past the second bridge. Off Rashid Street - not far from the Copper Bazaar. And how’s Mrs Pauncefoot Jones?’ continued Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘Coming soon? I hear she’s been in poor health?’

But Victoria had what she wanted and was taking no more risks. She looked at her wrist-watch and cried, ‘Oh dear - I promised to wake Mrs Clipp and help her prepare for the journey. I must fly.’