by Alec Waugh
‘We shall miss you, Eve. When do you feel you’d like to go?’
‘Before the winter starts; it’s the winter that gets me down; it comes so quickly after the summer. If we could say mid August. Then I could get used to England and the blackout before the English winter starts.’
‘And that will give me time to find a replacement. The middle of August will suit me very well.’
‘Thank you very much.’
That would be several weeks before Aziz planned to come here. And if she were not here, as likely as not he would not come. He would slide unobtrusively out of Beirut’s plans as he had out of the Germans’ here in Istanbul. She herself would be ready to make a new start in England. She had got over Raymond. She had rid herself of her schoolgirl inhibitions. She was ready for anything that came.
Chapter Six
The Nairn transport bus in which Reid and Mallet crossed the desert reached Damascus shortly before midday. Farrar was there to meet them. He was looking thin and tired; but he was as voluble as ever.
‘We’ve got a small party on tonight.’ he said. ‘Nothing elaborate. One or two of your old friends, Prof., who’ll be pleased to see you.’
‘Annabelle?’
‘Yes, she’ll be there.’
‘Jane Lester?’
‘Yes. Have you heard about her?’
‘I’ve heard nothing in my city.’
‘You read about those prisoners-of-war who tried to escape and whom the Germans shot. Her husband was one of them.’
‘How’s she taken it?’
‘The last way that you’d expect. She’s knocked off the booze and started in on everything else that’s handy. She’s the most dated lady in the Lebanon. So if that’s what you’re out for, Prof, you’d better weigh in quickly.’
‘Has Diana come?’
‘No, she’s in Cairo.’
That was a relief to Reid. He did not want to see her till his divorce was absolute. If he were to see her now, he would be unable to resist telling her. He did not want to do that yet. Too many men had said to unmarried women: ‘My divorce will be through in a few weeks; the moment it is, I shall of course be asking you to marry me.’ He did not know if he would be asking Diana to marry him. He could not know how he would be feeling when he saw her next. He did not know whether he had got over her or not. But either way his divorce would completely alter the setting of their relationship. They had never discussed his marriage, but she had always thought of him as a married man. She had never thought of him as a man who was likely to become unmarried. When they met next, he wanted to be free; free to speak and act as the mood prompted him. He had been afraid that she might be here.
He asked who had come from Cairo. Farrar ran through the names. ‘Oh yes. I’ll tell you who else is here. Your old chum, Gustave.’
‘What on earth is he doing here?’
‘I wouldn’t know. Cairo sent him.’
It surprised Reid that Gustave should have been sent. He had not thought of him as moving on that level. He was not a paper man. His value was in his local contacts. He was probably more often in mufti than in uniform. Still he was glad that Gustave would be there. He was fond of him. And Gustave could tell him about Diana.
‘What about Aziz? I don’t suppose he’ll be there.’
‘No, he won’t be there.’
Aziz was another person about whom he felt curious. He had been worried by that last report about him. Farrar had something up his sleeve; he wondered what it was. But he could not ask him now, when a chauffeur was at the wheel.
‘I suppose I shall find Beirut very much the same,’ he said.
‘No. That’s just what you won’t find. It’s become a very different place.’
‘How so?’
‘Because it’s become a different war. Beirut’s not important any longer; not in the same way, at least, now that the Middle East has been cleared up. The Australian troops have gone. Ninth Army is only a skeleton formation: like your 6th Ind. Div. The few troops that are left are getting restless, particularly the French. They’re wondering when the Second Front will open. They want to get back to France. They feel that the British and Americans are delaying the opening of the Second Front for reasons of their own. They suspect that they, the French, are not being given a square deal. There’s a different feeling in the air. And it isn’t a pleasant one. Nobody trusts anybody else. There’s not the same co-operation. The Lebanese are getting fractious too. They think the French are waiting to pull a fast one on them. I’m not sure they’re not right. They’re making mischief between us and the French. There’s not the same sense of urgency that there was. There’s no placard: “Think, plan and act in terms of March 1944.” The war’s gone somewhere else. There’s a feeling that nothing that’s happening here really matters.’
There was an irritated impatient tone in Farrar’s voice that had not been there before: dissatisfied and querulous. Perhaps it was not surprising. Farrar’s contemporaries were in the field; they were fighting in Italy. Many of them had been killed in the North African campaign. Others were waiting for the opening of the Second Front. It had been all very well for Farrar to have referred laughingly to his ‘lucky war’ when so few of his contemporaries were in action. It was different now. He was feeling out of things. Perhaps he had a sense of guilt; was wondering what his English friends would say to him when the war was over. He remembered those First War recruiting posters: ‘What did you do in the Great War, Daddy?’ Farrar was going to need careful handling.
Farrar had said that Beirut was very different; but it looked completely the same as the car drove down from Aley and the red promontory of sand gave the familiar illusion of rising to a peak; there was the same acrid smell of Arak and the flat in the Rue Jeanne d’Arc was heartbreakingly unchanged. It did not seem nearly two years since he had his first drink there on that first evening in Beirut, the day he had met Diana.
The whole setting of the party was familiar. The mixture of officers in uniform, French and British, the great preponderance of males, the half-dozen picturesque young women with their black shining hair, worn loose upon their shoulders. Annabelle was as exquisite as ever. He looked for Gustave. In the nine months since they had met, Gustave had put on at least five pounds. But the additional weight suited him; there was no strain on the buttons of his smooth gaberdine tunic. Reid moved across to him. ‘You’re looking very well,’ he said.
‘I’m feeling very well.’
‘I’m delighted to see you, but I’m surprised to find you here.’
‘Surprised?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought this conference was quite your line of country.’
‘It isn’t.’
‘Then why did Cairo send you?’
‘As a matter of fact...’ he paused, he looked round him, saw that no one in uniform was within earshot. ‘As a matter of fact, the idea of the exercise was that I should meet your Colonel.’
‘What on earth was the point of that?’
‘They’ve an idea of posting me to your Centre.’
‘But my dear Gustave...’ Reid was astounded. He had thought that the whole point of Gustave, as an independent member of the Cairo centre, was his Egyptian background. He would be no use in that way in Iraq. Besides they talked a different Arabic. ‘Surely you won’t like that,’ he said. ‘There are no bints for you in Baghdad.’
‘I can do without them for a little.’
‘You think so now, but wait till you’ve been without them for six months, in that heat too. Do you think you’d like the work, at your age? It’s a very monastic life.’
‘It would be nice to put up a crown.’
That, even more, astounded Reid. How on earth did Gustave imagine that he was going to get a majority in their Centre. The Establishment only allowed for a Colonel and two Majors, with Johnson because of his seniority being allowed local rank. There was something very curious here. It was something that Farrar had cooked up, he fancied. Farrar had s
aid that he did not know why Cairo had sent Gustave here, but Farrar only told the truth when a lie would have been easier. ‘I hope you do come,’ he said. ‘We’ll do our best to make you welcome.’
‘Thanks, but it’s off the record; don’t say a word to your Colonel till mine’s broached the business.’
‘I won’t. Have you seen anything of Diana, by the way?’
‘I see her every day.’
‘How is she?’
‘Fine.’
‘And how’s her romance going?’
‘What romance?’
‘The one with the French naval officer.’
‘Oh, that’s all over. He was transferred to Tripoli.’
‘Who’s taken his place?’
‘I wouldn’t know. But I guess someone has. There’s no man shortage in the Middle East.’ And Diana was not the woman to let herself be neglected.
He moved away from Gustave. Annabelle was beckoning to him. ‘Ah, but it is good to see you. We have been missing you. How is it in Baghdad? They tell me it is very hot there.’
‘It is so hot that the flies die off in summer and go under ground.’
‘How are the damsels of Baghdad?’
‘There are no damsels in Baghdad.’
‘Then why did you go there, my poor friend?’
‘I was posted there.’
‘You should undo that posting and come back here with us and send that wicked captain in your place. It would be very good for him to be for a little while in a place where there were no damsels.’
‘It would be very bad for my nerves, Annabelle. And besides, I am no longer a Captain. I am a Major now,’ said Farrar.
‘I know you are, and I am very happy for your sake. I am very proud for you. But major, that has such a dreary sound; so middle-aged and pompous and unsuccessful. It sound as though you were retired. I shall always think of you as captain. As my gallant wicked captain.’
‘Suppose I were to become a Colonel?’
‘Ah, that is different. Colonel has a dashing sound. It sounds successful; as though you would go higher still. Yes, when you are a colonel, I will call you Colonel.’
‘You say “higher still”. Would you like me to be a Brigadier?’
‘That would sound even worse. A Brigadier; a postman or a fireman. I would rather that you were a Major than a Brigadier.’
‘But if I went one higher and became a General.’
‘Now that is something, a General is a man of high distinction. A young girl could not be blamed for a faiblesse for a General.’
‘Even if he were thirty years older than herself?’
‘Even if he were forty years older than herself, which very well he might be.’
‘So it is really every other rank that you approve.’
‘Why, yes, now that you point it out. Though it had not occurred to me before. Yes, that is how it is, every other rank. Captain, Colonel, General: yes. Subaltern, Major, Brigadier: no.’
‘General is, alas, beyond me. But Colonel. If I try very hard I think I could become a Colonel.’
‘That is a worthy ambition for you, my idle Captain.’
‘Then I will achieve it, my beautiful Annabelle; and if I do, will you prefer me then to that ridiculous French flying man?’
‘But he is not ridiculous. It is you who are being ridiculous to call him so. You are jealous of him because I respect him as an honourable man, which you, my charming and wicked Captain, alas, are not.’
‘You say I am not honourable; while he is. But is it honourable to court you because you are rich. He wants to marry you, yes; but would he want to marry you if you were poor?’
‘My silly Captain; it is you now who are ridiculous. Would he love me if I were poor? Who could love me if I were poor? I would not be myself if I were poor. Would you yourself pay me these flattering, discreditable attentions if my fingers were not manicured?’ And she shook her fingers before his eyes. ‘If my hair did not shine. If the powder did not lie smoothly on my cheeks; if the black pencil did not mark my eyebrows; if garnets did not dangle from my ears; if garnets did not match them round my neck; if the figure that a kind providence has given me were not accentuated and embellished by a master’s craftsmanship? And do you not think it is a little unworthy of a man who claims to love a woman not to want to see what he calls her beauty enhanced perpetually? If he cannot himself afford so to enhance it, should he not be grateful to the parent whose money can do this for her. If a man is poor, if he cannot give a wife all that he would wish to give her, is he not wise to seek a bride who is able out of her own resources to adorn herself? Would it not be ignoble in him to seek a wife who would, through marriage to him, become a drudge, a scarecrow? Would that be generous in him? Surely it is more honourable to seek a wife who is able to adorn herself; so that he can offer her not only the honourable estate of marriage, but through her parents the means with which to make it glamorous. Would you not call that honourable, my wilful Captain?’
It was the familiar eighteenth-century badinage, but there was an undercurrent of animosity. There was a sharpness, a readiness, a will to wound that had not been there before. Yes, there was a change in Beirut. He had a sudden feeling that Farrar’s life here had gone sour on him.
This feeling was stressed during the conference on the following morning. Once again Stallard opened the proceedings. ‘Many of you will remember last November in Cairo. I told you that I had come out here not to instruct but to be instructed. That I had more to learn from you than you had to learn from me. The only thing I said that I could show you was how your problems fitted into the overall pattern of the war. We in London, and those others of us who are in Washington, have a sense of the global picture which you here in the Middle East cannot expect to have. That does not minimize the importance of your problems. It only places them in a different focus; so that once again I am going to say very little now. I am going to listen to you all in turn and then at the end I will make a final estimate, showing you how I see your problems in terms here of the all-in picture. Last November I learnt a lot and I hope that as a result of what I learnt you have found a readier, a more sympathetic response from us in London. I trust that the next year will show results equally beneficial to us all. I am now going to ask you, centre by centre, to give me your appreciation of the particular issues with which you have to deal.’
Iraq came third upon the list. Reid’s speech followed the line on which he and Mallet had agreed. ‘Some of you,’ he said, ‘may remember a little of what I said in Cairo last November. I was then speaking in terms of Beirut. I explained how different our position was in the Lebanon and Syria from yours in Baghdad, Cyprus, Jerusalem and Cairo. Each of those countries were part of the British Raj and in each of them, in consequence, a security organization had been built up well before the war began. Lebanon and Syria on the other hand had been a part of the French Raj. We were treated with very great suspicion. In Syria and Lebanon, we had no organization before 1941. We had to start from scratch. I had suspected what a difference it was, but I did not then know that I was going to be posted to Baghdad. In Iraq we had a twenty-year-old organization.’
He explained in detail where the difference lay. In every district there were men whom they could trust. They had also at their disposal compatriots who knew the country, who had worked there in oil, in business and in banks. They had moreover a government that was co-operative; that relied on them for its maintenance. That government had had and still had its enemies. And the number and strength of those enemies determined the extent of the government’s reliance and dependence on them. Those facts, he argued, were decisive in the direction of their centre’s work. ‘We have,’ he went on, ‘two jobs of work to do there. We have the immediate and all important job of making our contribution to the war effort, but we have also a long view to take. We have to remember that Iraq is going for many years to play an important part in our policy in the Middle East. Iraq is going to be very vital to our inte
rests, to our whole national economy. We want a strong and independent Iraq, but we want an Iraq whose interests are identified with ours.
‘A year ago, we faced the possibility of battle on our frontiers. There is now no such danger. There are very few active troops there. We have a skeleton force. We have only as many troops there as are necessary to maintain order. We are doing police and garrison work. In view of the actual immediate conduct of the war, we have one function only, to provide safe transport of our aid to Russia. That is our function in terms of the all-in strategy of the war. But in terms of post-war conditions, we have a separate and important function, the safeguarding of the prosperity of Iraq. Let us put ourselves in the position of those Germans who are sitting at the Middle East desk. They are wondering what they can do to damage us in Iraq. They can no longer envisage an attack there, but there is an opening for sabotage on our oil installations in Kirkuk, and in Abadan; in regard to sabotage, we have to consider Persia and Iraq as one, as a part of Paiforce. I am surprised that no attempt at sabotage has been made. Perhaps the difficulties are greater than we suppose; they have a great many irons in a great many fires and I think that we, in defensive security, sometimes make the mistake of over estimating the forces that the enemy has at his disposal. We are so busy protecting ourselves that we hamper ourselves. We become immobile. I try to picture myself as a German Intelligence officer in Berlin wondering how he can most hinder our war effort and I imagine I would decide that the best way to do it would be by promoting internal dissatisfaction, by causing political unrest. In the north, there are the dissident Kurds; they have a genuine grievance; those grievances could be fostered. There is dissatisfaction in the army. There always has been dissatisfaction in the army. Think of the revolts there were during Iraq’s ten years of Independence. There is also a great deal of poverty and privation among the people. There is a great disparity of wealth. There is a suitable breeding ground for Communism. At the moment, we do not feel that any genuine Communism, in the Russian sense, exists. There was no line of direct communication with Russia; as there was and is in Syria, through France. In Damascus, there are genuine Kremlin-trained Communists. It is not long before there will be such Communists in Baghdad. There are Russians in Tehran and on our frontier in Kannaquin. We have to watch this closely. If I were a German intelligence officer, I should concentrate on three points: I should try to make trouble with the Kurds, I should foment disloyalty in the army, I should spread revolutionary propaganda among the proletariat. And in that respect German intelligence is not ill-equipped. As you all well know, there was a very competent and very popular German consul in Iraq before the war, who can give German intelligence a very useful briefing. He knows whom to approach, and how. That is where in my opinion there lies a danger to our security in Iraq. If we have political unrest there, our war effort will be hindered. The smooth flow of “Aid to Russia” will be impeded.