Scorpion Sunset Read online

  I enclose the engagement ring and earrings John gave me and hope that you can return them to him. I gave Harry my wedding ring but I have no way of knowing whether Harry had time to give it to John before he was killed.

  I hope I never see you again, but I wish you and yours, and especially John, a long and happy life. I hope and pray he will survive the war and find a wife worthy of the name of Mason.

  If you are ever in position to help Robin and see fit to do so, I would be very grateful for his sake, not mine. He didn’t ask to be brought into this world.

  Maud

  She folded the sheet of notepaper into the envelope that held her engagement ring and the earrings and sealed it.

  She’d made a start, but she still had a great deal more to do before dawn broke and she and Robin had to be on their way.

  Chapter Eight

  Mesopotamian Desert

  June 1916

  ‘We are being driven further into the desert every day to the point where there will be no one to see the gendarmes murder us. There are many places in this wasteland where they can hide our bones. We’ll lie there forever, never to be found by a living being, and no prayers will be said for our souls,’ Mrs Gulbenkian whispered close to Rebeka’s ear.

  Terrified of being overheard by one of the gendarmes who surrounded them, Rebeka remained silent. Her former neighbour constantly voiced suspicions about their fate, but Rebeka shuddered all the same. She realised Mariam had heard Mrs Gulbenkian when her sister tightened her grip on her hand. The rumours had begun days ago, echoing from one woman to another when realisation dawned that they were being taken east.

  A scream resounded from somewhere in the centre of the huddle of women. Rebeka kneeled upright. The moon and stars were bright and she made out Mrs Saroyan, the baker’s wife, foaming at the mouth. Her four daughters were trying to quieten her, without success. The women around them watched the girls tend to their mother, but none dared offer help. Not after seeing the way the gendarmes beat women for extending the slightest kindness to one another.

  She wondered if she would have been braver if she hadn’t had Mariam to look after. Then one of the gendarmes unslung his rifle from his shoulder and she knew she wouldn’t have dared. As unbearable as her existence had become, she could still breathe, feel, and think. She wasn’t ready to relinquish life. Not yet. Not while Mariam crouched next to her and she could still see Anusha, although Mehmet wouldn’t allow her or Mariam to approach their eldest sister.

  A gendarme scooped up the youngest Saroyan girl by the neck. He held her high in front of Mrs Saroyan.

  ‘Don’t look,’ Rebeka muttered to Mariam. She covered her sister’s eyes with her fingers as the gendarme dashed the four-year-old to the ground. The toddler cried out just once then fell silent. The gendarme kicked the child’s body as it lay limp on the ground, before reaching for his rifle. He shot Mrs Saroyan in the back. Two more shots rang out as his colleagues targeted two of the other girls. The fourth, Hasmik, ran to Mrs Gulbenkian, who was holding out her arms ready to embrace her in a show of defiance only a childless woman would risk.

  The gendarmes looked at Hasmik and Mrs Gulbenkian and laughed.

  ‘Enjoy your new foster daughter, old woman, while you can. You’ll soon all be …’ One of the gendarme drew his finger across his throat.

  Rebeka tightened her grip on Mariam’s hand and huddled back close to the ground, focusing determinedly on the desert floor lest she catch a gendarme’s eye and draw attention to her or Mariam.

  The sound of the river flowing on their right escalated her burning thirst. Needing distraction, she concentrated on conjuring the ‘memory’ she’d taken from the table earlier that night.

  Rebeka’s Family Home

  December 1915

  Anusha’s wedding. Not the celebratory mass held in the town church, nor even the wedding feast prepared by her mother and aunts for the entire extended families, her sister’s bridegroom Ruben’s as well as their own. But late evening, long after her eldest sister Anusha and her new husband had driven off in Ruben’s father’s carriage to the house his family had built for them, and she, Mariam, and Veronika had retired to the bedroom they shared.

  Mariam had fallen asleep on their mother’s lap after Anusha and Ruben had left. Veronika had carried their youngest sister upstairs. Mariam hadn’t opened her eyes, not even when she and Veronika had washed her and changed her bridesmaid’s dress for her nightgown and tucked her into the bed they shared.

  While Veronika prepared for bed, she’d folded away their bridesmaids’ dresses. All three had been lovingly hand-stitched and decorated with white embroidery and cream crocheted lace by their grandmother. She wrapped each one in layers of fine cotton cambric then canvas before placing them in the chest where they kept their best gowns, petticoats, and shawls.

  Mesopotamian Desert

  June 1916

  She wondered where those dresses were now. Had their Muslim neighbours broken into their house and looted their belongings? Had the Turkish police burned all the Armenian Christian houses in their town as they’d threatened?

  Rebeka’s Family Home

  December 1915

  ‘I’m going to treasure that gown forever and pass it on to my daughter when she’s old enough, so she can pass it on to her daughter.’ Veronika brushed out and plaited her black curls.

  ‘And if you have sons? Will you make them wear it?’ she teased.

  Veronika wrinkled her nose. ‘I won’t have boys, only girls. Four of them.’

  ‘What if Gevorg wants boys?’

  ‘Gevorg will get what he is given.’ Veronika waited until she’d closed the lid on the chest before passing her the pin tray for her hair clips. ‘Besides, I may not marry Gevorg.’

  ‘Does Gevorg know you may not marry him?’

  ‘I have no idea what Gevorg thinks,’ Veronika plumped up the pillows. ‘It’s strange to be without Anusha.’

  ‘Even stranger to think she’ll never sleep here again, but as Mother said, every woman has to give up her home to make another with her husband.’ She eyed Veronika. ‘Aram Saroyan is very good-looking?’

  ‘Who said anything about Aram Saroyan?’

  ‘Me. I saw the way you were looking at him in church today when you thought no one was watching. More importantly I saw the way he was eyeing you.’

  ‘Did anyone else …’

  ‘See you two lovebirds making sheep’s eyes at one another? I don’t think so. Father won’t be pleased if you throw Gevorg over for Aram. Aram will become a baker like his father whereas Gevorg …’

  ‘Will become a professor like his father and ours.’ Veronika made a wry face.

  ‘What’s wrong with being a professor?’

  Their father taught French, English, and Arabic Literature at the school and college in the town where Gevorg’s father was the senior instructor in mathematics.

  ‘Nothing, teaching is an honourable profession. I’m making a face at mathematics. All Gevorg talks about these days is how clever he is and how he can solve this equation or that, or how many numbers he can put into letters. I don’t understand a thing he says and what’s more I don’t want to.’

  ‘Sounds like you two have been quarrelling about more than mathematics.’

  ‘Perhaps. Perhaps it’s just seeing how happy Anusha and Ruben were today and how excited Anusha was the first time she visited Ruben’s family’s farm. She’s so looking forward to working beside Ruben every day and helping him with his livestock and crops. As she said to Papa when she pleaded with him to allow her to marry Ruben, there’s more to life than books.’ Veronika slid beneath the bedcovers.

  ‘I can see that a baker who makes delicious bread and cakes would be a more agreeable and entertaining husband that one who talks in logarithms. And Aram is very good-looking,’ she continued when Veronika didn’t answer her. ‘Much more so than Gevorg.’

  ‘I suppose he is.’

  ‘The thought hadn’t occurred
to you?’

  ‘Do you think Aram is better looking than Razmik?’ Veronika bit back.

  ‘Razmik is the best-looking boy in the town, but Aram comes a close second.’ She refused to rise to Veronika’s bait.

  ‘You’d marry Razmik tomorrow, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No,’ she assured Veronika, ‘First because I have my career to think about, and secondly because I don’t expect to marry at all and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be to a handsome boy. I have no illusions about my looks.’

  ‘But if Razmik asked you …’

  ‘He won’t because there’s nothing between Razmik and me.’ There wasn’t but that hadn’t prevented her from dreaming. She knew Razmik only talked to her because he was being polite and felt sorry for her. She also knew she put too much store by what he said to her.

  ‘You know Father’s views as well as me,’ Veronika said mournfully. ‘None of us to marry before our seventeenth birthday. I have another eight months to go. Whereas you could marry Razmik tomorrow.’

  ‘I couldn’t because he hasn’t asked, and I wouldn’t if he did. Has it occurred to you that even if you agreed to marry Gevorg you couldn’t marry him on your seventeenth birthday?’

  ‘Why not?’ Veronika demanded.

  ‘Because you’d have to wait until he finished his studies and found a paid position that could support you both.’

  ‘Have you thought what it would be like to be married?’ Veronika asked seriously.

  ‘To sleep with a husband who didn’t kick me the way you, Mariam, and Anusha have done in this bed for years? It would be bliss – that’s if I wanted to marry, which I don’t.’

  ‘You know what I mean and I’m not talking about kicking.’ Veronika moved Mariam who’d rolled sideways so she could get into the bed.

  ‘You heard what Grandmother told Anusha before she left. That love between a man and a woman can be very beautiful … beautiful … beautiful …’

  Mesopotamian Desert

  June 1916

  Only it wasn’t beautiful. It was ugly, brutal, demeaning, and humiliating beyond measure. Rebeka hoped she’d die before she had to endure it again, and that Mariam would never discover how much pain a man could inflict upon a woman.

  Abdul’s Coffee Shop, Quayside, Basra

  June 1916

  ‘Can’t you sleep? It’s the middle of the night,’ Michael complained when Kalla left the bed and lit the oil lamp.

  ‘I’m thirsty; besides, we haven’t slept yet.’

  ‘Only because you won’t let me.’ He watched her cross the room and admired the smooth lines of her naked body and the golden glow of her skin. ‘You look like a classical bronze of a goddess. A Venus or Juno. Or give you a bow and arrow and you could be Diana.’

  She glanced back at him as she went to the table ‘The goddess I understand – what is a classical bronze?’

  ‘The Greeks and Romans liked to decorate their towns with metal statues of beautiful women. Diana was the goddess of hunters, Venus of love …’

  ‘I’d like to be the goddess of love if you are the god.’

  ‘I’m too short to be a god. The statues are always tall.’ He rearranged the pillows and sat up in the bed.

  She poured two glasses of water and handed him one. ‘But if I was made of metal and you weren’t I wouldn’t be able to make love with you.’

  ‘That would be a disaster for me.’ He fondled and kissed her breast when she climbed back onto the bed.

  She cupped his face in her hands and caressed him, holding him close to her. ‘Take me with you when you go upstream, Michael.’

  He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes. Huge liquid pools that suddenly appeared more reproachful than loving. ‘Who says I’m going upstream?’

  ‘Daoud, Abdul – everyone in Basra knows that soon the British will march on Baghdad to avenge the defeat at Kut, and where your forces go reporters like you must follow.’

  ‘There’ll be fighting. I can’t take you into battle.’

  ‘Then leave me behind in the camp with your horses, syce, and bearer.’

  ‘Daoud follows the fighting with me.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay with your bearer. I don’t need looking after, Michael. Please, don’t leave me here on my own again,’ she begged.

  ‘I’ll give you money like last time. Abdul will take care of you.’

  ‘I don’t belong to Abdul, but Zabba. If she sends for me I will have to go, and because she owns me she can make me do whatever she wants.’

  He’d been half asleep but he suddenly woke. ‘Sleep with other men?’

  ‘If that’s what she wants.’

  Michael sat up. ‘Did she send for you when I was away?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You went?’ His voice was sharp.

  ‘No, but only because Abdul reminded her that you could return at any moment, and as you paid for my company you would be angry if I wasn’t here to greet you. He also reminded her he was paying her for me to spy on you, so she was already getting double money for my services.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. What do you report to Abdul and Zabba about me?’

  ‘Only what you tell me you’ve written for your newspaper.’

  ‘In which case Abdul isn’t getting much for his money.’ He pulled her down beside him. ‘After all the chaos and death upstream, I was so glad to return to you, I forgot you’re a slave.’

  ‘I never forget it.’ She lay quietly and made no attempt to cover herself.

  When Michael didn’t say anything, she added, ‘You knew I was a whore and I told you I was a spy shortly after you took me into your bed.’

  ‘Don’t call yourself a whore, Kalla.’ He glanced at the clock, ‘I have to leave shortly, but later this morning I’ll visit Zabba and ask her to sell you to me.’

  ‘If she refuses?’

  ‘I’ll keep offering her more money until she does,’ he said recklessly, thinking of the strongbox in the bank which the army had filled with gold sovereigns for him to bribe any native tribes he might ‘persuade’ to join the British cause. He, like his brother Harry before him, was finding his status as political officer – albeit an undercover one – extremely useful.

  ‘You’ll really buy my freedom?’

  ‘I will,’ he promised solemnly, ‘and when I do …’

  ‘I’ll be yours.’

  ‘No, you’ll be your own person. Free to make your own decisions about your future.’

  She smiled triumphantly. ‘Then you won’t be able to stop me from travelling upriver with you.’

  ‘The army would stop you. They don’t allow women into war zones. Besides, if you were with me I’d only worry about you.’

  ‘Then you will have to worry.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said decisively, ‘because you won’t be accompanying me. I’m serious, Kalla. I will buy and free you. I’ll also ask Abdul to take care of you, even if it means locking you up in this room and paying a man to sit outside the door.’

  She’d never seen Michael so forceful, or so close to anger. Forgetting her determination to accompany him – for the moment – she said, ‘Please don’t visit Zabba. Daoud and I will go. If she sees you, she’ll set my price too high.’

  ‘You’re being very careful with my money.’

  ‘Not that careful. I’ll ask Daoud to walk me back through the bazaar. I need new clothes so any money I save I’ll spend on myself.’

  ‘Profligate.’ He smiled in attempt to take the edge from his earlier outburst.

  She kissed him again. One kiss led to another – and another – and as they began to make slow, satisfying love again, Michael’s only thoughts were of Kalla, and how fortunate he was to have found a woman like her to share his life after his brief and embarrassingly disastrous sexless marriage to his cousin Lucy.

  Kalla’s thoughts were on journeys and how to accompany Michael without him knowing – at least for a while.

  Colonel Perry’s Bungalow, British
Compound, Basra

  June 1916

  At five minutes to four Maud picked up the last item she wanted to take: her jewellery case. She stuffed it on top of the few essentials she’d packed into a Gladstone bag. There was a tap at her door. She opened it to see her new maid.

  ‘The cart is here, ma’am.’

  ‘Wake the nursemaid and Master Robin. Tell the nursemaid to give Master Robin’s boxes, crib, and bedding to the gardener to pack on to the cart.’

  ‘And this trunk, ma’am?’

  Maud considered its contents, but there was no way she could take it. ‘If my father asks about it, tell him I will send for it when I’m settled.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Maud wrapped her cape around her shoulders, picked up her handbag and carpet bag, and walked out to the cart. She watched the servants load Robin’s crib and box. The nursemaid left the house with the child wrapped in a shawl. Maud kissed his forehead and pressed the parcel for Mrs Butler and twenty sovereigns into the woman’s hand. ‘Your pay for the year.’

  The driver climbed on the cart and she watched him drive away. She followed as far as the manned barrier, nodded a ‘Good morning’ to the soldier on duty, and left the British compound.

  She had one hundred and eighty pounds, two changes of clothes, and a string of pearls that might bring a decent price, but she’d been close to and fond of Mrs Hale and resolved not to sell them unless she was desperate.

  Other than the wharf to find a ship she had no plans. No idea where she wanted to sail. She only knew she couldn’t bear the thought of imposing on Michael Downe or any friend of John’s who’d give her another of the pitying looks Michael had last night.

  She continued to walk, and as she walked she recalled all the people she’d met in her life. For the first time she realised how superficial most of her acquaintanceships – she could hardly call them friendships – had been. They’d either been based on mutual sexual obsession, like Miguel D’Arbez and the junior officers she’d bedded after she’d married John, or empty, meaningless social contacts among fellow officers’ wives. She couldn’t think of a single person she could turn to other than those who’d been more John’s friends than hers – and Angela Smythe. Angela would certainly offer her help and accommodation but she could hardly impose on her just after she and Peter had moved into their first home, especially as Peter still hadn’t recovered from his experiences at Kut.