Scorpion Sunset Page 21
‘Possibly a little more than sixpence. I admit I haven’t checked out my trust fund lately but my pay goes nowhere. In fact, do you have a fiver you can lend me?’
‘Is that a joke?’
‘Deadly serious, old boy.’
Michael pulled five sovereigns from his pocket and handed them over.
‘Much appreciated.’
‘He left twenty thousand pounds to Peter Smythe.’
‘Any reason in particular?’
‘He says in return for the kindness Angela Smythe showed to him when he was laid up for months in hospital.’
‘Anything to me?’
‘No.’ Michael carried on reading.
‘How much did he leave in total?’
‘Even he wasn’t sure, but by his calculations somewhere around two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘So one hundred and thirty thousand pounds is going begging.’
‘No, because he’s left the bulk of his estate to Robin Perry.’
‘Maud’s son? Why on earth would he do that?’
‘Because he’s acknowledged him as his child.’
David fumbled for a cigarette. ‘But John Mason was his close friend. Maud is John’s wife …’
‘And it would appear that Robin is Charles’s son.’
Chapter Eighteen
Smythes’ Bungalow, Basra
September 1916
Major Cleck-Heaton and Captain Reginald Brooke knocked the Smythe’s door. The maid opened it.
‘We’re here to see Mrs Smythe.’ Without waiting for an invitation, Cleck-Heaton pushed the maid aside and strode into the living room where Angela was sitting, feeding Robin a bottle of milk.
Angela saw the men and paled. The nursemaid took the child from her and she barely noticed.
‘Peter …’ she whispered.
‘Was well last time we received a communication from upstream, Mrs Smythe.’ Reggie sat next to Angela and reached for her hand. She pulled it away before he could touch her.
Cleck-Heaton coughed. ‘We have, however, received a wireless message informing us that Major Charles Reid was killed by a sniper at Sheikh Saad yesterday evening.’
‘We know, Major …?’ Georgiana entered and looked from Brooke to Cleck-Heaton.
Reggie indicated his companion. ‘Major Cleck-Heaton, I’m Major Brooke. May I enquire how you heard about Major Reid’s death? The message has only just come down official lines, Miss …’
‘Dr Downe,’ Georgiana corrected sharply. ‘We heard last night. My brother, Michael Downe, is a war correspondent attached to General Maude’s force upstream. He has access to the wireless.’
‘The message we received in HQ suggested that you, Mrs Smythe, might be the best person to inform Major Reid’s fiancée of his demise. I believe she’s a nursing sister who works in the Basra Hospital.’
‘Sister Jones is here and resting under my care, Major Cleck-Heaton. I trust it won’t be necessary for you to see her?’ Georgiana glared at Reggie.
‘Not if you have everything under control, Dr Downe.’
‘I do.’ She continued to stare at him until he rose from the chair. ‘Thank you for calling, Major Cleck-Heaton, Major Brooke. I regret that you had a wasted journey. The maid will see you out.’
Both officers were clearly unused to being dismissed in a perfunctory manner, especially by a civilian.
‘As a fiancée Sister Jones is not entitled to a pension, but I may be able to arrange a hardship payment …’
Georgiana cut him short. ‘That will not be necessary, Major Brooke. Major Reid left his fiancée well provided for.’
‘If she requires passage home …’
‘Matron has already arranged for Kitty to travel back to Britain with the next transport of sick and convalescent soldiers.’ Georgiana nodded to the maid who opened the door. ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’
Angela went to the window and watched them walk down the path. ‘Horrible men. Peter can’t stand either of them and every time I see Major Brooke I feel as though insects are crawling over my skin.’
‘He’s also younger and fitter than many of the senior officers with General Maude. Makes you wonder what strings he’s pulled to stay here when so many men who are less fit and have already been wounded, as Charles was, are either already upstream or being posted to Maude’s command.’
‘After the way you turfed them out, they’re not likely to be back. How is Kitty?’
‘Sleeping off the effects of the draught I gave her. After the shock you’ve just had perhaps I should mix you one.’
‘I should have realised they were here to tell us about Charles, not Peter. It’s just that …’
Tears started in Angela’s eyes and Georgiana gave her a hug. ‘They had no business calling this late in the evening.’
‘Unless Charles put Peter and I down as his next of kin. I didn’t think to ask them. Charles, Peter, and I have become close over the last year, I think because Peter was Charles’s last link to Harry and John.’
The nursemaid stood shyly before Angela.
‘Yes, please, take Master Robin to his room and you can go to bed as well.’
‘Thank you, ma’am.’
Angela went to the sideboard poured two brandies and handed one to Georgiana. ‘I can’t believe Charles has gone and I won’t until Peter and the others return without him. That’s if …’ her voice broke.
‘Don’t even think it, Angela,’ Georgiana countered. ‘Peter and the others will return. They have to.’
Angela thought of Peter, of the damage that had already been done that prevented them from ever sleeping another night in the same bed together. ‘But after so much death and destruction,’ she murmured. ‘At what cost.’
Sheikh Saad
September 1916
Michael poured two glasses of Chianti and set them on the table. He pulled up a second chair and offered it to Chatta Ram.
‘It wouldn’t be proper for me to sit in your presence, sahib,’ said Chatta Ram.
‘It wouldn’t if I was an officer, but I’m not, and you are no longer employed by an officer or entitled to draw rations and uniform from the British Army, so that makes us both civilians. Indulge me, sit down and have a drink with me.’
Chatta Ram took the chair.
‘Have you read Charles’s will?’
‘No, but he told me he’d left some money to me.’
‘On condition you look after your mother – and his.’
‘He acknowledged me as his brother?’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘He said he would, but I didn’t believe him. But then I didn’t think he would get killed.’
‘None of us believe ourselves mortal,’ Michael agreed. ‘My sister and I are executors of Charles’s will. He left you thirty thousand pounds.’
‘Thirty thousand pounds.’ Chatta Ram repeated.
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know there was so much money in the world.’
‘Not just in the world but shortly in your bank account, Chatta Ram,’ Michael assured him.
‘I don’t have a bank account, sahib. Only a strongbox.’
‘Then we’ll have to open one for you in a bank that has a branch in India. Once that’s done we can arrange to have the money transferred there. If you need money for the journey, we can pay your expenses.’
‘No, Charles was generous. He paid me well. I can meet my own expenses.’
‘Charles wrote that you saved his life. That you ignored the demands of senior officers that he be left to die after Nasiriyeh.’
‘Charles was kind. A good brother. When I found him I didn’t know what to expect. Now … Our mother will shed many tears.’
‘Will you take Charles’s papers and personal belongings to my sister in Basra for safekeeping?’
‘It will be an honour.’
‘If there is anything you would like. His wallet – his watch’
‘They should go to his son.’
‘I too was wounded at Nasiriyeh. When my wounds healed I returned from India and resumed my duties. Charles was still convalescing and had difficulty sleeping so sometimes we talked late into the night. We had no secrets from one another. I think he talked to me because he missed your brother and Major Mason.’
‘Visit my sister as soon as you return to Basra. I will write to her so she will be expecting you. She will arrange the payment of the bequest and execute the rest of Charles’s will. Are you sure you won’t take anything of his to remember him by?’
‘I don’t need anything to help me remember my brother, sir.’
‘Perhaps my sister will persuade you to rethink.’ Michael rose and held out his hand. ‘It’s been a privilege to meet you, Chatta Ram.’ He rose from his chair walked out of the tent with Chatta Ram and watched him salute David, who returned the Indian’s acknowledgement before wandering into the tent and helping himself to wine.
‘That’s ten bottles you owe me,’ Michael joked.
‘You’re counting?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Send you a case after the war.’
‘Do you say that to all the officers you sponge off?’
‘Of course, you all have money, I don’t. Comes of being the last in a long line of second sons. We never get to inherit or – I warn you now – pay our debts. But we’re amusing company as well as great promisers. Rumour has it you’re moving out tonight?’
‘Upstream to write more articles about Maude,’ Michael confirmed.
‘Then you should be grateful I’m relieving you of some of your stock. Wine’s too heavy to drag around the desert.’
‘Thank you so much for your consideration.’ Michael emptied the last of the bottle between their glasses.
‘You’ll be taking a detour to some of the tribal camps?’ David fished.
‘I’ll talk to the Arabs,’ Michael acknowledged.
‘You, like your brother Harry before you, are a political officer.’
Michael debated whether to deny David’s suggestion. Instead he reached for a fresh bottle and the corkscrew. ‘Who else knows?’
‘Anyone who’s been watching your movements.’
‘You’ve seen someone?’
‘Perry has two subalterns monitoring you. Blake and Harries. Blake wandered up to my tent a couple of hours ago and offered me a glass of brandy.’
‘You accepted.’
‘I drank a good deal more than a glass.’
‘Blake?’
‘My bearer carried him back to his tent ten minutes ago.’
‘He tried to get into a drinking competition with you?’ Michael smiled.
‘He asked a lot of questions about you, Harry, and John. At the risk of you snubbing me as John did when I asked him about Perry when we were in Kut, why is the colonel watching you?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You do know that he tried to have John shot in Kut.’
‘I heard.’
‘John said he hated him and Harry. You’ve no idea why?’
‘None other than the man seems to be the worst kind of unbending stuffed shirt.’
‘Watch your back, or,’ David emptied his glass. ‘Even better get Daoud to do it. Or …’
‘Or?’ Michael prompted.
‘Or you and I could conspire to get Perry into the front line.’
‘One, I don’t know anyone in command with the power to post Perry anywhere. Two, what little I know of the man suggests he’s an expert lead swinger, if he wasn’t he’d be in a POW camp in Turkey, not lording it here. Three, now he’s a brigadier we’d have more luck trying to get the Prince of Wales into the front line in this forsaken place.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll think of a strategy while I watch you pack.’
‘Are you never on duty?’ Michael stretched over David to pick up his saddlebags.
‘Twelve hours last night.’
‘Shouldn’t you be sleeping?’
‘And waste good drinking time?’ David chuckled. ‘Not likely. You have another four bottles there.’
‘Pity help anyone who needs surgery tonight.’
‘Doctors always operate better when drunk.’ David glanced around the tent. ‘Don’t suppose you have anything good to eat in here?’
‘Like what?’
‘Your sister always has these little salt crackers …’
‘I don’t know why she puts up with you.’
‘My charm,’ David rummaged in Michael’s boxes.
‘You’ll find nothing edible in those. I have dried dates, or dried figs.’ Michael tossed two paper bags at him.
‘I’ll take the figs, thank you. Have you written to John?’ David asked.
‘What would be the point when no one has the faintest idea where he is?’
‘Sooner or later he’ll reach a prisoner of war camp and when he does a letter sent through the Red Cross should reach him.’
Michael sat back on his camp chair still clutching his open saddlebags. ‘You think someone should write to him about Charles’s will?’
‘If you were John, wouldn’t you want a friend to tell you about Maud’s son as soon as possible rather than find out from a stranger after everyone had been gossiping about it?’
‘I’ll write to him after I’ve packed.’
‘Pass me a clean sheet of paper, ink, pen, and your travelling desk and I’ll write to him now. That way should one of our letters go astray he’ll have the other.’
‘Anything else I can pass you?’ Michael asked in amusement as David propped his feet on his cot.
‘An envelope. If you know John’s number can you address it for me, please? It will save me having to look it up.’
Prisoner of War Camp, Turkey
September 1916
John saw the town long before they reached there. Nestling at the foot of gently sloping hills, from a distance it appeared almost like a fairy-tale illustration of what a small oriental country town should be. Neat and clean with red-roofed, whitewashed buildings.
Their guards escorted them and their exhausted mules through a network of narrow streets to the outskirts, where three fairly large buildings stood side by side enclosed in a garden fenced off from the street and surrounding woodland by high wire.
Orderlies dressed in the ragged remnants of British uniforms were hanging washing on rope lines stretched between trees. A knot of officers were walking the perimeter of the fence inspecting the plants. One turned in their direction, recognised John, and rushed to the gate. He would have run out into the street if the guards hadn’t stopped him.
‘I was hoping you’d make it here, sir.’ Alf Grace shouted enthusiastically. ‘Do you have all your original crew with you? You didn’t lose any on the way?’
‘Gathered a few.’ John pointed to Evans as Corporal Baker helped the private down from the cart.
‘You’re alive, Evans,’ Grace shouted.
‘So Major Mason tells me, sir.’ Evans waved.
Corporal Baker lifted Hasmik from the back of the cart and offered Mrs Gulbenkian his hand.
There was a rapid exchange of dialogue between their Turkish captain and the guards at the gate. A Turkish major appeared and started shouting at the captain. John approached, doffed his cap, and began speaking in Turkish.
‘Since when has Major Mason spoken the local lingo?’ Grace asked Greening when the sergeant moved within earshot of the gate.
‘Since he started learning on the journey, Lieutenant Grace, sir. Good to see you.’
‘Good to see you too, Greening.’
‘What’s this place like, sir?’ Greening asked.
‘I’ve been in worse, but it’s no place for women.’ Crabbe looked at the two women who were standing either side of Hasmik. ‘Armenians?’
‘How did you know?’
‘These houses belonged to Armenians before they were driven out of the t
own. Poor beggars have been treated even worse than us by the Turks. Bastards have wiped out the community here.’
John turned to Rebeka, Hasmik, and Mrs Gulbenkian and waved them forward. He slipped his arm around Hasmik’s shoulders and carried on speaking to the Turkish major.
The Turkish major nodded, spoke to his men, and left with the captain.
‘The commandant told us we can stay in rooms in the small house.’ John pointed to the third house set back away from the others.’
‘That’s the hospital,’ Grace said.
‘It’s kitted out as a hospital?’ John asked hopefully.
‘It’s where the Turks put the sick men but it has more sick than beds to accommodate them. The two orderlies with us have done what they can but we’ve no medical supplies and we haven’t had a doctor until now.’
‘I told the major the women were nurses and the child belongs to one of them.’
‘The major believed you?’
‘He believes I’ve trained the two women as nurses.’
‘I hope for your sake, they can give a good imitation of being competent.’
John lifted his bag from the back of the cart. ‘We’ll soon find out.’
Bagtsche Prisoner of War Camp for ranks
October 1916
Crabbe took the canvas bucket of broken rocks from Private Crocker and emptied it on top of the debris the German engineers had loosened with their blasting. The truck was three quarters full and he was deliberately taking his time to fill it, in the hope of making it the last truck of the day. He had no way of knowing the time but dusk was falling and all he could think of was stretching out on the dirt floor that served as his bed and closing his eyes.
‘Almost full, sir.’ Private Barnabas, universally known as ‘Barney’ tipped his bucket on top. ‘Shall we start hauling it, sir?’
Crabbe eyed the Turkish corporal who was guarding the British POWs working on their section of rock face.
‘This truck will take another two buckets, lad,’ he answered loudly. Under his breath he muttered, ‘Slow down, I know you’ve just had a rest in sick bay but we can wait until the knocking off whistle to push this one out. The light’s fading, we’ll be sent back to our cells soon.’ He took a bucket of stones from a third private who barely had the strength to remain upright and emptied it into the truck.