Scorpion Sunset Read online

  ‘When your days are difficult, and you are unhappy, go to your table and pick and take a memory. Hold it close, relive it, and remember the good times and believe with all your heart that there are more to come. Keep your chosen memory with you throughout the entire day and relive every precious second, because you will have to wait a whole sunset and sunrise before you can take another.’

  She picked one. It wasn’t one of her special memories or even one she would have chosen to remember. But it was one she couldn’t blot from her mind because it marked the division between her old life and the new.

  Rebeka’s family home, Kharpert Plain

  April 1916

  Anusha thrust open the door, charged into the house, and dropped her basket of shopping. ‘Mehmet’s back in town,’ she announced breathlessly.

  ‘Surely not. You must be mistaken.’ Their mother calmly carried on chopping red and white cabbage for winter salad.

  ‘He’s wearing a gendarme’s uniform.’

  ‘Mehmet’s father is such a nice man.’ Her grandmother, who insisted on believing the best of everyone, dropped her sewing and tucked her needle into the linen. ‘The way he runs his stables, he can’t do enough for people. When the farmers don’t have enough money to rent a plough horse, he gives them one and waits until harvest before asking for payment.’

  ‘Mehmet is not his father, Mother,’ her mother replied. ‘Have you forgotten what he did to the spice seller? Beating him and stealing his takings from the shop.’

  ‘I thought Mehmet was sentenced to ten years in jail. Not just for beating up the spice seller but …’

  ‘That’s enough, Anusha.’ Her mother spoke sharply after looking to Veronika and Mariam who were sitting on the window seat plaiting rags to make rugs.

  Her mother wanted to protect her youngest daughters but she, like Anusha, knew it was too late. Mariam, Veronika, and every girl in town had heard the tales of the girls Mehmet had done despicable ‘dishonouring’ things too. Girls who didn’t dare make a complaint to the police because they knew they’d be expected to stand up in court and speak against Mehmet. And that would forever taint them as ‘used goods’.

  Her father walked in from the school where he taught. ‘Anusha,’ he’d kissed her cheek. ‘You must go home to your husband at once.’

  ‘Why, Father?’

  ‘Just go, quickly, girl.’

  Her mother set down the knife and sat down. ‘The stories are true?’

  ‘I’ve just watched the gendarmes post the notice on the church door. All Armenian men and boys over the age of fourteen are to report to the church before nine o’clock tomorrow morning. We are to take enough food for a three-day march, stout shoes, and warm clothing.’

  ‘You must go to the Americans at the mission … you must …’

  Her father went to her mother and gently, tenderly helped her from the chair. ‘We older men have to go, my love, so we can care for the boys and the younger men.’

  ‘But …’

  He silenced her mother’s protest with a kiss. ‘Go, pack food and my warm clothes and while you do put your trust in God, my love.’

  Northern Mesopotamian Desert

  May 1916

  The man who’d raped Rebeka spat in her face as he climbed unceremoniously off her. ‘You’re ugly.’

  She wiped his spittle from her eyes with her fingers, grabbed her dress, and pulled it over her head.

  ‘If a man chooses to favour you again, try moving. Making love to you is like making love to a potato sack.’

  Rebeka knew she was taking a risk but she could not remain silent. ‘You call what you just did to me “making love”?’

  ‘It’s more love than someone as ugly as you deserves. Don’t look at me like that. Bitch!’ He lashed out. She ducked to avoid the blow and fell to the ground. Bruised, battered, and bleeding, she stumbled back to Mrs Gulbenkian.

  ‘Mariam … did she …?’

  ‘She saw nothing,’ Mrs Gulbenkian assured her. ‘She’s so tired she hasn’t opened her eyes, the angel. Come, it’s cold. Sit next to us, Rebeka. Have you heard the story of the Golden Bird?’

  Rebeka had, many times, but she shook her head, curled close to her sister, and prepared to listen.

  Basra Club, Basra

  May 1916

  ‘Any complaints about the dinner?’ David asked Georgiana.

  ‘None, but as all you did was order the food I hardly think you can give yourself an accolade.’ Georgiana sat back in her chair and sipped her glass of wine.

  ‘Can I order us brandies without running the risk of you calling me a drunkard again?’

  ‘Brandy can affect the body in so many ways. I’d rather visit that bedroom first.’

  ‘You’re very direct, Dr Downe.’

  ‘I’ve discovered honesty saves time, especially in war when there are so few leisure hours to enjoy the limited pleasures that are available.’

  David stared at her.

  ‘Lost for words, Major Knight?’

  ‘Out of my depth. I’m used to …’

  ‘Please continue.’

  ‘I don’t want to risk offending you, Dr Downe.’

  ‘In that case let me guess. You were about to say, honest whores and dishonest husband-seekers.’

  ‘You don’t appear to fall into either category.’

  ‘How discerning of you.’

  ‘You’re not looking for a husband?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I lost a wonderful one to the war. Gwilym was perfect in every way and irreplaceable. Besides, the demands of my present post as a doctor in the Lansing allow me so little free time a husband would prove an encumbrance at the moment. However, I do like sex.’ She left the table, went into the bedroom, and pressed down on the mattress. ‘Seems comfortable. What do you say we give it a try?’ She removed her wire-rimmed spectacles and placed them on a side table.

  He tugged at the buckle on his belt. Before he’d succeeded in unfastening it, she’d unbuttoned the pearls that decorated the shoulders of her cream lace dress and allowed it to fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, picked it up, and folded it on to a chair. Her chemise and drawers followed.

  ‘Stockings on or off?’ she rested her right foot on the chair and pulled at her garter.

  He stared at her.

  ‘You have no preference? About the stockings,’ she added when he failed to reply.

  He found his voice and murmured. ‘You don’t wear a corset.’

  ‘You prefer your women in corsets?’

  ‘Yes … no …’ he stammered

  ‘Stockings are at such a premium in wartime I think I’ll take them off rather than risk tearing them.’

  ‘Georgiana …’

  ‘I find formality to be out of place in the bedroom, David. Please, call me Georgie.’ She knelt on the bed and unbuttoned his trousers.

  Afterwards David propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Georgiana. ‘I dread the reply but I have to ask. Did I rise to your expectations?’

  ‘You’ll do.’

  ‘Until you find something better?’

  ‘That goes without saying, but I have so little time to look for something better, a more apt maxim might be, “until one of us moves on”.’

  ‘You’re thinking of going somewhere?’ He rearranged the pillows, lay back, and lifted her head on to his chest.

  ‘Not immediately. But I have some control over my life and where I work. You, however, are army property – I believe the term Harry used was “one hundred per cent military for the use of”.’

  ‘Unfortunately Harry was right. No soldier is in control of his own fate. I go where I’m sent. But while I remain in Basra I would like to repeat this evening as often as feasible.’

  ‘That would be fun. You can order that brandy now.’

  ‘If it’s all the same to you I’d prefer to stay here a while longer. You?’ He ran his fingertips lightly down her arm and over her naked breasts.

  ‘Only if you co
ntinue to dispel boredom by amusing me.’

  ‘Georgie …’

  She pulled his head down to hers and kissed him long and thoroughly before slipping her hand between his thighs. Then, for a while, there was no time or need for words.

  When they finally lay entwined, pleasantly exhausted, and too close to sleep for Georgiana’s peace of mind, she turned back the sheet.

  ‘Do you have to move?’ he mumbled without opening his eyes.

  ‘If I don’t, I won’t wake until morning and I don’t relish the thought of explaining why I stayed out all night to Mrs Butler.’

  ‘Tell her you were kidnapped by a doctor who wanted to discuss treatments for heart failure.’

  ‘She thinks I’m having dinner with Clary and the nurses who share her bungalow.’

  ‘Why would Mrs Butler think that?’

  ‘Because that’s what I told her.’

  ‘You’re ashamed of me?’

  She smiled. ‘Should I be?’

  ‘I think I’m a charming fellow …’

  ‘I already know what you think of yourself. I doubt Mrs Butler would agree. She’s suspicious of the motives of all British officers, especially where ladies are concerned. I’m amazed she allowed an American like Angela to marry Peter Smythe.’

  ‘It was Angela, not Peter, who persuaded Mrs Butler to give them her blessing.’ He opened his pocket watch. ‘We have time for that brandy, if you want one.’

  ‘Please.’ She went into the bathroom and filled the basin from the jug on the washstand.

  He padded naked into the dining room and rang the bell for service. By the time she’d finished washing and dressing the brandy had arrived.

  ‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’ he asked when she returned to the bedroom and retrieved her spectacles.

  ‘Working.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘There are only three doctors in the Lansing. I have, however, been promised Saturday off, if you’re free.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I’m free. Georgie …’

  She laid a finger over his mouth.

  ‘Now I’m not allowed to talk to you?’

  ‘Ground rules. Tonight was lovely and fun.’

  ‘Thank you …’

  ‘But that’s all it will ever be between us, David, lovely and fun. I don’t care if you have a wife in India or England …’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘I don’t want to make plans with you. I just want the here and now. Understand.’

  ‘No I don’t, Georgie. I’ve never met anyone like you and …’

  ‘No ands, no past, no future. Beyond Saturday that is.’ She picked up her brandy. ‘Dress, please. I don’t fancy riding through the streets in a hire cab alone at this time of night.’

  Chapter Three

  Shumran

  May 1916

  Captain Johnny Leigh tottered unsteadily towards Majors Mason and Crabbe.

  ‘Brigadier’s compliments, gentlemen. He’s invited all officers to join him at the wharf for a briefing.’

  John studied Leigh with a professional eye. ‘You have a temperature?’

  ‘Difficult to know in this blasted heat,’ Leigh slurred.

  ‘Fighting stomach cramps and diarrhoea?’

  ‘Me and everyone else in this man’s army.’

  ‘Find a place where you can lie down, preferably in the shade.’

  ‘There is none.’

  ‘There might be under a cart.’ John couldn’t see Dira but he spotted the guard he’d been given after his court martial, Sergeant Greening, overseeing a platoon of sepoys who were digging a latrine trench. He waved to him and Greening made his way over. ‘Find Captain Leigh a place where he can lie down and rest, sergeant. If Captain Vincent’s around, ask him to administer chalk.’

  ‘We ran out of chalk half an hour ago, sir.’

  ‘Damn! Does Captain Vincent know about the briefing?’

  ‘Already left, sir.’

  John checked Leigh’s pulse. ‘I’ll take another look at you after I’ve seen the brigadier, Leigh.’ John rose. His muscles felt as though they’d turned to stone since he’d sat down.

  ‘I’m all right, Mason …’ Leigh’s eyelids fluttered. He crumpled to his knees.

  ‘I’ll get Captain Leigh into one of the tents, Major Mason. You go along to the briefing, sir.’ Greening slung Leigh over his shoulder and walked away.

  ‘I wish I had one-tenth of Greening’s strength left to me.’ Crabbe accompanied John as he negotiated his way around the groups of men who’d lit fires along the river bank to boil water in their billy cans. A few attempted to struggle to their feet when they saw John and Crabbe approach. Crabbe called out in advance.

  ‘At ease, men.’

  The brigadier was slumped on a camp chair in front of one of the carts they used to haul their equipment. Given the debilitated state of the available donkeys and mules, only the most essential items of kit had been loaded. A fire burned next to the cart and an Indian orderly was making tea. John noticed the bleached leaves he was spooning into the tin pot, and wondered how many times they’d been used.

  The brigadier saw him staring at them. ‘There’s enough life left to colour the water, Mason.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it, sir.’

  ‘Rumour has it the Relief Force has dispatched a supply ship under a white flag that should reach us tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought that was more definite than just a rumour, sir.’

  ‘Relief Force asked the Turks’ permission, I received the news via our wireless in Kut before we smashed it. The senior man here informed me it was on its way when I arrived.’ The brigadier watched the officers limping and straggling in then spoke to his orderly. ‘Lieutenant Grace will take over brewing the tea, Patel. Pass down an order to the non-commissioned officers asking them to ensure we receive privacy during the briefing.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Patel saluted and disappeared. Just one more grey figure blending with the others in the twilight.

  ‘Cigarettes, gentlemen?’ The brigadier handed out packs. ‘These are the last from the Dorsets’ mess. Don’t hoard them. In this dry heat they’re already turning to dust.’

  John opened the pack Bowditch handed him, extracted one, and lit it immediately.

  ‘Thank you all for answering the summons. I realise you’re dispirited as well as exhausted but I thought it as well we exchange views on the situation. As senior ranking officer I approached the Turkish Officers on arrival, hoping to negotiate more suitable and humane treatment for the ranks. I regret without success. I have, however, officially registered my disgust at the conditions we find ourselves in, particularly the lack of shelter, clean drinking water, sanitation, food, and transport that has resulted in a high death toll among both officers and men on the march out of Kut. I also registered my revulsion as to the amount of violence meted out by both Turkish ranks and officers towards our men. I asked the Turks to make note that in the opinion of our senior officers and medics, our casualties would have been considerably fewer if the Ottomans had organised and furnished basic amenities.’

  ‘And was your protest noted by the Turks, sir?’ John asked.

  ‘Noted, and documented by them and me, Mason.’

  ‘Are we being shipped to Baghdad, sir?’ Alf Grace poured the ‘tea’ into tin mugs and passed them down the line.

  ‘That is the Turks’ intention. I’ve received assurance that the worst of our casualties, ranks as well as officers, will be conveyed there by steamship but I’ve been warned the majority will have to march. Please!’ The brigadier held up his hand to silence the hubbub of protest. ‘All decisions about evaluating and transporting the sick will be made by our medics as well as the Turks.’

  ‘That doesn’t bode well for our sick given the way the Turkish doctors dismissed the advice of our medics in Kut,’ Crabbe observed.

  ‘All we can do is to try and make them listen.’ John finished one cigarette and lit another.

 
‘Will we be held in Baghdad, sir?’ Lieutenant Bowditch asked.

  ‘No, we’re being sent on into prison camps in Turkey.’

  ‘Ranks and officers?’ Crabbe pressed

  ‘Ranks and officers, Major Crabbe. Officers will be separated from the men at the earliest opportunity and our Indian troops will be separated from our British troops. From what the sepoys have told me, the Turks are doing all they can to try to bribe our Muslim soldiers to change sides and fight for them.’

  ‘Our Hindu and Sikh troops, sir?’ Vincent asked.

  ‘Are not being treated as well as our Muslim troops, or our ranks. And despite my protests the Turks absolutely refuse to allow more than one officer to remain with each regiment.

  Crabbe rose to his feet. ‘Permission to remain with the Dorsets, sir?’

  Other officers jumped to their feet and the brigadier held up his hand again. ‘I’ve been assured we’ll remain with the men until we reach Baghdad. All decisions as to deployment of officers will be made there. I’d appreciate a report on the medical situation, Major Mason.’

  ‘Grim, sir.’ John looked to Captain Vincent. ‘Would you like to elaborate on the supply situation, captain?’

  ‘We’re out of medical supplies, sir.’

  ‘You’ve applied to the Turks, Captain Vincent?’

  ‘I talked to their medical officers, sir. They don’t have medical supplies to meet the needs of their own troops, let alone ours,’ Vincent confirmed.

  ‘Let’s hope the supply ship the Relief Force has promised us exists on more than paper and turns up soon. Anyone else want to say anything?’ The brigadier looked around the silent group of demoralised men. ‘Good night, gentlemen. Although I doubt any of us will get much sleep. I have a premonition that even worse times lie ahead, so I advise you to get as much rest as you can, while you can.’

  John lingered after the other officers dispersed. ‘Permission to discuss medical matters, sir?’

  The brigadier nodded and offered John his flask.

  ‘I’d like to volunteer to act as rear guard and follow the men who will be marched to Baghdad, sir. Dysentery, scurvy, beriberi, and diarrhoea are endemic. If the way the Turks drove us to this point is any indication of their future behaviour towards us, they won’t be expending their resources caring for our men. Not while they treat their own ranks so abominably. I suspect that when, not if, our ranks fall out they’ll be left where they lie to die.’