Major Findlay had now got close to Miss Bailey. He said, ‘Well, I daresay you’ve heard enough about the railways of India to keep you going for a while.’ She made some enquiry of him, and he said, ‘Oh, pretty fed up.’ I thought: he’s trying to appeal to her feminine concern, but she turned away from him, and he was drawn into a conversation with a fellow officer, enquiring, ‘My dear chap, are you being attended to? We don’t have quite the waiting staff we need.’
‘What were you doing in the desert?’ I asked Miss Bailey.
‘I went to see Fahad Bey ibn Hadhdhal, chief of the Anazeh tribe.’
‘Why?’
‘To get his support in the western desert.’
She spoke in a low tone, requiring me to lean close to her.
I said, ‘Is he in with the Turks at present?’
‘How do you mean “in with”? You might say he was used to the Turks.’
‘And what did he decide?’
She laughed. ‘He’s thinking it over, working out his price.’
‘He’s very powerful, is he?’
‘About five thousand rifles.’
The sound of another fleeting commotion rose up from the square. I heard the blond major, Findlay, say, ‘Quiet Square, that’s supposed to be.’ One of the Royal Engineers near to Miss Bailey asked her: ‘What’s he like? As a man.’
‘Fahad Bey? Well, he’s rather beautiful,’ and at this she glanced over to Major Findlay, who was looking pained. ‘He’s a quite superb horseman,’ Miss Bailey was saying, now addressing all the men around her. ‘He’s also very shrewd, and fascinated by the antics of white women. I feel like a music-hall turn every time I see him. I climb on a horse, he practically applauds. I light a cigarette; I remove my hat; I request wine.’ She leant closer to me. ‘I do try to shock him, I admit. I will contradict him . . . contradict him openly, before his men. Then there is an intake of breath – a rather sharp one, mark you, but he rallies quickly. He extends his arm, commending me to his fellows. “The women of the Anglez!”, as if to say, “What freaks they are, but damned amusing with it!”’
She liked the sound of her own voice, but then I liked the sound of it, too.
‘You’ve obviously won him over,’ someone said.
‘Perhaps I have, perhaps I will. All the sheikhs know that I love the desert; that I speak to them as a student of their history and culture, and that I have their best interests at heart.’ She turned directly to me, saying, ‘That’s pompous, isn’t it? Patronising too.’
From beyond the window came more fast-moving shouts. Some of our party stepped out on to the veranda, but Miss Bailey seemed unconcerned.
‘Unfortunately,’ she said, taking another piece of meat, ‘the Cairo people have promised most of Iraq to Faisal.’
I frowned somewhat.
She said, ‘You disapprove?’
‘No, I just don’t know who he is.’
‘Third son of Sharif Hussein – of the Hashemite dynasty. It’s amazing how many people have been promised Iraq. The French think we’re going to split it with them.’
‘What gave them that idea?’
She shrugged – a secret smile.
I asked, ‘Who has Cox promised it to?’
Miss Bailey had now finished her dinner – about six bites – and was lighting another Woodbine. She offered me one, by way of an afterthought.
‘Coxus? He’s not in it really. Most of the promising’s done from Cairo. Cox wants to see Iraq annexed under India, and Ibn Saud made king.’
‘Faisal and Saud? They’re enemies, aren’t they?’
‘Rivals,’ she said, blowing smoke.
‘Who do the Turks support?’
‘Another man again. Ibn Rashid.’
At this she too stood, and went over to the window, and I tamely followed. All was once more quiet in Quiet Square: just a couple of sleeping palms, one stork wandering about aimlessly, criss-crossing the shadows of telegraph wires. I looked around the room. Of our host, Lieutenant Colonel Shepherd, there was no sign. The blond major – Findlay – was saying to a Royal Engineer, ‘You know, I don’t think anything’s struck me as more peculiar about this place than the women. Have you seen the ones with the thick black nets over their heads, like sort of walking corpses?’ The Royal Engineer made some reply, and Findlay said, ‘Yes but it only makes you more curious about what they look like. You see, what I don’t understand is . . .’ But Miss Bailey had moved next to him, at which he seemed to sigh with pleasure, not now feeling the need to say what he didn’t understand. She said to him, ‘I’m giving my address next week, if you can believe it. Honestly, first The Shepherd charms me into coming here, then he charms me into speaking.’