The only incongruous note at the table was Iskander Khan. Betty eyed him critically. Yes, perhaps she had made a mistake with Iskander. It had been wrong to seat him next to the unattractive Rathmore whom she thought unlikely to make the slightest attempt to conceal his intentions which were simply to find a way into Afghanistan and, more or less, buy up everything of any possible value and replace it with shabby trade goods mixed in with a few obsolete rifles. The passionately nationalist Iskander would have little to say to him. Little indeed to say to his neighbour on the other side. As far as Betty understood it, Fred’s general idea was that the proper way to keep peace on the frontier was to advance British interests deep into tribal territory and keep them there through the influence of rapid deployment of a squadron of light bombers. Perhaps she had made a bad mistake in seating him next to a potential target! But then, thought Betty, noticing the two deep in animated and not unfriendly conversation, effectively, strip aside the voice and the clothes and they were really very similar. With their positions reversed, Iskander would passionately welcome the opportunity of dropping bombs on Fred Moore-Simpson. And there they sat, each wrapped in his tribal habits and each perfectly understanding the other. And not dissimilar in appearance, Betty decided, comparing Fred’s elegant figure, neat moustache and sleek fair hair not unfavourably with the exotic Iskander.
Her eye roamed to the head – or was it the foot? – of the table and rested on the lamp-lit red curls and humorous blue eyes of James Lindsay. ‘My husband,’ she thought. ‘The best! Not the handsomest but certainly the best! There he sits. Well, I know who’s the lucky girl at this table! He looks jolly tired though. I’ll be glad when he’s got rid of this crowd and can get back to his dangerous, responsible, hard-working, unresting life! Really! They ask too much of my poor man! Soldier, diplomat and now Mine Host!’ Betty suspected that her protective instincts were wasted on the hardened and competent man she had married. At that moment James looked up. Their eyes met and she winked at him. He put his tongue out at her.
Before she could respond, a volley of shots rang out overhead. A pause and it was followed by another hail of bullets, accompanied by the scream of ricochets and somewhere in the distance the shattering of a pane of glass. For a moment everyone sat rigidly still, eyes wide, ears straining.
‘Is that someone shooting at us?’ Lily said.
‘Yes, probably,’ said James easily. ‘Certainly sounds like it. More champagne, anyone?’
‘Shouldn’t you do something? Shouldn’t you go out and fight them?’
For answer James crooked a finger at one of the jemadars who was standing by unmoving. ‘Just go and see what all that was about,’ he said. The jemadar bowed and left.
Lily didn’t need to be told what it was all about. She knew. The fort was being attacked, though nobody seemed to be taking very much notice. She turned to Grace as another volley erupted. ‘Shouldn’t they do something?’ she demanded excitedly. This was, after all, what she’d come for. Shots in the night! But where was the British reaction? ‘I mean, I know you British go about balancing a straight bat on your stiff upper lips but isn’t this going a bit too far?’
‘I expect they know best,’ said Grace placidly, dipping her fingers in a finger bowl as a burst of return fire rang out.
‘Well, there you are, Lily, there’s the armed response,’ said Fred.
‘I think you can leave this to the garrison,’ said Zeman. ‘If it’s anything it’ll just be a party of those hairy brigands the Zakka Khel Afridi raiding down from the hills for guns and women, firing from the hip as they come. They do it all the time! Tribesmen in these parts are disgracefully primitive in their reactions, you’ll find.’
An uneasy thought occurred to Lily. She turned to Zeman. ‘Hey! Zeman! You’re an Afridi, aren’t you? Which side are you on anyway?’ Encountering a gleam of amusement in the eye of Iskander, Lily fell silent for a moment, thoughtful and indignant. At the next lull in the firing she spoke again. ‘Okay, James! I said – okay! You can tell your guys to stand down now. Thanks, I’m sure, for the floor show! Well, gee willikins!’ she drawled sarcastically. ‘I’ll certainly have something to tell the girls back home in Chicago now, won’t I?’
Joe smiled at her cross face. He thought he might come to like Miss Coblenz after all.
Betty too was impressed. ‘When I get you to myself, James Lindsay,’ she thought, ‘I shall tell you your little entertainment misfired!’ All the same, she had admired the American girl’s reaction. If Lily had had a rifle to hand, she’d have led the charge through the door to deal with the problem. ‘If I were ever stuck on a covered wagon rolling across the prairie (and that’s probably what the Coblenz family were doing a generation or two back!) I’d be jolly pleased to find Lily Coblenz at my elbow,’ she decided.