Redemption - Leon Uris [201]
He stopped suddenly. “I must forget Georgia,” he whispered, “but I know what I know and I know my spiritual fulfillment will be on South Island, on my horse, riding in to some girl.”
“New Zealand must be a hell of a place,” Jeremy said. “I read it in every letter the lads write home. And I thought the ultimate love of loves was Ireland.”
Ireland…New Zealand…Ireland…New Zealand…“Christ,” Rory said, “let’s consider our situation. In no way would either of us be practicing infidelity if we rehumanize ourselves. Only damned problem is, Cairo is a sewer.”
“Yes,” Jeremy agreed, “if we could only find our own oasis.”
“God help me,” Rory said, “but I know one, Jeremy!”
“Where?”
“On Zamalek Island between the Anglican cathedral and the Swedish Embassy. It’s a very smart rental. The Villa Valhalla. You see-Chester, Johnny, and I came here loaded with money from bets on my fight in Fort Albany. Only problem…”
“What?”
“They won’t rent it to enlisted personnel, or even an officer below the rank of colonel.”
“You mean it’s available by the week or month?”
“Yes, but if you even try something like that it could ruin your army career and put us behind bars.”
“Jesus, Landers, I thought you had balls.”
“There’s balls and there’s balls. The three of us are ready to go home in chains, but you’re the son of an earl.”
“What about Modi? Is he in?”
“Absolutely. He’s our musician.”
“Yurlob?”
“I wouldn’t bring him in for a while. You know with the Sikhs it’s no smoking and liquor and…he’s real British Army. Wait now, Jeremy.”
“Give me the details and swear the other lads to secrecy.”
“You sure about this, Jeremy?”
“Yeah,” he answered with an infectious smile that had won him many miles in the past.
Jeremy welcomed himself into Farouk el Farouk’s office and, as coffee was ordered, he put on his father’s most deliciously nauseous attitude. Farouk el Farouk was impressed with Chester Goodwood, and now the Lieutenant, for their persistence. His mind raced through his listings on what else he could possibly sell these people…in their own allowed environment…in place of the Villa Valhalla.
“My cards,” Jeremy said laying a pair of them before the Egyptian. Farouk el Farouk squinted through his glasses and stared at the first one.
FIRST LIEUTENANT JEREMY HUBBLE SEVENTH NEW ZEALAND LIGHT HORSE
He was about to reject Jeremy when the second card caught his attention massively and his eyes became nailed to it.
LORD JEREMY HUBBLE THE VISCOUNT OF COLERAINE
“I have other credentials,” Jeremy said, gazing out of the window. “I am a vice president and member of the board of directors of Weed Ship & Iron in Belfast, and my father is the Earl of Foyle.”
Farouk el Farouk had to peer around gingerly to ascertain if this was real or a joke. Jeremy took it away from him by sliding a Cook’s Travel draft over the desk made out for three hundred sterling.
“My expression of gratitude for your future services. Mr. Garfield, the manager, has cleared me and is expecting you to cash it.”
Hand to heart, free arm extended like a baritone in mid-aria—“Lord Hubble, forgive me, but you know I must be extremely careful…I didn’t realize…we will get Villa Valhalla prepared immediately. Do you have any special desires?”
“Hummm,” Jeremy said nasally. “I want a tiptop hush-hush housekeeper, one who understands service to aristocracy.”
“Sonya runs the villa for exceptional clients. She is requested constantly. She is a delight. Very well connected for anything you desire…dancers and more intimate company. I give you also George.”
“Who the devil is George?”
“Only the best Terrier in Cairo. He is Christian, seventeen,