Seven Dials - Anne Perry [62]
Pitt stared at him in slowly dawning comprehension as to the magnitude of what he was being asked to do. It overwhelmed him. He had no idea how even to begin, let alone weigh any conclusion. He knew nothing about Egypt except fragments he had picked up in conversation, newspapers, and a little more recently about the cotton grown there. He did not know the city of Alexandria; he would be utterly lost. The climate would be nothing like London, or the food, the clothes, the customs.
And yet at the same moment as fear gripped him, so did a kind of excitement which grew with each second, and the words of acceptance were on his lips before he had thought clearly of how he could succeed.
“Yes, sir. What is the best way? Thomas Cook?”
The shadow of a smile touched Narraway’s lips. “It was an order, Pitt, not a request. Your only alternative would have been your resignation. But I’m pleased I did not have to make that point to you.” At last he turned and looked up. His eyes were cautious, softer for a few minutes. “Be careful, Pitt. Egypt is not an easy place at the moment, and you are going there to probe into delicate issues. I want the information, but I would like you back alive. Your death in some back street would not reflect well on my professional reputation.” He picked the money up from the top of the desk and with it a plain white envelope. “Here are your tickets, and what I believe will be sufficient funds. If you need more, go to Mr. Trenchard at the British Consulate, but don’t trust him more than you have to.”
Pitt took the money and tickets. “Thank you.”
“You sail from Southampton on the evening tide tomorrow,” Narraway added.
Pitt turned to leave. He would have to be on the first train in the morning, and he had to pack. It had not yet even occurred to him to think what clothes he owned would be even remotely suitable.
“Pitt!” Narraway’s voice recalled him sharply.
He turned. “Yes?”
“Be careful. This is probably exactly what it looks like—a man with more passion than sense. But just in case it is political, something to do with cotton or . . . or God knows what . . . listen more than you talk. Learn to watch without asking questions. You’re not police in Alexandria.” His face looked suddenly weary, as if he was already anticipating griefs that had not yet happened, or perhaps remembering those that had. “There’ll be no one to protect you. Your white skin will be as much against you as for. For God’s sake, man, take a little care!” He said it angrily, as if Pitt was in the habit of running wild risks, and it was that which touched Pitt with a coldness of fear, because he had seldom if ever really jeopardized his own life, except perhaps in Whitechapel, on his first assignment for Narraway. He was used to the safety of office, which was not a uniform but as good as one.
He found his mouth dry when he answered. “Yes, sir,” he said stiffly, and went out before Narraway could say anything further, or Pitt could betray his feelings.
CHAPTER
SIX
“EGYPT!” Charlotte said incredulously when Pitt told her. He had arrived home late and dinner was already served.
“I know where Egypt is,” Daniel offered. “It’s in the top of Africa.” He said it with his mouth full, but Charlotte was too stunned to correct him. “You’ll have to sail in a boat,” Daniel added helpfully.
“But it will be . . .” Charlotte began, then she caught sight of Jemima’s troubled face, “interesting,” she finished awkwardly. “And hot . . . won’t it? What will you wear?”
“I’ll have to get some clothes when I get there,” he replied. There were scores of things he wished to say to her, but he knew her