They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [13]
‘I’m not exactly a nurse,’ said Victoria, managing to imply that that was practically what she was. ‘But I’ve had a good deal of experience of nursing.’ She produced the first testimonial. ‘I was with Lady Cynthia Bradbury for over a year. And if you should want any correspondence or secretarial work done, I acted as my uncle’s secretary for some months. My uncle,’ said Victoria modestly, ‘is the Bishop of Llangow.’
‘So your uncle’s a Bishop. Dear me, how interesting.’
Both the Hamilton Clipps were, Victoria thought, decidedly impressed. (And so they should be after the trouble she had taken!)
Mrs Hamilton Clipp handed the two testimonials to her husband.
‘It really seems quite wonderful,’ she said reverently. ‘Quite providential. It’s an answer to prayer.’
Which, indeed, was exactly what it was, thought Victoria.
‘You’re taking up a position of some kind out there? Or joining a relative?’ asked Mrs Hamilton Clipp.
In the flurry of manufacturing testimonials, Victoria had quite forgotten that she might have to account for her reasons for travelling to Baghdad. Caught unprepared, she had to improvise rapidly. The paragraph she had read yesterday came to her mind.
‘I’m joining my uncle out there. Dr Pauncefoot Jones,’ she explained.
‘Indeed? The archaeologist?’
‘Yes.’ For one moment Victoria wondered whether she were perhaps endowing herself with too many distinguished uncles. ‘I’m terribly interested in his work, but of course I’ve no special qualifications so it was out of the question for the Expedition to pay my fare out. They’re not too well off for funds. But if I can get out on my own, I can join them and make myself useful.’
‘It must be very interesting work,’ said Mr Hamilton Clipp, ‘and Mesopotamia is certainly a great field for archaeology.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Victoria, turning to Mrs Clipp, ‘that my uncle the Bishop is up in Scotland at this moment. But I can give you his secretary’s telephone number. She is staying in London at the moment. Pimlico 87693 – one of the Fulham Palace extensions. She’ll be there any time from (Victoria’s eyes slid to the clock on the mantelpiece) 11.30 onwards if you would like to ring her up and ask about me.’
‘Why, I’m sure –’ Mrs Clipp began, but her husband interrupted.
‘Time’s very short you know. This plane leaves day after tomorrow. Now have you got a passport, Miss Jones?’
‘Yes.’ Victoria felt thankful that owing to a short holiday trip to France last year, her passport was up to date. ‘I brought it with me in case,’ she added.
‘Now that’s what I call businesslike,’ said Mr Clipp approvingly. If any other candidate had been in the running, she had obviously dropped out now. Victoria with her good recommendations, and her uncles, and her passport on the spot had successfully made the grade.
‘You’ll want the necessary visas,’ said Mr Clipp, taking the passport. ‘I’ll run round to our friend Mr Burgeon in American Express, and he’ll get everything fixed up. Perhaps you’d better call round this afternoon, so you can sign whatever’s necessary.’
This Victoria agreed to do.
As the door of the apartment closed behind her, she heard Mrs Hamilton Clipp say to Mr Hamilton Clipp:
‘Such a nice straightforward girl. We really are in luck.’
Victoria had the grace to blush.
She hurried back to her flat and sat glued to the telephone prepared