They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [32]
Whilst thoroughly agreeing with him, especially in regard to the end of the speech, Victoria realized that she was not getting any nearer to her objective. Conversation with Marcus was, she thought, most entertaining, and Marcus was a charming person in his childlike enthusiasm for life, but conversation with him reminded her of Alice in Wonderland’s endeavours to find a path that led to the hill. Every topic found them returning to the point of departure – Marcus!
She refused another drink and rose sadly to her feet. She felt slightly giddy. The cocktails had been anything but weak. She went out from the bar on to the terrace outside and stood by the railing looking across the river, when somebody spoke from behind her.
‘Excuse me, but you’d better go and put a coat on. Dare say it seems like summer to you coming out from England, but it gets very cold about sundown.’
It was the Englishwoman who had been talking to Mrs Clipp earlier. She had the hoarse voice of one who is in the habit of training and calling to sporting dogs. She wore a fur coat, had a rug over her knees and was sipping a whisky and soda.
‘Oh thank you,’ said Victoria and was about to escape hurriedly when her intentions were defeated.
‘I must introduce myself. I’m Mrs Cardew Trench.’ (The implication was clearly: one of the Cardew Trenches.) ‘I believe you arrived with Mrs – what’s her name – Hamilton Clipp.’
‘Yes,’ said Victoria, ‘I did.’
‘She told me you were the niece of the Bishop of Llangow.’
Victoria rallied.
‘Did she really?’ she inquired with the correct trace of light amusement.
‘Got it wrong, I suppose?’
Victoria smiled.
‘Americans are bound to get some of our names wrong. It does sound a little like Llangow. My uncle,’ said Victoria improvising rapidly, ‘is the Bishop of Languao?’
‘Languao?’
‘Yes – in the Pacific Archipelago. He’s a Colonial Bishop, of course.’
‘Oh, a Colonial Bishop,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench, her voice falling at least three semitones.
As Victoria had anticipated: Mrs Cardew Trench was magnificently unaware of Colonial Bishops.
‘That explains it,’ she added.
Victoria thought with pride that it explained it very well for a spur of the moment plunge!
‘And what are you doing out here?’ asked Mrs Cardew Trench with that inexorable geniality that conceals natural curiosity of disposition.
‘Looking for a young man I talked to for a few moments in a public square in London,’ was hardly an answer that Victoria could give. She said, remembering the newspaper paragraph she had read, and her statement to Mrs Clipp:
‘I’m joining my uncle, Dr Pauncefoot Jones.’
‘Oh, so that’s who you are.’ Mrs Cardew Trench was clearly delighted at having ‘placed’ Victoria. ‘He’s a charming little man, though a bit absent-minded – still I suppose that’s only to be expected. Heard him lecture last year in London – excellent delivery – couldn’t understand a word of what it was all about, though. Yes, he passed through Baghdad about a fortnight ago. I think he mentioned some girls were coming out later in the season.’
Hurriedly, having established her status, Victoria chipped in with a question.
‘Do you know if Dr Rathbone is out here?’ she asked.
‘Just come out,’ said Mrs Cardew Trench. ‘I believe they’ve asked him to give a lecture at the Institute next Thursday. On “World Relationships and Brotherhood” – or something like that. All nonsense if you ask me. The more you try to get people together, the more suspicious they get of each other. All this poetry and music and translating Shakespeare and Wordsworth into Arabic and Chinese and Hindustani. “A primrose by the river’s brim,” etc…what’s the good of that to people who’ve never seen a primrose?’
‘Where is he staying, do you know?’
‘At the Babylonian Palace Hotel, I believe. But his headquarters are up near the Museum. The Olive Branch – ridiculous name. Full of young women in slacks with unwashed necks and spectacles.