They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [49]
The first arrival was a tall thin man with a thoughtful face, and as he came up the steps Victoria slipped round the corner of the balcony. As she did so, she actually saw Edward entering through a garden door that gave on to the river bend.
Faithful to the tradition of Juliet, Victoria leaned over the balcony and gave a prolonged hiss.
Edward (who was looking, Victoria thought, more attractive than ever) turned his head sharply, looking about him.
‘Hist! Up here,’ called Victoria in a low voice.
Edward raised his head, and an expression of utter astonishment appeared on his face.
‘Good Lord,’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s Charing Cross!’
‘Hush. Wait for me. I’m coming down.’
Victoria sped round the balcony, down the steps and along round the corner of the house to where Edward had remained obediently standing, the expression of bewilderment still on his face.
‘I can’t be drunk so early in the day,’ said Edward. ‘It is you?’
‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Victoria happily and ungrammatically.
‘But what are you doing here? How did you get here? I thought I was never going to see you again.’
‘I thought so too.’
‘It’s really just like a miracle. How did you get here?’
‘I flew.’
‘Naturally you flew. You couldn’t have got here in time, otherwise. But I mean what blessed and wonderful chance brought you to Basrah?’
‘The train,’ said Victoria.
‘You’re doing it on purpose, you little brute. God, I’m pleased to see you. But how did you get here – really?’
‘I came out with a woman who’d broken her arm – a Mrs Clipp, an American. I was offered the job the day after I met you, and you’d talked about Baghdad, and I was a bit fed up with London, so I thought, well why not see the world?’
‘You really are awfully sporting, Victoria. Where’s this Clipp woman, here?’
‘No, she’s gone to a daughter near Kirkuk. It was only a journey-out job.’
‘Then what are you doing now?’
‘I’m still seeing the world,’ said Victoria. ‘But it has required a few subterfuges. That’s why I wanted to get at you before we met in public, I mean, I don’t want any tactless references to my being a shorthand typist out of a job when you last saw me.’
‘As far as I’m concerned you’re anything you say you are. I’m ready for briefing.’
‘The idea is,’ said Victoria, ‘that I am Miss Pauncefoot Jones. My uncle is an eminent archaeologist who is excavating in some more or less inaccessible place out here, and I am joining him shortly.’
‘And none of that is true?’
‘Naturally not. But it makes quite a good story.’
‘Oh yes, excellent. But suppose you and old Pussy-foot Jones come face to face?’
‘Pauncefoot. I don’t think that is likely. As far as I can make out once archaeologists start to dig, they go on digging like mad, and don’t stop.’
‘Rather like terriers. I say, there’s a lot in what you say. Has he got a real niece?’
‘How should I know?’ said Victoria.
‘Oh, then you’re not impersonating anybody in particular. That makes it easier.’
‘Yes, after all, a man can have lots of nieces. Or, at a pinch, I could say I’m only a cousin but that I always call him uncle.’
‘You think of everything,’ said Edward admiringly. ‘You really are an amazing girl, Victoria. I’ve never met anyone like you. I thought I wouldn’t see you again for years, and when I did see you, you’d have forgotten all about me. And now here you are.’
The admiring and humble glance which Edward cast on her caused Victoria intense satisfaction. If she had been a cat she would have purred.
‘But you’ll want a job, won’t you?’ said Edward. ‘I mean, you haven’t come into a fortune or anything?’
‘Far from it! Yes,’ said Victoria slowly, ‘I shall want a job. I went into your Olive Branch place, as a matter of fact, and saw Dr Rathbone and asked him for a job, but he wasn’t very responsive – not to a salaried job, that is.’
‘The old beggar’s fairly tight with his money,’ said Edward. ‘His idea is that