They came to Baghdad - Agatha Christie [56]
Though the Olive Branch itself seemed so innocuous Victoria had a distinct feeling that its head and founder was in a different category. Once or twice she was aware of Dr Rathbone’s dark thoughtful gaze resting upon her and though she countered it with her most innocent and kitten-like expression, she felt a sudden throb of something like fear.
Once, when she had been summoned to his presence (for explanation of a typing error), the matter went farther than a glance.
‘You are happy working with us, I hope?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes, indeed, sir,’ said Victoria, and added: ‘I’m sorry I make so many mistakes.’
‘We don’t mind mistakes. A soulless machine would be no use to us. We need youth, generosity of spirit, broadness of outlook.’
Victoria endeavoured to look eager and generous.
‘You must love the work…love the object for which you are working…look forward to the glorious future. Are you truly feeling all that, dear child?’
‘It’s all so new to me,’ said Victoria. ‘I don’t feel I have taken it all in yet.’
‘Get together – get together – young people everywhere must get together. That is the main thing. You enjoy your evenings of free discussion and comradeship?’
‘Oh! yes,’ said Victoria, who loathed them.
‘Agreement, not dissension – brotherhood, not hatred. Slowly and surely it is growing – you do feel that, don’t you?’
Victoria thought of the endless petty jealousies, the violent dislikes, the endless quarrels, hurt feelings, apologies demanded; and hardly knew what she was expected to say.
‘Sometimes,’ she said cautiously, ‘people are difficult.’
‘I know…I know…’ Dr Rathbone sighed. His noble domed forehead furrowed itself in perplexity. ‘What is this I hear of Michael Rakounian striking Isaac Nahoum and cutting his lip open?’
‘They were just having a little argument,’ said Victoria.
Dr Rathbone brooded mournfully.
‘Patience and faith,’ he murmured. ‘Patience and faith.’
Victoria murmured a dutiful assent and turned to leave. Then, remembering she had left her typescript, she came back again. The glance she caught in Dr Rathbone’s eye startled her a little. It was a keen suspicious glance, and she wondered uneasily just how closely she was being watched, and what Dr Rathbone really thought about her.
Her instructions from Mr Dakin were very precise. She was to obey certain rules for communicating with him if she had anything to report. He had given her an old faded pink handkerchief. If she had anything to report she was to walk, as she often did when the sun was setting along the river bank, near her hostel. There was a narrow path in front of the houses there for perhaps a quarter of a mile. In one place a big flight of steps led down to the water’s edge and boats were constantly being tied up there. There was a rusty nail in one of the wooden posts at the top. Here she was to affix a small piece of the pink handkerchief if she wanted to get into communication with Dakin. So far, Victoria reflected bitterly, there had been no need for anything of the sort. She was merely doing an ill-paid job in a slovenly fashion. Edward she saw at rare intervals, since he was always being sent to far-off places by Dr Rathbone. At the moment, he had just come back from Persia. During his absence, she had had one short and somewhat unsatisfactory interview with Dakin. Her instructions had been to go to the Tio Hotel and ask if she had left a cardigan behind. The answer having been in the negative, Marcus appeared and immediately swept her out on to the river bank for a drink. During the process Dakin had shambled in from the street and had been hailed by Marcus to join them, and presently, as Dakin supped lemonade, Marcus had been called away and the two of them sat there on opposite sides of the small painted table.
Rather apprehensively Victoria confessed her utter lack of success, but Dakin was indulgently reassuring.
‘My dear child, you don’t even know what you are looking for or even if there is anything to find. Taken by and large what is your considered opinion