The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Read online

  ‘Don’t mention it.’ John laid the flask on the bed and left.

  Geoffrey stared at his reflection. If only Mason wasn’t so damned reasonable. He’d tried so hard to dislike him …

  ‘Time for patrol, sir.’

  Geoffrey wiped the lather from his half-shaved face, rammed on his newly pipe-clayed topee and left his tent, head high, hand on sword. His horse was waiting, restlessly pawing the ground. He only hoped his men couldn’t see the trembling coward beneath the immaculate uniform.

  The Turks were waiting for them seven miles outside the camp. And not just the Turks. Harry had warned there would be Arab irregulars, but not one man was prepared for the eerie noise of their battle cries or the weight of their numbers.

  The Turks began advancing in slow, orderly fashion while the Arab irregulars closed in on their flanks. Geoffrey heard commands being shouted down the lines. The infantry drew back. He was left in front. From somewhere came the order to charge. He drew his sword. His horse needed no spurring. Following the lead of the other mounts, it broke into a gallop. He put his head down in line with his blade. Rifle and gunshots exploded. He heard cracks, saw fire flashes. Men and horses began to scream; their noise drowned in deafening sallies from the Turkish large-bore guns.

  The horse on his right wheeled and crashed. He reined in his mount. The faces of the Turkish cavalry, speckled with rain, loomed inexorably closer. He stood in the stirrups and heaved. Blood flecked the foam at his horse’s mouth. The horse on his left turned. And, at last, his own.

  Riding hard, he glanced over his right shoulder. Sepoys rode behind him. He dug in his spurs, the mist cleared, and in one sickening moment he realised he was on his own. Wherever the rest of the cavalry were, he wasn’t with them. Arabs were close on the sepoys’ heels. He pulled at his reins again, but his horse refused to obey. A sepoy shouted a warning when hawk-eyed Arabs thundered into view ahead of them.

  An Arab stood poised in the stirrups of his galloping horse, holding a rifle with both hands. Dropping his reins, Geoffrey reached for his handgun. Before he unbuttoned his holster, the Arab fired.

  Geoffrey’s horse crumpled beneath him. Lifting his leg over the saddle, he slid to the ground, landing as his horse crashed screaming beside him. The Arab dismounted and closed in on Geoffrey, rifle cocked. He pulled his kafieh down from his face and ran a slim forefinger along his throat. Geoffrey didn’t believe it.

  The rest of the troop would appear at any moment. In the meantime, it was up to him to teach the bastards a lesson. Looking into the Arab’s eyes, Geoffrey removed one boot, then the other. The native stepped back. Using all his strength, Geoffrey threw his boots into the Arab’s face. They hit the native’s cheekbones, leaving streaks of mud.

  There was a rush of air, a sigh, followed by a thud. He turned to see an Arab holding a sepoy’s head. The sepoy’s body toppled and crashed into a muddy gulley. A hand closed into his hair. Something hit his neck. He felt warm blood coursing down his shirt. It didn’t hurt; there was only a sense of bewilderment. He wasn’t going to die. He couldn’t die. He’d made so many plans, so many people loved him.

  His mother – his sisters – even Reggie … Another blow came. An explosion of crimson burst in his head, obliterating everything, even thoughts of Maud.

  Officers’ Mess, Regimental Headquarters, India, Friday 5th March 1915

  ‘It couldn’t have been easy for you to leave the Western Front, Reid. With what’s going on there, promotion prospects for a bright chap have never been better. But prospects in Mesopotamia are just as good. Look at Harry Downe; he made major last month and now he’s acting lieutenant-colonel.’

  ‘I heard.’ Charles smiled.

  ‘We need sound chaps out there. That’s why we sent for you. Though we got more than we bargained for. Sent for a captain and came up with a major, eh, Reid?’ The colonel dipped into his whisky.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Resigned to another half hour of tedium before dinner, Charles signalled to an orderly to refill his glass.

  ‘Tell me.’ The colonel peered at him short-sightedly. ‘What’s it like over there.’

  ‘Bloody.’

  ‘Plenty of action, eh! I know the Western Front is getting most of the press. But this sideshow in Mesopotamia is important. An army fights on its supplies. Oil is vital. Navy couldn’t function without it. Not to mention our tanks.’

  ‘We didn’t see many of those in France, sir.’

  ‘They’re on their way, Reid. Have it on good intelligence. Let’s hope the Huns and Johnny Turk don’t have the same source. Now where was I? Oh yes, Mesopotamia. We need every man we can get out there.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, sir. But I would have thought you could have found someone suitable here without scouring the Western Front for reinforcements.’

  ‘There wasn’t anyone who didn’t need six months to get acclimatised, old chap. Every able-bodied man in India is already in the Gulf. Now the rainy season’s ending, Townsend’s preparing his offensive. Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t stop until he reached Baghdad.’ The colonel winked.

  ‘As I understand it, sir, the brief was to safeguard the oil wells and we haven’t managed that yet. The pipeline is cut; our position hasn’t been consolidated.’

  ‘A detachment went up the Karun last month to sort out the pipeline.’ The colonel’s lips set in a grim line. ‘Heavy losses, number of good chaps gone. You probably knew some of them.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘They went in a good cause. No better way to die than in harness, eh?’

  The platitude was too much for Charles, coming from an officer the colonel’s age. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sir, Johnny Leigh’s just come in. I would like to speak to him.’

  ‘Course, old chap. See you again before you go?’

  ‘I sail tomorrow.’ Charles barely refrained from adding ‘Thank God.’ Twenty-four hours in India was enough. There were only geriatrics and subalterns straight from school left. Even the mothers’ darlings detailed to the staff were getting thin on the ground. The demands of the war were eating into every reserve of manpower.

  ‘A quick word before you go, Reid. You know that doctor chap, Mason?’

  ‘We’re close friends, sir.’ Charles braced himself.

  ‘Yes. Um – knew your father. Fine general. Fine chap. Mason’s a fine chap too, otherwise I wouldn’t say anything. This wife of his – someone has to have a word. Marjorie Harrap tried, didn’t get anywhere. What does the girl think she’s doing? She’s the talk of the regiment. And her husband poor chap, out in Basra.’

  ‘KarunRiver, sir.’ Charles repeated information he’d gleaned from an officer invalided back to HQ.

  ‘Whatever, he can’t do anything where he is. Have a word with her, Reid. We’ve tried offering her a berth home. Basra, even. There are other wives out there but the minx won’t go. Bad show. She’s affecting the morale of the entire regiment. Can’t have our chaps going off to war worrying about who’s … worrying about their wives. Well, come on, then. Drink up. I’ll buy you one for the road,’ he offered, camouflaging his embarrassment.

  ‘I’ve arranged to see Mrs Mason after dinner, sir.’

  ‘Glad to see you doing what you can.’ The colonel lifted his glass. ‘To you. Wish I was going with you. Put in for it. But the damned medics won’t let me go. It’s this blasted gout.’ The colonel pointed to his left leg. Charles suddenly saw through the bluff to the heart of the man. It had probably cost the colonel more to raise the subject of Maud than it had for him to face action in the Boer War.

  ‘I hope you’ll soon recover, sir. Thank you for the drink.’

  ‘Next time I see you; you’ll probably be General Reid, my boy. Hope you make it. Bad show to let your father outrank you.’

  Charles left the colonel to his whisky and gout. The mess was as full as it was going to get. He and Johnny Leigh were the only officers above 20 and below 60 in the room. He glanced at the wall as he made his wa
y to Leigh’s chair. No new casualty lists were pinned to the board. Only the one he’d read a dozen times since he’d landed that morning. Neither John’s nor Harry’s name was on it, but that only meant they’d been alive a week ago when the list had been sent out. The thought of them cooped up on the Karun holding out against a Turkish force that outnumbered theirs five to one was horrific.

  ‘Got your boarding card, Reid?’ Leigh asked.

  ‘Yes. You?’

  ‘Sailing tomorrow.’ Leigh gave the inane braying laugh that never failed to irritate Charles. ‘We’re travelling companions, old boy.’ He nodded to the colonel. ‘The old man been giving you a pep talk about darling Maud?’

  ‘Give over, Leigh.’

  ‘Looks so prim and proper too. And, rumour has it, with natives as well as Portuguese.’

  ‘I said give over!’

  ‘My lips are sealed. Drink?’

  Johnny’s lips might have been sealed but no one else’s were. By the end of dinner, Charles was sick of hearing about Maud. Ostensibly innocent remarks that she’d been seen at this or that ball – soiree – dinner party – Maharajah’s picnic – and always with the same man. Charles was beginning to loathe the sound of Miguel D’Arbez’s name and he hadn’t even met the man. He hadn’t been ashore ten minutes before someone mentioned it in the same sentence as Maud Mason. If it had been 50 or even 30 years ago, he probably would have felt obliged to call the man out. As it was, he’d visited Maud twice that afternoon and both times she’d been out.

  He’d spoken to Harriet, and that had been difficult with the memory of Emily coming between them. The maid had burst into tears as soon as she saw him; crying first for her dead mistress, then for Maud’s behaviour. He’d told Harriet to tell Maud he’d return at nine and he’d expect her to be in. She was.

  Perhaps it was the time Charles had spent with Georgiana on his last leave. Georgiana had never been one to bother with her looks. Or perhaps it was the celibate existence he’d led since he’d left Emily; either way, he found Maud mesmerising. When he’d last seen her she’d been an innocent and attractive girl, but the woman who greeted him in a crimson evening gown was no innocent. She exuded glamour and sexual promise.

  Her ruby and diamond jewellery dashed any hopes he’d nurtured that the rumours were false. Her tiara alone was worth more than John’s yearly allowance and captain’s pay combined, and that was without the matching necklace, earrings, rings and four bracelets, two worn above and two below each elbow. He’d seen Emily wearing a few fine pieces, but nothing so outrageously, ostentatiously magnificent.

  ‘Charles, how marvellous to see you.’ Maud brushed his cheek with her lips. He reeled at her proximity and perfume. An alluring, addictive scent he wanted to breathe in again – and again. ‘If I’d known you were coming I would have kept tonight free. We must dine together tomorrow, but what am I doing allowing you stand in the hall while I chatter? Come in. Let me take your hat. What would you like to drink?’

  She led him into the sitting room. The lights were low, the drinks tray complete with two glasses. Preparation for a seduction? He wondered.

  ‘Whisky or brandy? Let me guess. You’ve dined in the mess, so you want to carry on with brandy?’

  He would have preferred brandy but he felt a childish need to assert himself. ‘Whisky.’

  ‘Sit down.’ She patted the seat beside her on the sofa. ‘Now tell me all about home and France. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Which question would you like me to answer first?’ He took the whisky, taking care not to touch her fingers when she handed him the glass. To his astonishment, she filled a brandy glass for herself.

  ‘All of them.’ She curled beside him, tucking her feet beneath her.

  ‘Home is home but society is changing. With so many men at the front, women are working. Driving carts, delivering milk, in the munitions factories …’

  ‘How fascinating.’ She gazed directly at him until he felt himself drowning in the deep cerulean blue of her eyes – like, yet unlike, Emily’s. ‘And John’s family?’

  ‘All well.’ He moved from the sofa to an armchair. ‘I saw John’s brother, Tom, in France. He’s working in a field hospital. John’s sister, Lucy, is involved in committee work. Do you know she married Harry’s brother, Michael?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve had a few letters from John’s mother. They’re here somewhere.’ Maud looked around but made no effort to locate them.

  ‘John’s father has postponed his retirement until John can take over his practice. All the family were pleased to hear about your marriage. They’re longing to meet you.’

  ‘How kind.’ If she’d noticed the sarcasm in his voice, she ignored it.

  ‘Have you heard from John?’ Charles watched her carefully.

  ‘The mail is dreadful. Sometimes there are no letters for weeks then I get three or four on the same day. He was working in a hospital in Basra but the last I heard he was going up the Karun. I haven’t had anything from him for three weeks. But Harry –’ she smiled ‘– have you heard he’s a lieutenant-colonel?’

  ‘It’s the talk of the mess.’

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it? My father always said Harry would be lucky to hold on to his commission. But look at you. A major.’

  ‘By default; there wasn’t anyone else left after the last show.’

  ‘You’re being modest.’

  ‘We’ve covered everyone, Maud, except you.’ He finished his whisky and set his glass on a table. ‘What are you doing with yourself?’

  She looked at him and saw that he knew. God! Didn’t anyone in India talk about anyone other than her and Miguel D’Arbez? ‘I’m fine, I’m on a lot of committees too; we raise funds …’

  ‘And socialise with the Portuguese and their native friends,’ he interrupted.

  ‘Someone’s been tittle-tattling.’ She refilled his glass.

  ‘Everyone’s been tittle-tattling. It started the moment I stepped off the boat.’

  ‘What I do is none of your business.’

  ‘John is one of my closest and oldest friends. I won’t stand by and ignore what people are saying about his wife.’ He set aside the glass she handed him. ‘If you won’t think of your reputation, think of John. Of what he’ll go through when he finds out, and find out he will, Maud – if he doesn’t already know. There’s no shortage of people waiting to tell him.’

  ‘When people have nothing to talk about they make things up.’

  ‘Do you really expect me to believe that everyone here is conspiring against you?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’ She finished her brandy and poured another. ‘I can’t live like a nun until this stupid war ends. John might not be back for years.’

  ‘Other army wives cope with their husband’s absences. Your mother …’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk about my mother.’

  ‘She was a damn sight better woman than you.’ He left his chair and went to the mantelpiece, where there was a display of framed photographs, including one of Emily. He picked it up. ‘I loved her; I would have done anything for her. I begged her to go to England with me, but …’

  ‘She stayed with my father and it cost her her life. It’s her I’m thinking about, Charles. Life’s too short to be anything but selfish.’ She reiterated Miguel’s philosophy. ‘I’ve no intention of wasting my best years sitting around waiting for this war to end. I enjoy parties and balls, so why shouldn’t I go to them? Miguel’s good company, there’s a shortage of presentable escorts …’

  ‘There’s a shortage of escorts because every able-bodied man is fighting for the survival of the Empire, including your husband. This scandal could kill him, Maud. Have you any idea of the impact bad news from home has on a serving soldier?’

  ‘John would understand. He’s not as petty-minded as you and your HQ cronies. He wouldn’t mind me enjoying myself.’ She tossed back her brandy with a practised flick of the wrist that repelled him.

  ‘He would mind
the gossip I’ve heard about you and Miguel D’Arbez, and the men he passes you on to.’

  ‘Miguel is a friend, he …’

  Charles caught her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. ‘I won’t let you ruin John’s life. I’m leaving for Basra tomorrow. We’ve secured the town; it’s safe for civilians. You’ll sail with me. They’ll find you a room in a bungalow with one of the other wives. If you need to do something, you can work in the hospital. John probably has some leave due. You’ll be able to see him, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll make him forget anything he might have heard about you and Miguel D’Arbez.’

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ She could have been refusing an invitation to afternoon tea. ‘I’ve lived in Basra. There’s no society there.’

  ‘It’s different now the Expeditionary Force is based there. There are lots of people, your father …’

  ‘If I’m not prepared to go to Basra for John’s sake, I’m hardly likely to go there for my father’s.’

  ‘The boat leaves at noon. I’ve bought tickets for you and Harriet.’

  ‘Harriet handed in her notice. She’s going to marry a sergeant in the artillery.’

  ‘Good for Harriet.’ Charles wondered why the maid hadn’t said anything to him earlier, but he wasn’t prepared to get side-tracked into a discussion on Harriet. ‘I’ve arranged for you to have my cabin, I’ll sleep on deck.’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  ‘You’ll board that ship if I have to drag you up the gangplank by your hair. You said life is short. A tour of duty on the Western Front has shown me just how short – and painful. But some pain can be avoided. You’re not going to hurt John any more than you already have. Whether he lives for another month or 60 years he’s going to be as happy as a whore like you can make him.’ He gripped her arm.

  ‘You’re hurting me.’ She looked into his eyes, hoping to find compassion, but saw only contempt. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t even remember him.’

  ‘You’ll remember him when you see him. Start packing and praying he still wants you, because if he doesn’t, every decent house will close its doors to you and you could find yourself on the streets.’